Two weeks later, she had her first chance to investigate a homicide with him. Female victim, early thirties, found on her bedroom floor by her five-year-old daughter. The child had called the police in a panic, but by the time the first units arrived at the scene, she was gone. When the victim was identified as the niece of a state senator, Major Case was called.

First they surveyed the room as they pulled on their gloves. The CSU tech who greeted them said, "Vic's name is Elizabeth Reynolds. No one has touched anything. It's all yours."

Goren quietly said, "The struggle began near the window…they overturned that lamp…she got hit here." He swung his arm the way the killer would have, following the blood spatter pattern on the wall. He knelt beside a dark spot on the floor, touching it and looking at the blood that colored his fingertips. He followed the trail of blood across the sheets, to where she had fallen for the final, fatal assault.

Eames watched him, fascinated. As she followed his movements, listening to his mutterings, she found she could recreate the attack in her mind. He dropped to a knee beside the body and she moved to stand by him, watching to see what he was seeing. He lifted the woman's arm to reveal a healing bruise on the underside of her arm. He turned and looked at her. "Abuse?" she asked.

"Possibly." He gently slid her shirt up to reveal more healing bruises on her ribs. Sliding her skirt up toward her hips, they saw more bruises, all in various stages of healing. He moved toward her head. She had several open wounds, at least one of which had made the pattern of spatter on the wall as well as the puddle and trail of blood across the bed. He pointed to a bloody impression near her right temple. "That was the killing blow," he said.

He turned her over gently and found more bloody wounds as well as more bruises in various stage of healing, some fresh, most not. In all he counted more than twenty bruises. This woman was often used as a punching bag, and that made his mind turn to the little girl. He wondered if she was ok and how much abuse she had witnessed over her short life.

He turned her head to look at the left side of her face, discovering an odd mark near her ear. Eames frowned. "What's that? It looks like a burn."

He nodded. "Cigarette burn, maybe three days old. She has a few others that are healed. I think abuse is a reasonable assumption here."

He studied her face, frowning. Leaning closer, he smelled her breath. Eames looked at him oddly. "What the hell are you doing?"

"No alcohol, no smoker's breath." He stood up and looked at one of the techs. "Let the M.E. know we suspect a history of abuse. I want a full set of x-rays."

The tech nodded. "I'll tell her."

Eames was still looking at the body. She had never seen an investigator smell a corpse before. She looked at him, but he was on the other side of the room, squatting near the window. She walked over to him. "What?"

He held up a piece of broken glass. Pulling the heavy drapes aside, he studied the broken window. "Bag," he said softly.

"What?"

"Oh, sorry. I need an evidence bag."

She pulled one from her pocket and he dropped a piece of glass into it. Pointing to a side of it, he said simply, "Blood."

She pulled out another bag, waiting, and sure enough he found another piece of bloody glass. He returned to the body, pulling the door away from the wall to look behind it. "This was not a premeditated murder," he said as he reached behind the door. Pulling out a bat, he examined it, pointing to the end of it. "Blood and hair. The murder weapon," he said, handing it to one of the techs.

"Why do you think it wasn't premeditated?" Eames asked him.

He wasn't sure how to explain the things his gut told him, but he wasn't usually wrong. "I…just don't get the feeling it was."

She followed him out of the room, thinking he was blowing her off, and that irritated her. "Goren…" He turned on the stairs to look at her. "Am I missing something?"

"I don't know, Eames. Are you?"

It took a moment for her to realize he was serious. He really had no clue what she was referring to. "I want to know why you think this wasn't premeditated. All that abuse…"

"That doesn't mean he ever mean to kill her. Control her, yes. Maybe even punish her. But not kill her. I…I don't know how to explain it, Eames. You're just going to have to trust me."

Trust him? How was she supposed to trust a man who didn't trust her enough to explain what he was thinking on a case they were working together? Her partner, for Pete's sake. If he didn't trust her, how could he expect her to trust him? "Partners are supposed to trust each other, Goren," she hissed at him as they reached the bottom of the staircase. "Even with stupid things, like murder theories."

He stopped and she walked into him. He turned to look at her. "You think I don't trust you?"

She looked around at the cops scattered about the downstairs. Many of them had stopped to look at the detectives from the elite Major Case squad. "Never mind. We'll talk about it later."

"Eames…"

"Not here," she growled. Pushing him out of her way, she asked where the first unit was that had responded to the scene. The two cops were in the living room. "Any sign of the child who made the call?" she asked them.

"Not a trace. Her bedroom is at the end of the hall upstairs, and it's perfectly in order."

"What about her father?"

"According to the senator, his name is Martin Reynolds. The kid's name is Kelly. Other than the master bedroom, there doesn't seem to be anything amiss in the house. There's a wall safe in the study, untouched. That desk over there has $700 in the center drawer. There's jewelry, and her purse still has cash, credit cards, checkbook. No indication this was a robbery gone bad."

"The senator have anything else to say?"

"No."

"Ok, thanks."

As they left the house, she was surprised he had let her handle that interrogation. He hadn't let her handle one before. They headed for the SUV. "Where to now?" she asked.

She didn't know him well enough to understand his silence. As he pulled the keys from his pocket, he said, "Why do you think I don't trust you?"

She rested her arms on the hood of the car. "You don't really let me do anything, Goren. I'm window dressing. And now you won't tell me what you're thinking about this murder."

"'Window dressing?' What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I'm just along for the ride. You don't trust me to do anything but watch."

"I…" He thought about it. Maybe she was right. "I'm sorry, Eames. It's not that I don't trust you to do anything. You can do whatever you feel has to be done. It's just easier for me to do something when I think of it than to explain it. It's not as easy as you think it is to explain how I think."

She had no doubt that was true. "So why won't you tell me why this was not a premeditated murder?"

He placed his arms on the hood of the car opposite her and looked at her. "Eames, if it was as simple as saying 'this is it,' I would tell you. But it's not that easy. I just have a feeling, a gut instinct, that tells me something is right or wrong. I have to listen to what a scene tells me. This scene says anger, rage…but not the intent to come after her and kill her. The killer lost control, and this beating went bad. I can't explain it any better than that."

She met his eyes. He was trying. "All right," she said. "Thank you."

She moved to the car door, looking back at him when he didn't move. He was looking at the hood of the car. "Goren?"

He forced himself to look at her, and his face was troubled. "Sorry, Eames. I don't mean to…exclude you."

"Forget it. Where are we going now?"

He opened the car and unlocked the doors. "To talk to the senator."