The neon haze of streetlights glimmered on the wet pavement as Alex revved up his police cruiser, the vehicle's interior awash in bluish light from the dashboard. "Hop in, boys, we're heading back to the station," he announced, rolling down his window.
Archer side-eyed Alex before heading toward his own luxury car. Alex threw Archer a dirty look.
Reid slapped Alex on the back, chuckling. "That's Archer for ya, man of few cars and fewer words." Reid then slid into the passenger seat of Archer's vehicle, dropping his lanky frame onto the black leather.
"You want to stop for some food first?" Archer asked, turning the ignition key.
Reid raised an eyebrow, incredulity etched across his face. "Man, we just left a crime scene with a bodyless lady. You got the stomach for a Big Mac after that?"
Archer shrugged. "You should eat."
"Nah," Reid waved it off, folding his arms behind his head. "I'm not exactly craving a buffet right now. Let's just get to the station." Archer did not comment but he gave Reid a disapproving look.
As they pulled into the precinct, Archer expertly maneuvered into a parking spot right up front—as if the universe had reserved it just for him. They made their way through the maze of hallways to Alex's office without anyone stopping them — much to their surprise.
Alex's office was as disorderly as ever, a strategic mess that Alex insisted gave him 'creative inspiration.'
Alex was hunched over his desk, sipping some aromatic tea, and flipping through a file thick enough to be a doorstop. He didn't even look up as they entered; instead, he gestured towards two laminated cards laid neatly on his cluttered desk.
"Finally got these approved for you two," he said, "Courtesy of your help with the Michelle Lim case."
"No wonder no one screamed bloody murder when we entered…" Reid picked up the card, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Hold on, why's Archer getting one too? I've been solving your impossible cases for the past three years!"
Alex looked up from his papers, an air of nonchalance enveloping him. "Archer asked for it. Just now."
Reid turned to Archer, shock spreading across his face. "When the hell did you ask for this?"
"While you were engaging in your conversation with Ethan," Archer replied tersely.
The cards, emblazoned with 'Freelance Investigator,' would grant them all-access under Alex's team. Reid smirked as he pocketed his. This was like an all-you-can-eat buffet, but for crime scenes and investigations.
"So," Reid said, making himself comfortable in a chair that had seen better days, "What's the conclusion, Sherlock?"
Alex finally put down his tea and eyed both of them, leaning back in his leather swivel chair. "The conclusion is, we have a nasty case on our hands and a mountain of questions. We're gonna need all the brains and the brawn we can get."
Reid's eyes twinkled, not at the promise of danger, but at the thrill of untangling a complex psychological web. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, "Well, you've got the best mind-game player in the city and a human lie detector on your team now."
Alex grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "First, we go through all the evidence Ethan's collected. Then, we see if your profiling genius can make sense of this madness."
Archer's silence sliced through the tension in the room. Reid looked at him; the man was as unreadable as ever, a statue of stoicism. But Reid knew his friend well enough to catch that glint in his eye—an echo of his own hunger for the chase.
Alex handed over a stack of transcripts to Reid and Archer, his eyes tinged with an unmistakable air of urgency.
"These are everything Diane, Chester, and Hobbs had to say," he said.
Reid was already flipping through the papers, but he paused, squinting up at Alex. "You think we should loop in the Non-Human Crimes Unit on this?"
Alex's face contorted into a look that could curdle milk. "If I could avoid it, I would. That team is a dumpster fire. Got a bunch of non-humans on staff, but they solve problems like a bull in a china shop. They find out a non-human's involved, and they'll 'investigate' every last fork and napkin in that restaurant."
Archer's jaw tightened, and for the first time that night, he actually scowled. "That's abhorrent."
"I know," Alex sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Reid turned his attention back to the documents, skimming over the lines of text with a rapidity that belied his keen focus. He was interrupted only when Archer's firm tap on the shoulder brought him back to the room.
"What's eating you?" Archer inquired through his eyes more than his words.
Reid propped his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. "Isn't it just a bit... odd?"
Alex leaned forward, his own curiosity piqued. "What's odd?"
Reid set down the transcripts, locking eyes with Alex. "Well, Diane. When she saw the head on that plate, her first words weren't 'Vanessa?' but 'What is this?' She was more outraged about being served a human head than the fact that it was Vanessa's head she was being served."
Alex pondered this, then slowly spoke. "Shock. Maybe it didn't register immediately?"
Reid shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he delved into his psychological expertise. "Nah. See, in moments of extreme stress or surprise, the brain tends to prioritize familiar shapes, faces—things that can provide context to the situation. It's how we make sense of chaos. If Vanessa and Diane were as close as sisters, her brain would have, should have, identified Vanessa almost instantly, even in such a grisly context."
