I don't suppose you could tell us what's actually going on here?" The woman asked with an expectant look on her face.

"I'm afraid I can't give out any details of an ongoing investigation," he said in his well honed, professionally apologetic voice.

Not that that stopped the woman from grumbling at him.

"Can't give us any details yet we're the ones giving you information."

He raised an eyebrow. "Ma'am, we aren't forcing you."

In fact, she had volunteered. Eagerly. After trying to pester them for information first, of course. But after that had been shot down, she had been more than willing to tell them everything about everyone. And that really was *everything* about *everyone*.

Nosey neighbours could be both a blessing or a curse on any of their investigations. They would either waste their time with the lastest neighbourhood gossip that was quite useless to them, getting in their way, or they could give you the best insight into character and timings that helped crack the case. It was really the luck of the draw.

Today's investigation didn't have one nosey neighbour or even two (usually those were, amusingly, on either side of the house they were investigating). No, they had a whole *street* of nosey, meddling neighbours. Seriously, that wasn't an exaggeration. Every single person on this street was a nosey neighbour in the extreme. None of them were simply your average nosey spectator where they would peer our windows or linger slightly too long in the street. Those they could put uo with. No, every single person on this street apparently wanted to have their voices heard in this investigation. They were literally queuing up to tell them. Queuing!

There were three other people hanging about very conspicuously as this first woman was telling them all the reasons why the man across the street was an "odd duck if I ever saw one."

Of course, this meant that they didn't just get information pertaining to their case. They got every bit of neighbourhood gossip as well, and that was even after trying to keep the person on track. It could be worse than Reid on one of his rambles.

"Would you believe what she puts in her recycling? Honestly, this is a *decent* neighbourhood, don't you know?"

Oh, the woman had moved on from the "odd duck" of a man and onto someone else.

Morgan raised his eyebrows and resisted the urge to ask. He did not need to get himself embroiled in neighbourhood gossip. He'd made that mistake one too many times, and it always ended with him getting no information except for too much on what type of underwear certain people wore (don't ask).

"I mean, we've told her that she should at least make sure the lid is properly fastened or put it under other recycling, so we don't have to see it, you know? But no, she can't even do that!"

"Always with the lights going on and off, on and off in the middle of the night. It's enough to drive anyone mad."

"Is this every night?" Emily asked, interested.

Is this when their unsub took action? It would make sense. In the dead of night, no one was going to see him. No one unless you were unfortunate enough to have nosy neighbours. Which he did. Bad for him but very useful for them. Though it did sound like he waant the brightest. Seriously, lights going on and off in the middle of the night? Even neighbours who weren't nosy would find that odd.

"May as well be. Don't they know that everyone can see them?"

"Does anyone else complain?"

"Well, no but -"

"It can't be good to mow your lawn that short. It will dry it out!"

Reid nodded along in agreement and actually spent a few minutes discussing proper lawn care with the man. It was something the man was evidently passionate about because he could meet him fact for fact. And then Reid remembered he was an FBI agent on a case and tried (in vain) to get the conversation back on track.

"I'm telling you, every day he's out, like clockwork. Three forty-seven. I've actually set my clock by him."

"That's an interesting time," Reid said, filing that away.

You never knew what could be useful information. And mowing a lawn was a very good cover for someone who needed to keep watch on something...

"Always the same, back and forth. Back and forth."

They looked at each other before Moragn said, "Ma'am, it's not unusual for someone to use the same path to take their bins out."

"Who said anything about taking them out? This is when he's taken them out, and then he rolls it back and forth, back and forth."

"Every day?"

She gave him a look that implied she thought he wasn't very bright.

"Are you nuts? The bins don't get collected every day."

"Every garbage day, then."

"No."

"No?"

Seriously, she chooses now to be less verbose?

"No, it doesn't happen every week. That's how often our bins get collected. Aren't you the government? Shouldn't you already know this?"

"We aren't that department. We're the FBI," Reid corrected her. "So, how often would you say he does this?"

"I told you, once a week, the bins get collected."

"Not the garbage collection, this back and forth action Mr Parker did?"

"Oh, that. Why didn't you say so? Once a month."

"I always knew he was a rapscallion. A no good punk, a-"

"That's enough, dear," his wife placed a hand on his arm and gave them a sympathetic look. "He gets excited easily even though he knows he shouldn't," she gave him a stern look. "It's not good for his blood pressure."

"My blood pressure isn't going up."

"It won't if you stay calm."

"How can you stay calm when that moronic -"

"Thank you for your information on Mr Travers," JJ said hurriedly before he could come up with more insults. "Is there any other information that you feel we ought to be aware of?"

"Do you know that that Missus Kingsley over there uses honey in her hummingbird feeders! Honey! Doesn't she know that that's not what you use?"

"Dear, your blood pressure -"