"Well, that's motive if I've ever seen it," Parker remarked.

We had been watching a video of our victim giving a man who was apparently the son of a prominent federal judge a lap dance for the last ten minutes on one of the large screens in the lab.

"You think she blackmailed him?" I asked, looking sideways at my partner. He shrugged.

"Witnesses heard her arguing with a man on the phone, we found a diamond bracelet on her body whose value far exceeds her income bracket, then we find this video on her laptop? Seems like a logical explanation."

It did. But something had me shaking my head.

"She doesn't seem like the type," I replied.

"Yeah, well, it's the porn stars who always surprise you," Parker quipped and Emerson chuckled.

"No. I mean, she had a modest apartment," I continued my explanation, recalling details from the images of our victim's home which I reviewed in the case file previously. "Cross-stitched pillows and threadbare sheets. People who blackmail do so because they're out for money. Because of greed. That bracelet was the only real piece of jewelry she owned. If she was blackmailing him, where did the money go?"

"Maybe he refused to pay," Parker answered with a shrug. "Maybe that's what they were arguing about."

"This video is time stamped last year."

"Maybe she didn't try to use it against him until now."

"Why? Why keep it and wait?"

"It's an election year," Emerson offered, looking between us with interest as if fascinated to observe our process. "Maybe hitting him now, when the stakes are high, promises a better payout."

"Or it got her killed," Parker added.

"Only one way to know," I replied, grabbing my things. "I'm assuming this guy still lives with daddy?"

Parker curled his lip in obvious disgust as I tucked my belongings against my side and headed for the door. He followed a moment later, nodding his head to Emerson in goodbye. It took him a moment to catch up to me. When he did, it was because he had jogged ahead to open the door for me. As I passed through, my arm grazing his, he lowered his voice and spoke firmly, "don't say daddy."

A few minutes later, Parker and I were in the SUV on the way to the judge's house.

"You know, Doc, these sorts of visits can always be tricky," Parker spoke a few minutes into a relatively quiet car ride which I was using to peruse the case file again. I looked up to find him watching me. "When the suspect is someone like this."

"Rich and powerful, you mean?" I asked.

"Yeah. Like that. It can be... tense. There's a certain way to go about—"

"Are you suggesting that I might not be aware of the difference in attitude between a highly respected judge and a common criminal? That I might not adjust my behavior accordingly?"

"I'm suggesting that you have a penchant for justice which, while admirable, can come across as accusatory in certain situations."

I hesitated, considering his appraisal. Then I nodded.

"I'll take that under advisement," I answered, professionally. "Thank you."

He nodded and looked away.

"Did you just say that you admired me?" I asked, a hint of a grin on my lips.

"Oh, look at that. We're here."

I snorted as Parker pulled the SUV into the driveway of one of the most opulent brownstones I'd seen in the city. I leaned down to stare out the windshield at the beautiful home while Parker hopped out and walked around the car to open my door for me. Pulling myself out of my reverie, I climbed out and thanked him.

"You always do that," I said.

"Do what?" He asked, walking beside me as we headed for the front door.

"Open my door for me. Did you do that for Frank?"

"Frank wasn't a woman," he said simply.

"How very chivalrous. Or sexist. I can never tell anymore."

"Let's say chivalrous. You may have the psychology degree, Doc. But I've got a few surprises up my sleeve."

I chuckled as he reached out and knocked on the door. A moment later, a maid appeared in the threshold, staring at us in confusion. Parker flashed his badge and asked to see the judge's son, a young man named Keegan.

"I'm Keegan," the boy said, stepping forward from beyond the foyer. I glanced over to him and recognized him at once as the man from the video. The maid bustled away as Parker and I stepped inside, taking the lack of door slammed in our face as invitation.

"I'm Special Agent Jake Parker. This is my partner, Dr. Madeline McKinnon. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"About what?" He asked. His eyes darted between us and I didn't have to have a psychology degree to feel the nervous energy coming off of him in waves.

"Cecily Adams," Parker replied simply and the boy's eyes grew wide for a second before he cleared his throat and glanced away.

"I don't know who that is."

Parker frowned, cocking his head.

"What's the meaning of this?" Someone bellowed and an older man, whom I can only assume was the prestigious judge I'd heard so much about, came storming into the room. "The police? In my house? And why are you talking to them, Keegan? You know you're to ask for a lawyer the moment they speak to you."

"It doesn't matter, dad. They've got the wrong person. I don't even know who they're talking about."

Parker sighed.

"Don't make me do this, Keegan," Parker said but Keegan did not respond. "In front of your dad? Alright."

Parker pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped it. Then he held it up to show the video we had all been watching in the lab this morning. Keegan immediately turned bright red and fidgety while his father gaped at the image on my partner's phone.

"How could you let this happen?" The judge exploded a moment later. "And on video? How could you be so foolish? So irresponsible? Do you know what my opposition could do with footage like that?"

"I swear, dad, I didn't know anyone was taking a video. I didn't know—"

"You should have never been there in the first place. Who is that girl?"

Keegan looked from his father, to the phone screen, to us, a pleading look in his eyes. Parker made no move to assist him. He sighed.

"Cecily," he answered, his voice much smaller than it had been before. "Her name is Cecily."

His father seemed to remember himself then. He turned slowly to us, blinking. He opened his mouth and I was afraid he was about to request a lawyer and end our questioning right here. So I blurted, "has anyone been blackmailing you?"

The judge gaped at me. Keegan's brow creased in confusion but he shook his head slowly.

"If we found the video, it can be assumed that someone else will. Or perhaps already has. We wanted to ensure that no one was using it against you."