Alex scratched his head, "what?"
Archer nodded slowly, "that meant that even if Diane's first sentence wasn't Vanessa's name, it would have been along the lines of 'why is my close friend's head not on her neck' instead of 'what is my close friend's head doing on the table'?"
Reid nodded, "the subtle difference here is that Diane probably already knew 'why she was killed' and was confused as to 'why is she killed now'."
Alex sat back in his chair, absorbing Reid's analysis. He drummed his fingers on the table as he mulled it over. "That means we might be dealing with something more complicated than we initially thought."
Archer's silence again settled over the room, but this time it felt charged, like the air before a storm. Reid caught a fleeting look from him, a subtle acknowledgment that they were now wading into darker, deeper waters.
"We probably need to talk to Diane again to ask for the reason," Reid mused, a tone of dark fascination lacing his words.
"Hmm," Archer added, breaking his habitual silence.
Alex eyed them both, suddenly grateful for their unique skills, as ill-matched as they might appear on the surface.
"Alright," he finally said, then he turned to young officer who was behind the desk. "Get Diane in for questioning."
The door to the makeshift forensic lab creaked open, and Ethan North emerged, his white coat grimy around the edges. The overhead fluorescent lighting rendered his face gaunt, emphasizing the bags under his eyes.
Archer caught the sight and grimaced. Reid, quick to pick up on his reaction, turned to Alex. "Ah, so this is the high-tech forensic lab we've heard so much about. Part of the 'lean budget initiative,' I presume?"
Alex scowled, "You say it like I had a choice. Budget cuts are a bitch."
Archer looked between them and opted for his signature response: nothing. His expression was a masterpiece of indifference.
Ethan, for his part, was unfazed by the tense atmosphere. "Gentlemen, can we focus? We've got a decapitated victim here."
"Yeah, let's hear it," Reid nudged, already flipping open his imaginary notepad.
"Alright. Vanessa was killed a few hours before the lunch."
"Whoa, hold up. That means Diane's story of meeting Vanessa right before lunch is a pot of hogwash," Reid interjected.
"Seems like it," Ethan agreed, "and she was poisoned—rat poison to be exact. I'll need the rest of the body for a more comprehensive analysis. Also, there are no signs of struggle; the head and neck were severed cleanly."
Reid cocked an eyebrow, "Cleanly, you say? What kind of knife are we talking? A cleaver?"
Ethan shook his head. "A cleaver would leave noticeable chop marks and likely crush the cervical vertebrae rather than slice through them. You wouldn't get a cut this clean."
Archer, whose eyes had been shifting between Reid and Ethan, finally spoke. "Sushi knife."
Ethan blinked, considering the idea. "That's... actually probable. The sharpness and thinness of a sushi knife could potentially produce a cut like this."
"More wine and dine, less hack and slash, huh?" Reid mused.
Ethan sighed. "Something like that, yes. Also, something worth noting: the blood in the neck was already coagulating when the head was removed, which suggests—"
"That the killer changed their method midway?" Reid interjected, his eyes wide in realization. "Something happened and plans changed so he decided to go full-on Marie Antoinette?"
Ethan looked at Reid, intrigued and slightly annoyed by his flair for melodrama. "Essentially, yes. That would explain why the blood had begun to coagulate and why the knife used might be a household item."
Archer, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, let his eyes settle on Ethan. "Any idea why the change in method?"
Ethan paused, a shadow of frustration passing over his face. "Without the rest of the body, it's mostly speculation. But the change does suggest a level of impulsivity. Or desperation."
Reid's eyes twinkled, almost relishing the unraveling complexity of their case. "Ah, the plot thickens. From poison to decapitation, that's like going from Agatha Christie to Quentin Tarantino in a heartbeat."
Alex rubbed his temples. "You find humor in the weirdest places, Reid."
"Hey, we've got a head without a body and a killer with a change of heart. If you don't find the irony in that, you're in the wrong business."
"Now the question is where the body is…"
Reid clicked his tongue and turned to Alex, "na-uh."
Archer thought for a moment before speaking, "who did Diane spoke to before lunch?"
Reid snapped his fingers, "bingo!"
"Huh?' Alex cocked his head, "but you said that Diane was lying."
"Indeed," Reid stroked his chin, "but she definitely met someone. Not Vanessa, though."
"But wouldn't that suggest she met the killer?" Alex questioned, "that would explain why the killer decided to behead Vanessa?"
"A good guess," Reid said, "but we wouldn't know until we met Diane."
"Right," Alex sighed before taking one look at the communicator, "perhaps we should think about motive web."
Reid shrugged as he took his seat back at Alex's desk, "I guess we wait."