WHO: Charlie and Don Eppes. WHERE: The basement lab. WHEN: After this. RATING: TBD. STATUS: Started.
Math had never failed Charlie when it came to solving cases. Even in that first case he'd worked for the FBI, he'd essentially been right from the beginning. There had just been the unknown variable of the man changing residence. But, for some reason, this case was different. There was no rhyme or reason, no pattern save that all the crimes had the same card left behind. The crimes varied, the locations and victims varied, only the cards were the same. His first instinct had been one or more copycats, but the media hadn't known about the cards so that didn't make sense either.
The most frustrating part was the break in activity. Seven months. As if the unsub had vanished off the face of the earth. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, fighting with his own body's need to sleep. His chalk was moving quickly over the board as he tried to come up with anything that would put this into perspective. His frustration with Don wasn't helping things. He hated it when his brother treated him like a child. He was thirty years old, and if he wanted to continue working, rather than sleeping, that was his decision. It had only gotten worse since they'd started this...whatever this was. He shook his head. He really didn't need to start thinking about that.
The point was he could rest later. Right now he needed to figure this out. He needed it in some deep, unexplainable way, like he needed to solve P vs NP. He couldn't quite figure it out himself, but something about this case bothered him more than any of the others. Maybe it was just that he didn't like the idea of numbers failing him, or maybe it was that he was terrified at the thought of someone so truly random and unquantifiable. A person like that...they could do anything. So let Don complain all he wanted. He'd sleep later.