"In the future, I would appreciate that you ask if I've concluded my investigation before dragging us off to the next location," I chided as we pulled up outside of the house that apparently belonged to the victim. Special Agent Parker glanced over to me. He watched me for a moment as if carefully considering how to answer. I was already getting the distinct impression from my new partner that he didn't work well with others. Then he opened his door and stepped outside.

"The Crime Scene Unit will call us with any results," he said over his shoulder as he exited as if that explained his hurry to leave the scene. With a sigh, I opened my door and met him on the walk up to Chelsea Lucas's house.

"I have quite a bit of experience in forensic investigation myself. I could have been of use on the scene. I would have liked to remain there and supervise or, at the very least, ask a few more questions-"

"Like what?"

"Like when the girl died. Don't you think her mother might want to know that?"

"All her mother needs to know is that her daughter's death is part of an ongoing investigation. One which we cannot discuss in detail with her at this time."

"You think that's all the victim's mother needs to know? I asked, incredulous. When he did not answer, I continued. "It's your duty to inform the parents that their daughter's death is part of an ongoing investigation. It's even your responsibility not to share facts of the investigation with them. But this is their daughter. Don't you think you can dispense with the bureaucratic terminology long enough to express some sorrow for their loss?"

Without an answer, he reached out and knocked on the frayed screen door. I sighed.

"Don't we need to know that information?" I queried.

"We will," he answered, nonchalant, "when the medical examiner calls."

The door opened then to reveal a small, middle aged woman with orange, from the box, hair dressed in coveralls. She looked from Special Agent Parker to me before hesitantly opening the door.

"Mrs. Lucas?" Special Agent Parker asked, pulling out his badge and showing it to her. "I'm Special Agent Jake Parker, this is Dr. Madeline McKinnon. We are with the FBI. May we come in?"

"The FBI?" she asked, blinking at us in new recognition of our authority. "What does the FBI want with me?"

"It's about your daughter," Special Agent Parker told her. "May we come in?"

She said nothing but moved aside to admit us. I followed Special Agent Parker's lead, stepping into the house and waiting at the entrance for her to show us to a small living room with worn down furniture. She took a seat in an armchair and gestured toward the couch. Special Agent Parker sat. I did not, choosing instead to make my way toward the mantle to view the family photos there.

"Is your husband home, Mrs. Lucas?" Special Agent Parker asked.

"I don't have a husband," she answered, looking from him to me where I stood examining a photo of her and her daughter in the living room of another house, likely a family member's. With a strangely calm voice, she continued. "Has something happened to Chelsea?"

"Mrs. Lucas," Special Agent Parker began, tone far more gentle than I had ever heard it. I looked up in his direction. Perhaps, in my displeasure at having my simple request brushed off as insignificant, I had jumped the gun on advising him to be kind to the grieving mother. "A body was found washed up on the shore of the Potomac River this morning. It's been identified as your daughter, Chelsea Lucas."

Her lips parted and she took a shaky breath as her hand went to cover her mouth. I watched her reaction closely. The shock was there, easily distinguished. She shook her head back and forth as if in disbelief, closing her eyes to allow the information to sink in. After a moment, she released a shaky sigh. Special Agent Parker looked over at me and I could understand the reason for his confusion. No tears.

"You aren't surprised," he said flatly. My gaze went to the woman to watch her reaction but my thoughts stayed on him. Perhaps Special Agent Parker was more observant when it came to human behavior than I had given him credit for.

"No," she confessed with another sigh. "It's dreadful, isn't it? For a mother to feel that way. But I had a feeling when she didn't come back that something terrible had happened to her."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Four days ago."

"Why didn't you file a missing persons report?"

She sighed again, fidgeting a bit in her seat. The question had made her uncomfortable. I took note of that while trying to appear wholly interested in the various photos of Chelsea on the bookshelves by the fireplace. A middle schooler in a soccer uniform, a child with a gap toothed smile, a teenager unamused with having their photo taken. It was like a miniature museum of Chelsea. She had been loved.

"Chelsea was always coming and going," the mother began to explain. "Ever since she started hanging out with those kids, she's just been doing whatever she wants. She was out of control. There was nothing I could do but let her go."

"What kids?" Special Agent Parker asked.

"I don't know their names. They're older. They hang out near that abandoned warehouse in Benning."

"You've been there?"

"Once or twice to drag her home."

"Did you try going there this time?"

She nodded.

