Sam was staring at Charlie in the mirror as he buttoned his shirt. It was morning. The night before had been a complete waste. He had read the entire file before dozing off on the couch. All he had to show for his troubles was a very stiff back. Alan had left a note that he would be working at a homeless shelter all day and had left Sam with no car. Not that it mattered much since Charlie didn't have a license.

Al appeared. "What's going on, Sam?"

"I'm going to see Don," Sam answered. "I need to call a cab. Where do you suppose the phone books are?"

Al shook his head. "Cell phone." He jabbed his cigar at the night stand. Sam had put it there when he emptied Charlie's pockets the first evening and hadn't thought of it since.

He picked it up and was actually impressed with how simple it was to use. Al peered over his shoulder. "That one. Taxi." Al said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I kind of guessed that."

Once the cab was on its way, Sam grabbed Charlie's wallet and stuffed it in his back pocket. "And the phone," Al said.

"What do I need a phone for?" Sam asked, pocketing it anyway.

"Everyone has a cell phone," Al replied.

"Okay, anything else?"

"Security badge." Al squinted down at a piece of laminated plastic on Charlie's desk. "Top level clearance, I'm impressed." Sam picked it up. "You clip it to your pocket," Al explained.

"Is that it?"

"You look like a million bucks," Al said, smiling.

Sam rolled his eyes and headed outside to meet the car.

Sam found Don in a large meeting room with a group of people Sam presumed were his team. No one seemed to stop Sam or mind his intrusion so this must be what Charlie did pretty regularly.

"Hey, Charlie," Colby said, smiling and went back to consulting with the black man sitting next to him.

Sam opened his mouth to speak. Don cut him off. "What are you wearing?" he demanded.

Sam looked down at his clothes. "What?"

"Where'd you get that jacket?"

"In the closet," Sam said tentatively.

"God, Charlie!" Don exclaimed, annoyed. "I leave my jacket at Dad's house and you just help yourself? How many times do I have to tell you not to mess with my stuff?"

Sam snickered. Apparently little brothers were not allowed to touch their older brothers' things, no matter how old they were. Sam wasn't sure he had ever seen a grown man, an FBI agent no less, turn into a 12 year old boy in front of his eyes before.

"Sorry," Sam answered. "And for the record, it's my house."

"Come on, seriously, take it off." Don was pulling on the coat. Sam allowed him to remove it and lay it over a chair.

The lone female in the room laughed. "Okay, well that was a fun little insight into the relationship of the brothers Eppes. Now, unless you two want to arm wrestle or something?" Colby and the other agent were snickering.

Don looked a little embarrassed. "Did you want something, Charlie?" he asked.

"Actually, yeah. I want to go to the Brewster place. I just feel like we're missing something."

The agents exchanged glances. "Well, Charlie," Don said, "we've been over there all morning. They're executing a search warrant. If there's anything there, we'll find it."

"I know," Sam said. "But I just really want to see it for myself."

Don glanced at the woman who shrugged. "He's got clearance. If he wants to go, let him go." She turned to Sam. "But, Charlie, he's the guy."

Sam just nodded. Don sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay, but not alone. Colby, can you take him?"

"Sure," Colby said, handing his file to the agent next to him. "Come on."

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets as he and Colby walked up to the front of the house. The driveway was crowded with people and vans. They were searching every square inch of this place and they were serious. Sam felt his chest tightening. He had to stop this series of events. He had to halt what he had put into motion.

"Granger!" called a man in an FBI windbreaker. Colby broke stride and crossed to him. Sam followed at his heels. The man held up an evidence bag containing a very large knife. "We think this might be what he used to carve them up."

Al appeared through his blue doorway and stood, observing, and thoughtfully sucking on his cigar.

"You check it for any DNA?" Colby asked.

"We will. But it won't do much good. It looks like it has been washed."

"DNA?" Sam whispered to Al.

"Oh, yeah," Al said. "DNA is the new thing in crime fighting. You can find a hair on the sofa and can tell if the killer ever sat there."

"Yeah, DNA," Colby answered, thinking Sam was talking to him.

Sam just nodded at Colby's confused expression.

"Who else lives here besides Martin Brewster?" Sam hissed.

"Well," Colby and Al answered at the same time. Al fell silent. "There's Martin and his father."

"The father's too old," Al said.

"And the little sister Emily."

"She's a twelve year old girl, Sam," Al said as if Sam had just accused her of something. Sam shot Al a look and then turned back to Colby.

"There's the guy who tutors Emily."

"He fits the profile," Al said.

"And the gardener."

"Him too."

"Would you please shut up?" Sam snapped, getting annoyed at Al's constant interjections.

"What?" Colby said, looking more than a little offended.

"Sorry. I just meant, let's, um, start with the gardener."

"Okay," Colby agreed, looking suspiciously at Sam. Colby led the way towards the equipment shed. Colby was looking less and less thrilled to be around him. Apparently he found the real Charlie much more palatable than Sam's version of Charlie.