Elizabeth Rodgers loved lunchtime. Every night, she would prepare a meal to take to work the next day. Each morning at 4AM, she'd leave a still snoring Ross and take a jog, shower, dress, grab her lunch, and leave for her job. Breakfast was eaten on the go.

By noon, you could find her with her salad, sandwich, pasta, or stew, taking bites and sips in-between mulling over paperwork or informing detectives of this woman's stab wounds or that man's slashes.

"How can you eat around here?" Lupo had once asked, as Bernard surveyed a corpse's tattoos that sprawled across his chest.

"You get used to the smell and the scenery," Rodgers had explained blankly. She'd scooped up another forkful of egg salad and chewed thoughtfully. "And I'm a major foodie."