Sam rolled his eyes and failed to suppress a groan, throwing himself back to lean in the chair lazily. "Don't be so dramatic, So. She doesn't know who did it," he explained turning to look at the two men "she just thinks it might be related to something else, which its not, because that would be ridiculous. Right Sovie?" he asked, facing back towards his friend.

She just glared at the man. "It's him. I know it."

The two detectives looked at her, then to each other and back at her before Rick spoke. "Why don't you explain."

Sam moved to open his mouth again but Daryl gave him a look, and he promptly closed it. It's not that he was afraid of the older man. He would never admit that. He just knew enough not to get on Daryl Dixon's bad side.

Sovay looked the man up and down again before she spoke. "She was ripped apart, right? And put back together?"

"How tha' fuck'd ya know that?" Daryl said as he stood from his relaxed position, taking a step towards her.

She looked at him incredulously. "I told you. I know who did it."

"And who would that be?" Rick asked, as calm as ever. She could tell he was gaging her, just as she did to him before. He was trying to decide if she could be trusted, if she was a fake, or just another kind of crazy. It wasn't the first time her sanity had been questioned and it probably wouldn't be the last.

She answered, her eyes never leaving his. "The Preston Street Butcher."

Rick quirked his eyebrow. "And that is...?"

Her face falls for a minute, just for a second, but both he and his partner caught it. Just a flash of her eyes, a memory. A painful one. "Eleven bodies in three years on and around the UofL campus in Louisville. He killed my roommate."

"Kentucky?" the man asked.

"Tha' hell 'e doin' here?"

"He's not," Sam injected. "He's dead, So, you know that."

"No! No I don't Sam! They never found a body, remember? Or were you just so happy to leave without a word and forget everything?"

The detectives watched the pair argue, and Daryl took a closer look at the both of them. He'd always had the feeling like Bethy's man was hiding something, running, and now it was confirmed that he was right. She, on the other hand, was still hiding something. He could feel it in the air, and one look to his partner told him that he felt it too. She didn't seem like she'd be a suspect, but it wouldn't be the first time he was surprised. "How'd ya know this'n's the same? How'd ya know 'bout tha' body?" He interrupted.

She blinked at him like she was surprise he was asking. "I just do."

"Nobody just 'knows' something like this," Rick said, also curious. "Were you at the crime scene?"

Sam groaned and Sovay spoke. "No, of course not. I just saw it on the news last night."

"Ya sure? 'Cuz shit li' tha' don' happen 'round 'ere, 'n yer tha' only stranger we seen 'round."

She furrowed her brows, annoyed by the interrogation. "I only just got here yesterday afternoon, and my guess is she was dead for a whole day before y'all found her. I was in Kentucky yesterday. If you don't believe me check my credit cards. And look up Preston Street while you're at it." She stood. "Let's go Sam."

The younger man stood and smiled that the officers sheepishly and shrugged, before following his friend out the door.

The remaining men looked at each other and without a word, agreed on their next course of action.

She stormed out of the station and threw open the driver's door of her sedan before turning back towards Sam. "They don't believe me, do they?"

He looked at her dubiously and then shook his head. "Pretty sure you're a suspect now though." She sighed loudly and he went on. "Sovie, he's dead. You shot him, remember? People don't usually survive a shot to the chest."

She shook her head. "I shot him in a dark room in the middle of the night. The police never found a body, or blood for that matter. He's still out there. I know it"

This time it was his turn to sigh.

"Got it," the woman said, stepping into the office. Michonne Pierson was another new transfer to the homicide department of the Georgia State Police, originating from Boston, but like her teammates, she took to the job quickly and efficiently. It wasn't often that she and her partner, longtime GSP detective Tyreese Williams, paired up with Grimes and Dixon, but this case definitely warranted it. It was unlike anything any of them had ever seen."I remembered reading something about it in the news a few months ago. The Preston Street Butcher killed 11 women between June of 2012 and December of this past year. All were early 20s brown hair, olive skin, 8 of them were students at the University of Louisville. All of them were the same M.O. Torn apart and sewn back together wrong. Locals had a few suspects but no positive ID. The killing stopped in December after a civilian shot at a figure fleeing from her room at a sorority house on campus. Report says that he was shot in the chest but got away. Despite the lack of trace evidence or blood, or even a body they declared him dead and closed the case. No bodies since then."

Daryl huffed. "'Til now." The others nodded.

"What about the girl?" Rick asked.

"That's where it gets interesting," Michonne smirked. "Sovay Martin, aged 23, born and raised in small town Grabil, Indiana before moving to Louisville for college. No priors, just one speeding ticket when she was 17. She was the one who apparently shot The Butcher."

Rick quirked his eyebrow. "You don't say?"

She nodded. "Report says that she was coming home from a late night study session with friends when she walked in on him placing her roommate's body back in her bed. He slashed her pretty good, her abdomen, before she pulled a gun and fired twice into his chest. The other girls in the house heard the commotion and came running but when they arrived there was no man and only Martin's blood on the floor. Police questioned her but she says she didn't get a good look at his face because it was dark."

The men processed the information and Rick asked another question. "How's she know Sam?"

This time Daryl answered. "'E's from Grabil too. Wen' ta Lou'ville two years 'fore droppin' out. Small town. Prolly knew e'other growin' up." The others looked at him quizzically. "Wha? 'E's datin' Beth. Backgroun' check's first thin' I did," he said grinning and the other shook their heads.

She was expecting them to come, but she didn't think it would be this soon. She'd just gotten back from a quick lunch with Sam when they knocked, and she called out for them to come in as she sat down to take off her boots. In walked the two men from this morning, Grimes and Dixon, if she remembered right. And she doesn't forget much. "Officers. Can I help you with something?"

The detectives glared at her with no-nonsense in their eyes. "You failed to mention your personal stake in this case this morning, Miss Martin. I don't like being lied to."

She frowned and glared right back. "I don't remember lying. I told you that he killed my roommate. It's not my fault that you don't know how to ask the right questions."

"Insignifcant infamation's same as lyin' 'n a murder investagation." Daryl added, but she just continued to glare.

Rick sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Why don't you just tell us what you know, Miss Martin. You clearly know more about this Preston Butcher than we do."

She quirked her lip up just a bit and huffed out some air. "A cop admitting he doesn't know something? Somebody better call the Pope 'cause this here's a miracle." The men continued their stare and she looked between them both before settling her eyes on the rough man. "Alright. What do you want to know?"