He sat at his desk, absently turning a Granny Smith around and around with his fingertips, half watching Reese as she talked to ViCAP on the phone. He agreed with her—this was sophisticated enough to warrant a ViCAP search, the execution so well done that he had to think, just maybe, their killer had been around the block, had done this before. Or something similar. The Medical Examiner had shifted her cases down and pulled the frozen remains of Annette Langly to the top of her pile. While the woman was being thawed as expertly as possible, Crews had to wonder if she was still alive. What if she was alive and they could ask her what happened? That'd be something. It'd be crazy, but it'd definitely be something to go on.
The process in which she'd been frozen seemed extremely controlled. No freezer burn, just white and perfect, with no marks on her that he could see. Crews figured, though, that there would probably be needle marks somewhere. Tiny ones. Reese swivelled in her chair, her expression solemn as she hug up the phone.
They'd sent the paperwork, but she'd called anyway trying to expedite the process. He knew where she was going, now, as she rose.
"Reese?" he asked. "You want me to come?"
"No." She shook her head. "I want you to go interview the neighbors. I'm gonna look through missing persons." He gave her a steady look. "And the EMS feed." She started to turn away, ostensibly to move toward the elevator, but she caught sight of Tidwell's annoyed expression and changed destinations.
Crews bit into the apple and followed.
"You call ViCAP just now?" Crews tilted his head at Tidwell. "I just got a call from a really pissed off FBI agent. I mean, really pissed off. Actually, I'm not even sure if pissed is the right word at all. I don't think there's a word for what she was. Pieca work, this one. You're getting a partner for this one—name's Kateri Mancini."
"A Fed, great," Reese said, scowling. "When?"
"She's flying in from D.C., so, it'll be about five hours, give or take. She's bringing files with her. From what I could tell, there are definitely more than one. And Reese?" Tidwell gave her a look that spoke volumes. "I know you're not buddy-buddy with the Feds, given the crap that went down, but...be nice. Or at least be civil. I don't like these goons coming up into my precinct any more than you do, but we got inter-agency cooperation to look after. Be as diplomatic as you possibly can."
"Sure," Reese said, her voice sour. "I'll behave." Her expression slid into a thin line. "Feds better not be taking our case away. I want this one." Crews wanted it, too, but he just watched the exchange in silence while he pondered the facts they'd been given and the new information in the form of FBI involvement. That meant state lines had been violated. They'd been violated enough for a D.C. agent to be called down even though they had a branch in town. That was new.
"Guess we'll see when she gets here," he said with a sigh as he massaged his eyes. "You gonna go through the EMS and missing persons or are you gonna stand there and glare at me some more?"
"I can do both," she muttered, and turned briskly, her mind fixed like an arrow on its target. Crews and Tidwell watched her go in silence.
"She's not gonna be nice, is she?" Tidwell asked, half to himself, peering through steepled fingertips.
"Probably not," Crews murmured, then brightened. "I was thinking about the case. The peeled grapes?" Tidwell bit back what looked like nausea. "He didn't really want us finding out about her eyes until later. He kept them for himself. So, Reese plugged that into the search—the missing eyes. I guess he's been around before, practicing somewhere else. It'd make sense. I think there's women out there who aren't dead, maybe, and I think that's what Reese is looking for."
There was a quiet moment where the two men stared at each other.
"I think maybe he's sharing his collection." Crews bit down on the apple thoughtfully and when he spoke, he did so around the piece of fruit. "Like an exhibition. His masterpieces."
"Detective," Tidwell said, "go find me some answers—someone who saw something, anything. And you make sure Reese doesn't come unglued with this Fed. You got me?"
"Yeah. I got you." His shoes squeaked a little as he headed toward the elevator. He stopped to make coffee, though, and pitched the thick oily pot of it before he made a new one. Someone would be grateful, but right now, Reese needed a cup. He could tell something about this case was upsetting her, something beyond just the facts. He surgared and creamed the cup, and listened to the sound of the metal spoon colliding with the LAPD mug for a moment.
The TV was on in the break room and he turned up the sound, watching the animated and yet serious newscaster's face. She reported it like a hawk searching for prey, sharp, pointed, and hungry for more. She also looked like she could use something sweet to take the edge of the story away. There was no denying that this case was horrifying.
"Early this morning, the body of a young woman was found—" The coffee cup was hot in his hands and he shifted it, the apple still in his mouth. They had a name for him already.
The Ribbon Killer.
Crews shook his head and finished the bite of apple he'd taken. The silence in the bullpen told him that Tidwell had people out on this, canvasing already. But he was interested in the FBI agent who was already on her way. She was bringing them something important, he could feel it like the way the wind shifted before a storm blew in from nowhere.
Crews set the coffee down on a coaster next to Reese, who didn't even look up, and left to find his car. Someone had seen something, somewhere out there. Someone always saw something, dismissed it, and left it for him to find, buried in their memory. He'd find it for Annette Langly, for her parents, and for her mother, who had yet to wake.
He'd find something.
And so would Reese.