As it turned out, there really wasn't all that much that needed to be done. In fact, it had probably been the closest thing to a perfect crime that Rick had ever seen, and that was before it became a cold case. He really shouldn't have been worried about it at all. The body was a dead end - literally, though the pun had been unintentional - and the tarpaulin one owned in multiples by everyone near those woods; the knife was long since disposed of where no one would find it, and every other possible loose end already thought about six times as frequently as Rick brought them up.

But that didn't mean it wouldn't be useful to have eyes on the inside. And if Rick was good at anything, it was waiting.

– – –

Sergeant Monica Graves was, as usual, not sitting at her desk when he walked through the door; rather, she was half-standing, half-sitting-on-the-table in the main conference room. A stack of files stood next to her, and one sat half-open on her lap. She smirked as he walked in, and he knew her well enough to see the traces of a laugh restraining itself between pursed lips. "Hey, Grimes. Finally blessing us with your presence?"

He shrugged, intentionally keeping his tone blasé and his posture loose in affected arrogance. "Well, what can I say? Figured y'all were gonna get too devastated without me here."

The laugh fought its way free. "Good to see you."

"Yeah, it's good to be back."

Brown eyes darted down to where his wound had once been and then flipped back up. "Your side okay now?"

A shrug, which really didn't strain like it might have a few weeks earlier. "All healed up," he said, grin genuine.

"Good." A moment, then, "So, what can I do ya for?"

Ah, right. That. The reason he was there, what a surprise. "Who's been working the Peletier case while I've been gone?"

"Thompson and Rodriguez. They're at their desks, last I saw, if you want the sit-rep." She shrugged. "Not much for them to tell you, though."

"A'ight, thanks a bunch." He turned, waving behind him as he walked out through the door. "Have a good one."

It was an easy wish to make. After all, he certainly was.

– – –

"Any word?" Carol's voice was almost warm when she asked it. Daryl shifted where he stood, back leaned against the wall.

Rick shook his head. "Nothing. Thompson and Rodriguez are good people, but there's not much for them to find. Even if there were, we're so understaffed right now that they've got about six other cases to work on, too. What a wonderful thing, then, that I'm here to help."

She smiled. It was a shark's smile, all blood and teeth. "A wonderful thing indeed."

– – –

"Rodriguez!"

"Yo."

"Anything?"

"Nope." A rotation of a swivel chair, the rap-a-tap-tap of fingers against a near-empty, disposable coffee cup. "You?"

"Not a thing."

– – –

"Grimes!"

"Yeah?"

Thompson leaned into the break room, and Rick kept himself from stiffening as best as he could. It was a close thing, but focusing on the microwave and the disk keeping his The-Cherokee-Rose-sourced leftovers spinning helped. "Rodriguez says you went to talk to the wife."

Rick didn't swallow, and, if he did, it certainly wasn't a harsh thing. Really, it wasn't. "Carol? Yeah, sure. Why?"

A shrug, and Rick thought it was a real one. "Too many loose ends. Trying to find one to follow." The microwave beeped. "So? What are your thoughts?"

A thousand expressions probably passed across his face. Or maybe none did. Thankfully, it didn't matter with Rick facing the wall the way he was. "Oh, not much to say. She's… nice? Not much to report. Definitely not a killer."

"Figured as much." Thompson tapped the door frame as she left. "Thanks."

– – –

"Anything?"

"Not much. Just a question about you, Ms. Carol Peletier." Rick paused, faked innocence. "Oh, yeah. She's-" A shrug. "Pretty nice, I guess. Not a threat, though. She wouldn't hurt a fly." The expression cracked before turning to a grin. "All clear."

Daryl huffed out a laugh. Carol nodded. "Good."

– – –

"Grimes."

"Hey, Sarge."

"What's the word on the Peletier thing?"

"Nada. Still looking into it."

She nodded, frowning, but must eventually have come to a conclusion. "You've got two more days, then I'm taking you off. You've got two more cases on your desk as it is, and it's the holidays soon. We'll be swamped. Time to move on."

"Aye aye, sir." He saluted, half in jest, but meant it all the same.

She nodded and stepped away, but stopped before she went too far and turned back. "Glad to have you back." It wasn't her sergeant voice in its take-no-prisoners glory, but the one she used when they were classmates.

"Thanks, Monica. Glad to be back."

– – –

"Hey, Rick."

He looked up from his desk. "Hey, Rodriguez."

"Sarge said she's takin' us off soon. You hear that too?"

"Yeah." A sigh, as genuine as he could make it. (It still wasn't the most authentic thing ever. Carol would've done better.) "Shame."

The murmur of assent he got in return was hardly convincing. "Yeah."

"We're doin' last looks tonight over some coffee. Thompson said she's buying. Wanna join?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

– – –

"Hey."

Rick spoke into the phone as quietly as he could and pretended it wasn't a hiss. "Carol's not answering; what's going on?"

Daryl sounded remarkably unconcerned. "Rush at the diner. Holiday folks're startin' to come through. Might be a bit before she has the attention for 't."

