[ forced decompression ]
Combing the parking garage for any sign of the third victim's body proves fruitless. The killer - whoever he is - isn't sticking to his normal M.O. of leaving the body where he's killed them, either. Forensics bags the lone pump, the clumps of blonde hair, swabs the places where her blood had spilled, but Beckett isn't hopeful yet. Changing his tactic means he's becoming more unpredictable, getting harder to pin down, but the fact that she's being sent home after feeling like she and her team can actually be a help is weighing heavy on her shoulders. Her protests fall on Agent Shaw's ignoring ears, and she leaves feeling more helpless than before - a feeling she doesn't appreciate having at the moment. It's not until she's climbed into her car and left that she realizes Castle's still there, but something tells her he doesn't mind being left with another brilliant mind to build theory with.
The unit, a small trio of suits wearing earpieces, are waiting in various places throughout her apartment building by the time Beckett gets there, a bag of takeout Chinese in one hand. The sight of them only re-emphasizes her frustration over the situation, and her other hand tightens around her keys when she lets herself into her apartment. She makes a point of checking all the windows, combing rooms, and then pokes her head out into the hallway and tells the guys to head on home. There's no point in keeping them around when everything's perfectly secured and she's got a gun in her bedside drawer - and one in the living room, too.
Beckett changes into a loose-fitting shirt and a pair of jeans and cracks open the Chinese, mixing rice and veggies together with her disposable chopsticks. Fifteen minutes in and the casefile is spread out on the couch in front of her, and Beckett settles in Indian-style, combing over the information: crime scene photos, eyewitness accounts, victims' backgrounds - searching for anything she might be missing, anything Agent Shaw and her team (and her "smart board") haven't pinned down yet.
The unit, a small trio of suits wearing earpieces, are waiting in various places throughout her apartment building by the time Beckett gets there, a bag of takeout Chinese in one hand. The sight of them only re-emphasizes her frustration over the situation, and her other hand tightens around her keys when she lets herself into her apartment. She makes a point of checking all the windows, combing rooms, and then pokes her head out into the hallway and tells the guys to head on home. There's no point in keeping them around when everything's perfectly secured and she's got a gun in her bedside drawer - and one in the living room, too.
Beckett changes into a loose-fitting shirt and a pair of jeans and cracks open the Chinese, mixing rice and veggies together with her disposable chopsticks. Fifteen minutes in and the casefile is spread out on the couch in front of her, and Beckett settles in Indian-style, combing over the information: crime scene photos, eyewitness accounts, victims' backgrounds - searching for anything she might be missing, anything Agent Shaw and her team (and her "smart board") haven't pinned down yet.