They walked into the M.E.'s office. Looking up from a microscope, she crossed the room toward them. "I wanted you to see this," she said, looking at Eames hesitantly.

Goren followed her gaze. "Oh, this is my new partner, Alex Eames."

Eames wasn't sure if it was amusement or pity on the M.E.'s face. All she said, though, was "Nice to meet you."

The petite cop just smiled in return and followed them to an examining table, the only one that currently housed a body. She tried to follow along, watching as her partner snapped on a pair of gloves and began touching the body. He reminded her of a little kid. He had to be in the middle of everything, touching it. He noticed everything, too---well, everything but her. She wondered how long it would take him to remember she was there, to realize he had a friggin' partner. The M.E. stood patiently by as he pointed out a small injury on the man's chest. Eames frowned distastefully when he stuck his finger in a wound on the body, turning away when he grabbed a set of tweezers and pulled something out.

The M.E. grabbed a steel basin. "Well, look at that," she said. She hadn't yet gotten as far as the abdomen in her examination.

Eames heard the clang of metal on metal, turning back to see what he'd pulled out of the body. She frowned at the skinny metal object. "What is that?"

"An antique nail, hand forged, made of iron," he answered.

"What was it doing in the body?"

Goren half-grinned. "Good question." He looked at the doctor. "Call me if you find anything else."

"Don't worry." She looked at Eames with an expression that said "Good luck" and turned back to the body.

Heading out of the office she asked "What was it she wanted to show you?"

He looked down at her, slowing his pace when he noticed she was jogging to keep up. "You didn't see it?"

"No. You unsettled me when you started poking around the body."

"Oh. Sorry. There was an odd wound on the head. We need to go to the track."

"The track?"

"Horses, Eames. The head wound was made by a horses' shoe."

"We're looking for a horse?"

He stopped and looked at her, tilting his head oddly. "Kind of," he agreed. "Come on."

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She followed him through mud and muck from stall to stall, waiting outside, watching, while he examined each one. "You should have told me to wear boots today," she said.

He had bent over to look at a mark on the wall. He looked up at her from under his arm, which was braced on the wall. She held back a smile. He had his moments, moments that made her forget how weird he was. He was so much like a little boy in a lot of ways.

It was in the last stall on the second row that he found something. "Find out who owns the horse that stays here."

Glad to finally have something to do, she walked off to find a stable hand or someone. Later that afternoon, they arrested the owner of that horse.

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On the way back to the squad, he explained it all to her. The victim worked for the suspect, who discovered he was stealing from him. They got into an argument at the track two nights earlier, which escalated into a fight that ended up with one man dead. The suspect had knocked the victim down with a horseshoe to the head, killing him with a nail gun that was loaded with ancient, rusty iron nails. He was surprised it would even fire the irregular projectiles and guessed it had jammed after firing a few. The old nails had been used by farriers to shoe horses before the advent of modern steel nails. He'd found a scattering of those old nails in the hay on the floor of that last stall they'd looked at. He also found two more imbedded in the wall, the same way the one he had pulled from the body had been put there by force. The M.E. had called to let him know she had found the cause of death—another nail, right in the heart.

She studied him as he drove. "Do you always solve your cases in two days?"

He laughed. "Not hardly. This was an easy one."

"Do you get many of those?"

He shook his head. "No."

She sat back, trying not to notice how often he switched lanes and barely missed a taxi here and a bus there.

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Back in the squad, Eames stood with Deakins and Carver, watching her partner in the interrogation room. Deakins had decided it would be a good thing for Eames to watch an interrogation before she stepped into one. "I've interrogated prisoners before," she protested.

"Not like this, you haven't," Carver replied.

Eames watched carefully as her new partner interrogated their suspect. Geez…where the hell did he get all that energy? She could read the anxiety on the suspect's face, and she couldn't blame him. She would feel anxious, too, if a cop that big was in her face. When the suspect looked down, trying to avoid eye contact, Goren followed him, bending over to meet the man's eyes.

Eames looked at Deakins and Carver. "Is he always like this?"

Deakins nodded. "Pretty much. I told you he was unconventional."

Carver added, "But he gets the job done, detective. And the confessions he gets stick."

The suspect suddenly threw back his chair, shoving the table into Goren and shouting at him. The big cop caught the table and yelled back, but the damage was done. The suspect had stepped into it and admitted to killing the victim. Eames was impressed.

She met him in the hall as he came out of the interrogation room. "That was quite a show in there."

He raised his eyebrows and looked at her. "You think so?"

"Your technique is…interesting."

This time he did smile. "Three partners left after seeing my first interrogation."

She laughed. "I can't say I'm surprised. But I'm not leaving."

His smile didn't fade as he studied his little partner. "Thanks," he said quietly.

She looked at the time; it was after seven. "If it's all the same to you," she said. "I am going to go home and shower. I smell like a stable."

He grinned. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

She studied him for a minute, stopping at their desks. "Yes, Goren. You'll see me tomorrow."

He watched her leave. It had been a good day, and his first impression of his new partner was a good one. She'd been to the M.E. with him, followed him through the muck and mire in a stable and watched him interrogate a suspect. And she wasn't running for the nearest exit. She was a lot tougher than her size indicated. Previous partners had run for the elevators after much less, and this was just her first day. Maybe this one would work out for him. He hoped that he would work out for her, too.