"Oh." Rick didn't feel foolish. (He did.) "Right. Sorry."

"What'd you wanna tell her?" The speaker was tinny, sound spilling out too high-pitched for comfort. "I c'n pass it on."

"Boss is calling it. One more night, then we're scott free."

A grunt of acknowledgement. "I'll let 'er know."

"Thanks. I'll keep you updated."

The phone call clicked off.

– – –

"Eh, I don't buy it being Richards. What's up with the Dixon guy? His name's on the lease."

Rick shrugged. "Met him. Not much to report." He could say more - kinda wanted to say more - because he knew, more than anyone, that it was really easy to read Daryl's file and jump to the wrong possible conclusion. He'd looked at it once himself, and, for a few brief moments, had made the mistake of thinking it told him a great deal about the man himself. Then he'd met the man himself and the illusion shattered under the weight of reality and conversation. Now, he was half-tempted to ramble, to talk about the childhood behind the ink, about Merle, about hunting, about quiet loyalty and easy understanding and everything else.

And yet, while the temptation was strong, the knowledge that they as a unit had nothing to gain from such a strategy was stronger.

"Nothing there, then?"

Rick shook his head. "Nope."

"You sure?" Rodriguez frowned. "We don't have much else to go on."

Rick couldn't help raising his eyebrows at that one. "We have an entire…" He floundered for the word for a second, and settled on: "dossier of people who might've wanted him dead." Rick reached for the file cover, flicked it up, let it fall. "That's kinda the issue, actually. Not too few suspects. Too many."

"Yeah. But you're sure this guy is a no-go?"

He nodded, and he put as much emphasis into it as he could. "Certain. Anyway, Thompson's the best friend you've got, right?"

Both nodded, and Thompson grinned. "Someone's gotta keep this ol' lug in check."

"Would you willingly, knowingly break the law to murder someone for her in cold blood?"

An awkward silence.

"Don't all speak at once."

"Sorry, pal."

Thompson snorted, rolled her eyes. "Hey, don't think yourself special or anything. I'm not committing a felony for you either."

A grin, and the return of the easy atmosphere. "Wouldn't ask you to."

"You'd screw it up anyway." Her voice was fond, even if the words sounded like they weren't.

Rodriguez scratched his chin with an index finger, a show of fake thought, and then dropped his head in faux defeat. "It's true, I would."

"Alright, then." Rick leaned over to look at the long, long, long list of names they'd put together. "Who's next?"

– – –

Carol was wiping down the counter when he got back, grey dish rag replaced by a navy blue one he'd gotten her two weeks ago. Her hair was loose instead of tied back, and she had on a nicer shirt than she usually used in the diner. "Daryl said you called. What's the word?"

He fought a chuckle at that, and that day, so long ago, when he first stepped into The Cherokee Rose flickered back into his head. "That's my line."

"I know."

Shaking his head felt like shedding a weight from his back, like Atlas stretching. "Nothing. Case is closed. Signed, sealed, and delivered to the sergeant's desk."

"Good." She smiled. "Coffee? I hear the owner makes a good brew." A white mug already sat on the counter, absent the usual little plate.

"Gee, you don't say." He nodded. "Guess I've gotta try one, then."

She slid over the cup, poured him some. "There ya go, Officer. On the house."

"Thank ya, ma'am." A tip of his hat, like he'd done so long ago.

They sat in silence for a moment, each drinking their coffee. (It was very good coffee, in fairness, and thoughts of murder didn't belong anywhere near it.)

"Where's Daryl?"

She tilted her head towards the house. "With Sophia. I've got a… thing. Tonight."

"A thing?" Was that a blush he spied? "What kind of a thing?"

Carol was a lot of things, but sheepish definitely wasn't one of them. Except, apparently, right then. "Just a thing."

"Mmmhmm, and is that thing happening with anyone?"

She shrugged, but it was a remarkably artless gesture. Genuine, in a way that she wasn't often was, especially not with him. Genuine in a way she often only was with Daryl. "Maybe."

He waited.

It didn't take long. "Ezekiel."

The grin he gave then was genuine.

"Shut up."

"I'm not sayin' anything." He downed the rest of the coffee. "But I will get out of your hair."

She didn't try to convince him not to leave. He wouldn't have expected her to. "Sophia would love to see you, you know. She's missed you, last few days. Kept asking why Uncle Rick wasn't around."

"Oh, I'm an uncle now?"

Carol shrugged. "News to me."

"Me too." He slid the cup across the counter to her. "Thanks, ma'am, but I'll be on my way. Daryl could probably use the support."

He did manage to get an eye roll at that, and he counted himself happy for it. "I think he's got it."

Rick nodded. "Yeah, okay, you've got me there. I'm going anyway."

"You do that," she said. "Officer." It was an afterthought. Rick wasn't fully sure how to feel about that. He also wasn't sure he cared.

"Night," he said instead.

She smiled back. "Good night."

The bell tinkled on his way out.