Parker did not so much as look at me but I saw an almost imperceptible nod. He understood what I was doing, then. Keep them talking by making them think we were on their side, only here to ensure that a highly prestigious judge was not the target of an extortion operation.

"No," the judge replied. "This is the first time I'm even hearing that such a video exists."

He cast another disappointed glance his son's way.

"Cecily wouldn't do that," Keegan added, his voice still quiet. "She wouldn't blackmail me."

"What makes you think that?" Parker asked.

"Because she's my girlfriend."

I glanced at Parker. She is my girlfriend. Not was. He didn't know.

"That happened at friend's party," Keegan continued, waving his hand in the general direction of Parker's phone and the video. "She got a little too drunk. Someone took a video. It was no big deal."

"Are you aware of what your girlfriend did for a living?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied with a nod. "But I love her. I don't care about all that. I just want to be with her. I just—"

"What does she do for a living?" The judge asked, looking from his son to my partner and I. But I ignored him, approaching Keegan and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Keegan," I spoke as gently as I could, "she's dead."

His eyes snapped to mine, widened and afraid.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, that's impossible. We just went out last week. Celebrated our anniversary. I got her a bracelet. She got me this watch. She made a joke about how at least we know our wrists love each other. No, it can't— it isn't possible. It just—"

He broke down further and further the more he spoke. By the end of it, he was on his knees, head in his hands. I looked over my shoulder at Parker who was frowning at the scene and, undoubtedly, thinking the same thing that I was. This was not our guy.

"Where were you the night of October 22nd?" Parker asked then.

The judge didn't butt in as expected. He seemed to be too distracted by the sight of his son weeping away his broken heart on the floor of their opulent foyer.

"I— what?" Keegan stuttered, confused.

"Hold on just a minute," the judge said, returning to the moment. "You don't think my son had something to do with—"

"If he has an alibi, we can leave it at that," Parker interrupted. "We'll clear him and get out of your hair."

"The audacity of coming into my home and accusing my son—"

"We have to ask, Sir."

"That's enough. I'm calling Wes. Do you know who you're accusing? Do you have any idea whose home you're standing in right now? I could have you—"

"I was in Costa Rica," Keegan interrupted through sniffles, his eyes still cast downward, onto the shining tile. "With some buddies. I'll give you their names. Hell, you can have my plane tickets if you want. I wasn't here."

"Thank you, Keegan," Parker said, jotting the information down. "Your Honor."

He turned to leave but I knelt down next to the young man. He looked slowly up at me, eyes red and swollen, lip quivering.

"Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Alfred Lord Tennyson," I told him, patting him on the back. "We will find who did this, Keegan. You go and find peace."

He nodded as I stood, joining Parker, who was staring at me as if I had two heads, in the doorway.

It took no time at all for the honorable judge to kick us out of his house, still seething at the thought that anyone could think his spawn guilty of anything. We walked back to the SUV and climbed inside.

"You might have just comforted a murderer," Parker mentioned as he buckled his seatbelt and put the car in drive.

"He had an alibi," I replied.

"An unverified alibi."

"He didn't do it. And even if he did, murderers are people too."

He frowned at that and was silent for a moment as he drove away.

"Don't let them hear you say that at the bureau," he said finally.

A moment later, my phone rang.

"Doctor McKinnon," a familiar voice spoke from the other end and I pressed the button to put Emerson on speaker. "I tried to call Parker but he denied my call."

"Sorry about that," Parker replied. "I was showing a certain judge's son a fun video of a lap dance. What's up?"

"Trajectory results from the fall are back. She fell from the 23rd floor, south side. Erica estimates either room 2314 or 2316."

Parker did a sudden u-turn that sent my laptop sliding onto the floorboards beneath me. I cursed, leaning down to grab them with one hand while holding me skirt down so it wouldn't slide up with the other.

"Sorry doc," Parker grumbled.

"Everything okay there?" Emerson asked, though he sounded more amused than concerned.

"Fine. We're fine," I spat. "And I'm assuming we're on our way to the hotel now."

Parker snapped and pointed to me as if to say bingo. I rolled my eyes and said goodbye to Emerson before reorganizing everything I'd lost in the turn.

Once we arrived at the hotel, we parked the SUV right outside and headed into the lobby. The man behind the front desk gave us a welcoming smile as we approached, even after Parker flashed his badge and let him know we weren't customers.

"Rooms 2314 and 2316, are they empty right now?" Parker asked without returning the clerk's chipper greeting.

"And hello to you as well," I said kindly and the clerk grinned at me before typing the room numbers into the computer in front of him.

"Ah, yes. Both of those rooms are empty as of right now."

"Would you mind if we took a look?" Parker asked.

"As long as there are no guests staying there, you are free to look as long as you like," he replied.

"Thanks. By the way, can you tell me the names of the last guests who were put in those rooms?"

"It says here that they were booked by an entertainment company. Cumraderie. Well, that's not very clever."

"Parker, that's Skip's company," I said.

Parker frowned and thanked the clerk before taking the keys and leading me off to the elevator with one hand on my lower back.

"Seems like Director Skip knew more than he let on," he told me under his breath as the elevator doors closed and we started to rise up toward the upper levels.

We reached the 23rd floor a few moments later and split up to search both rooms. I took 2314 and Parker took 2316. It was clear the moment I entered that the maid had already been to the room to clean. I was losing hope of finding anything useful at all in this hotel room when Parker shouted my name from the other one.

"What is it?" I asked, emerging into room 2316 to feel the breeze from the open balcony doors lifting my hair up off of my shoulders. Parker was standing just beyond them, on the balcony itself, frowning as he pointed to the railing.

As I approached, I couldn't help but frown myself. Someone had clawed the balcony railing as if to save themself from falling. Someone had failed.