Banks had summoned all his staff from the three shifts at the precinct, uniforms and detectives, to listen to Brock's and Russell's profile.

While they all gathered at the squad room, Russell and Aldana joined Banks and Taylor by the detective's desk. Brock was not in the mood for the poster boy's nice smile and smart comments, so he waited alone, taking a look around.

The place hadn't changed much since he was there almost twenty years ago, back in 1998. He paused before the wall displaying the framed pictures of the officers fallen in the line of duty. There was a small white candle beneath one of them, and Brock expected the name carved on the small plaque: Andrew Lloyd.

There was a glass cabinet near-by, full of pictures and plaques. He forced himself not to look away from some of them, portraying a very young Gillian. Almost as young as he remembered her from that time. Her smile and her attitude on those photographs already showed the way she was now.

One of the pictures showed her and a younger, way slimmer Banks holding a plaque for the whole staff, surrounded by a bunch of detectives. In another, Cook held the plaque, flanked by them. There was an even older picture of a group of very young officers in uniforms, taken outside the precinct. And among them, Brock recognized Gillian and Russell.

After delivering the profile, they lingered answering questions. By the time they were done, it was past nine. Brock didn't waste time in goodbyes, he just nodded at them and left.

"Hurried to go home?" asked Banks, scowling.

"Brock?" Russell shook his head. "Bet he's going straight back to the office. Don't think he's gonna take a break until he figures this out."

It was raining when Brock walked out. One of those fall storms the wind would blow ashore at nightfall, stealing away any warmth left behind by daylight. While his car warmed up, Brock saw Taylor exited the precinct with a pile of files under his arm. He rolled his eyes. Surely the poster boy was taking some work to bed tonight, to consult with his pretty lover.

Back to the field office, Brock hesitated about what floor to go. He liked to work at his own office, but all the material on the case was at the punks' cave. So he went to the fifth floor. To pick everything up and take it to the fourth floor.

When he stepped out of the elevator, he was surprised at finding Taylor a few yards ahead, walking across the deserted office with his files. Looked like Taylor knew a short way to get there—at least shorter than the one Brock's GPS knew.

Then he noticed the desk lamp on at the small office by Cooper's, and had a glimpse of the flannel and the dark bun behind what used to be his desk.

Of course Gillian was still there, waiting for the last report of the day from her friends spies. And she'd had her own lover come to the field office to get the update. Brock headed straight to the team's office as his anger built up yet once more. Fueled by Taylor's charming voice saying, "Hey, babe. These are the last files you wanted."

Facing the boards, full of information on the case, was like a gust of fresh air for Brock, startling him back from his useless inner rant. It didn't make sense, taking everything to his office. The information was here. So here was where he needed to be. He dropped his suitcase on the desk he'd been using and approached the boards. He didn't close the door. He didn't need any physical isolation to focus and ignore distractions.

He saw a small clean board in a corner, so he pulled it close to the others, turned the coffee machine on and started studying the evidence seriously for the very first time. The clock ticktocked away while he worked, solo like back in the old days, when he'd just joined the BAU and they were still too few profilers to assign a whole group of them to a single case.

And it felt good, diving into the case. This was him. His most true self.

He allowed the job wash his head clean of all the intrusions and obstacles that'd been piling up on him through the day. And also the painful, unwilling and unwanted memories slithering from the darkest corners of his mind.

Finally a rough outline started to take shape before his eyes. Now the pieces of the puzzle made more sense.

He produced his phone and dialed Russell, but his call skipped straight to voice mail. He scowled. How could Russell turn his phone off at this situation? "Coleman, I need a VICAP search. Text me Lawrence's phone. It's urgent."

He disconnected, annoyed. A moment later he heard a soft knock on the door behind him.

"Sir, if you'd please allow me, I can run the search for you."