"She wasn't there. I drove by and didn't see her," she said. Special Agent Parker nodded along and jotted some notes as he talked. I had made my way into the entryway of the kitchen. It was small, very outdated with particle board cabinets and ancient linoleum. But on the counter was a bag of rat poison pellets.

"Do you have an infestation, Mrs. Lucas?" I asked suddenly, interrupting her telling Special Agent Parker all she knew about the kids her daughter spent her time with. He looked up at me, eyebrows creased, but I kept my attention on her. She blinked back at me, surprised at the sudden shift in conversation.

"The rats, you mean," she answered. "Yes. It's impossible to get rid of them. I work at a meatpacking plant all day. It's not much but it's honest work, puts food on the table. When you come home smelling like meat every day, you tend to get rodents. I've done everything I can think of. It's a constant fight, though."

I nodded, turning back to examine the rest of the living room.

"I tried to give us a good life," she said then, voice cracking for the first time. "I know it isn't the nicest house or the finest neighborhood and maybe if it were this wouldn't have happened. But I'm on my own here and I can only do what I can."

"What happened to Chelsea's father?"

"Who knows?" she scoffed. "Bastard left before she was even born. If you're looking to inform him, I can tell you now he won't care. Never did."

"The last time you saw your daughter," I said without turning back to look at her. I was running a finger along the ribbon of a third place dance medal hung over a photo of Chelsea in her leotard. She'd been at least eleven in the photo. "Did the two of you argue?"

"I imagine," Mrs. Lucas sighed in answer. "We were always arguing. The last time I saw her, she was leaving again. Probably to go see those friends of hers. We argued every time she left the house. I don't imagine that time was any different."

I nodded though I thought it odd that she could not say for certain whether or not she and her daughter had argued on the occasion she'd last seen Chelsea alive. That moment typically stood out in the mind of a parent. It was an anchor, something for them to cling to in an effort to make sense of what was happening around them. If this was Mrs. Lucas' anchor, it was a weak one.

"Yes, well, thank you Mrs. Lucas," Special Agent Parker said, standing from the couch. She followed his lead, getting to her feet as well. "If my partner doesn't have any further questions..."

He looked up at me and I recognized the effort. He was used to working alone. He hadn't considered my feelings when he'd pulled us out of the crime scene to come here and he knew he'd made the wrong impression with his response when I'd pointed it out. He was rectifying that mistake now by showing me my opinion was important.

"No," I answered with a shake of my head. "I think that's all for now. I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Lucas."

"Thank you," she nodded with a little sniffle as she led us back to the door.

We exited and headed back toward the car. Special Agent Parker went ahead to open the door for me as always and waited until we had turned away from the curb to speak.

"I don't care how much she expected it," he began when we were safely away, "that's not the reaction of a mother grieving a dead child."

"Everyone grieves differently," I told him with a shrug. "We don't know what she will do now that we're gone."

"Differently, yes, but that was too calm. She's lost a child, her only child. And all she could do was sigh and say she knew this was coming?"

"She had rat poison in her kitchen," I told him. "A lot of it. CSU couldn't determine cause of death at the scene. A poisoning wouldn't be immediately obvious."

He thought about that for a moment and then his phone rang shrilly, interrupting our discussion.

"Parker," he answered in the quintessential Special Agent way. Someone on the other end answered and he fumbled with the phone to put it on speaker.

"-exterior of the body is perfectly intact," the unfamiliar voice was saying. Special Agent Parker looked over and mouthed the words medical examiner to me. I nodded in understanding as she continued. "The ligature marks on the ankles are the only sign of any foul play at all. No signs of sexual abuse or any other sort of trauma. The cause of death is still undetermined but we will be running a full body x-ray shortly."

"Has the tox screen come back?" I asked then, leaning forward to be heard. There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Who is that?"

"Dr. Madeline McKinnon," Special Agent Parker answered for me. "My new partner."

"Ah, nice to verbally meet you, Dr. McKinnon. I'm Dr. Portia Warner. And no, the tox screen hasn't come back yet."

"When it does, could you check for rat poison specifically?"

"I will."

"Thank you, Portia," Special Agent Parker said and then hung up the phone. I glanced over to him, eyebrows raised in silent surprise. He looked back at me. "What?"

"Portia?" I asked, It was the first time I'd heard him address anyone associated with the case in an informal manner.

"We should talk to those kids," he told me, ignoring my analysis as he spun the wheel to turn around, "see what they know."