Greg took pictures while Hawkes collected trace off the body.
"86 degrees put TOD roughly eight hours ago." He said, looking down at his watch. "Right around midnight." Greg looked over his notes.
"There were no prints on the door handle. Did I hear right that Flack had a picture of this guy emailed to him this morning?" Hawkes nodded.
"Yeah, he was standing about there." He pointed with his gloved hand. Greg moved, so he was standing in the position.
"Hey, Sanders, this is James Copeland," Flack said, walking over to him. "He's the director of the theater."
"Said something happened?" The man said, glancing behind Greg.
"That's Marshal." The man called out, spotting the body. He tried to get closer, but Greg and Flack held him back.
"This is my theater."
"It might be your theater, but its' my crime scene." Greg shut him down.
"Marshal was our voice coach. He used this room for private lessons." Flack pulled out his notebook.
"Who was here last night around midnight?"
"Uh, nobody. We did a rehearsal last night, but it was empty by 11. Who would kill someone in a theater." Greg razed his eyebrow looking at Flack.
"You ever hear of John Wilks Booth."
Mac sat in his office, looking over Alison's file. He had done this so may time he had lost count. Alison was taken on her way home from a party. Security cameras had her for most or walk to her car. But at one point, a bus pulls up, and she never reappeared. Mac looked over the two notes her captor had left.
"She broke just like Alison." Mac shook his head. They had never gotten anything off the notes. Only leaving a trail of bodies. Alison had been his fifth victim, and there were four after her. Then 6 years ago, he disappeared. No more victims had appeared. Mac noted one of the new pieces of evidence added to the file when Alison was taken. In all of her pant pockets was a small set of lockpicking tools. Mac had been the one to teach her how to pick a lock not long after she was freed. If only she had gotten a chance to use them. There was a knock on his door. He moved to hide the file but relaxed when he saw that it was Hawkes and not Sanders.
"How's the case going?" Mac asked, setting the file back on the stack.
"We determined that the killer used dry ice to lower the temperature. So our time of death has been called into questions. Stella thinks it might be one of her students at a class she guests lectured at two months ago." Mac leaned forward.
"Really, why." Hawkes handed over a report.
"Everything that we pulled at the scene can be traced back to one of her examples. Instead of us not having enough evidence, we have too much." Mac shook his head.
"Let me know if you get anything from the list of students." Hawkes nodded head back toward the door.
"Sanders is looking into it."
Greg walked into Frank's house, carrying a bag of groceries.
"You shouldn't be doing that," Jamie called out, running over to him. "You're not even using your cane." He pulled the bags out of Greg's hands. Jamie was treating him like a glass that could break at any moment.
"Forget the cane. It only gets in the way." Jamie looked at him. His tone was more abrasive than he intended.
"Yeah, and then the next day you can barely walk. Where did you put it?" Greg round his teeth. Resisting the urge to grab the bag out of his hands.
"It's in the car." Jamie started putting them away.
"Fine, but if Mac makes you ride the desk for a week, it's your fault." He rolled his eyes, handing him the orange juice.
"Ah, my two favorite people." Henry called out, walking into the kitchen. "Did you get the chilis I told you about?" Greg held up a bag. "Perfect, I couldn't make my Chilly without it."
"It was no problem; I needed to go to the store anyways. I've been eating out all week." Jamie handing him a cup of coffee, finishing up putting away the food.
"Right the theater murder, how did that end up." Greg sat at the table next to Henry. Ignoring the look from Jamie when he winched slightly. "Not well. The Vic was a stocker, and one of his victims died, and the other killed him." Henry shook his head.
"Cases like that never leave a good taste in your mouth. Did you find her?" He let out a deep breath.
"Yeah, Hawkes and Mac brought her in last night. Everything we got on her is circumstantial, and she isn't likely to confess." Jamie nodded.
"So, she'll probably walk."
"Yeah, so it ended the best way it could." Henry patted his hand.
"Sometimes, that's all you can ask for in this job."
Beeping filled Alison's ears. If her heart rate got too high, he would visit her. If it got to low, he would visit her. If she took it off, he would beat her. So Alison slowly breathed in and out. Doing her best to keep her heart rate even. Trying to keep the pain and the noise from driving her mad. Her mind focusing on the dining room with her family. They were teasing her about her cooking. Greg was calling out Danny and Jamie. Sean and Jack were making fun of Nicky, and her Father was asking Grandpa one of his storied. Erin was making plans with Linda for Jack's game next weekend. Alison was next to Greg. His hand in hers. A crooked smile on his face. Alison's breath hitched at the thought. His soft brown eyes always warming her. They weren't like the Monster's. They were cold and blue. Alison whipped a tear from her eyes. Causing a small gasp to seep out of her lips from moving her arms. She opened her eyes, looking down at it. Broken, he had set it like Everything he did. He likes to break her, then put her back together, then do it again. So here she was waiting for him to break her again. Her eyes landed on the door. She could pick the lock like how Mac taught her. But she didn't have anything to press the pins. The door opened, and he walked in carrying her food.
"Hello, my dear." He set the metal tray down next to her. "Where did we leave off last time." Alison didn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the try. It had a small metal lip on it. For a brief moment, Alison had a moment of hope before she had to detach herself as the darkness returned.
