He had dozed off on the couch. Eames sat across from him, glad to finally see him sleeping. This case was taking its toll on her big partner. He was sleeping less than usual, which wasn't much to begin with. He was irritable and frustrated. She and Deakins were the only ones who would even talk to him…and he hadn't even noticed. But she did. She saw people look at him the way they used to, when she'd first joined Major Case. What she had noticed most, though, was how much inside himself he was. She was still able to draw him out, but it took effort, an effort she never used to have to make. She just could not see what they could be missing, what kind of connection there was to be made. Goren still insisted it was there, but she was questioning him now, and she hated that. More than anything else, her partner needed her to believe in him. So she pushed aside her doubts, never let him see them. And she continued to help him search for a connection she was less and less certain was even there.

She wasn't quite sure what to do right now. Maybe she should go home and let him sleep. But she wasn't sure she wanted to leave him. She finally decided to continue looking through the files. She had no idea what she was looking for…she'd been through these files a hundred times, which was a fraction as many times as he had been through them. If he couldn't find whatever it was they were supposed to be looking for, she doubted it would jump off a page at her. She leaned back, stretched and rested her head against the back of the chair. She closed her eyes…just for a minute…

She started awake. It took a minute for her to realize where she was. What was this? A blanket? She looked over at the couch. Her partner was lying on his back, head propped on the arm, reading through a file. That was just like him. He heard her move and he lowered the file, looking over the top of it at her. "Are you comfortable? You can go on into the bedroom if you want to. I'm not going anywhere."

"You really should sleep, you know."

"I had a couple of hours. I'm good."

"What time is it?"

"Around two."

She was quiet for a minute, then nodded. "Ok, if you're sure."

He waved a hand at her. He had already gone back to his file. She got up from the chair, folding the blanket and leaving it there. She went into the bedroom. She really didn't feel like going home; she was exhausted. She slipped off her shoes and slid beneath the covers. His bed was very comfortable…she didn't get why he didn't spend more time in it. Snuggling down, she quickly went to sleep.

He flipped through a couple of pages, but he was having trouble getting back into it. Sitting up, he dropped the file onto the table and went into the kitchen. He'd made a fresh pot of coffee and he poured himself a cup, added some milk and went back into the living room. He looked down the hall toward the bedroom for a moment before dropping miserably onto the couch. What the hell was going on? This case was eating at him in a way few others did, but worse than that, it was affecting his partner, too. He knew he was working himself too hard, but he'd done that before. What he never intended was to bring her down with him. He could see the fatigue and worry in her eyes, and it pained him that he was the cause of it. He was going to have to make this up to her somehow.

He looked at the file folders spread on the table, forcing his attention back to the case. What did these murders mean? Severed hands…tied to a pew…missing genitalia…wait a minute…

He got up, eyes searching the bookshelves. He grabbed the book he was searching for and sat back down. Flipping through the pages, he looked for the passage he needed…Exodus…here it was…

The First Commandment…Honor the Lord your God and have no other gods before Him…money…the bills in the mouth and the coins in the bag…the denominations of ten…

The Second Commandment…Do not take the name of the Lord in vain…the tongue was removed.

The Third Commandment…Keep holy the Lord's Day… he was tied into a pew.

The Fourth Commandment…Honor your parents…the sliced heart…the pain of a disobedient child, reflected back onto the child…

The Fifth Commandment…You shall not kill…the torture…

The Sixth Commandment…You shall not commit adultery…well, that was obvious now…

The Seventh Commandment…You shall not steal…the severed hands…

He searched through the files for the list of parishioners Father Sean had given them, and the information they had uncovered about the victims.

Victim number one: Richard Stockton, a Wall Street broker with a large bank account…a money worshipper…at least in the mind of the man who killed him.

Victim number two: Nicholas Freeman, a dockworker…well, chances were pretty good that he used a great deal of…colorful language…

Victim number three: Herbert Mason, a workaholic, who threw himself into his job, seven days a week, a family man who no longer accompanied his family to church…a supposition on his part, but he was willing to bet it was accurate. He scribbled a note to check it out tomorrow.

Victim number four: Marcus Baker, a nightclub bouncer, he wasn't sure what the killer knew about this guy to determine he didn't respect his parents, but they would find out tomorrow.

Victim number five: Derrick Langston, on parole for murder one.

Victim number six: Fred Riker, another one for further investigation, but he'd bet a month's pay this man was cheating on his wife

Victim number seven: William Ullster, a thief of some kind…another question for tomorrow.

He finished writing and leaned back on the sofa. He wanted badly to get Eames up and share this with her, but respect for his partner held him back. Let her sleep…this would all still be there in the morning.

He found it…he found the connection he had been seeking…it had been there all along, just like he knew it would be. The excitement of discovery slowly faded without someone to share it with, but it would return quickly when she got up in the morning. It was replaced with bone-numbing fatigue as his mind and body let go of the obsession that had possessed him over the past few weeks. Now all that was left to them was to tie the connection to the killer. The key to finding who did it, he knew, was at St. Cecelia's. Even if Father Sean couldn't help them, they had to return to the parish for more information. Somehow, St. Cecelia's was the focal point for this killer, and the church was the key to finding him.