So she takes the phone out to the stable and asks Cesar if he's seen it before. "A woman called for him," she says. He pleads ignorance, but when she reminds him that he works for her now -- and also shows him a small key she found in her dead husband's wallet -- he caves and says, "It's better that I show you." Well, that sounds totally above-board.
So he drives her in his truck (big, new, clean, so either this ranch is very prosperous or there's a lot of product-placement money going into this show) to a part of the ranch she's never been to before, where he shows her inside a tiny, empty cottage. He leads her all the way to the creepy narrow steps leading to the cellar and points her to what looks like a stable door at the end of the room. She is increasingly uncomfortable with all this, but he refuses to tell her what's inside, just watching quietly as she opens the padlock and the latch, and that's it for Charlotte and Cesar for this week. If there's a Dharma bunker behind that door, I'm out.
The Crossmobile screeches to a halt along a lonely stretch of highway where a deputy is thoughtfully contemplating the parked car he apparently found there. When Cross gets out of her truck to examine the scene, the deputy first warns her not to look, then sprays a little jurisdictional urine on the perimeter by pointing out the county found the car. Cross isn't having any of this, gloving up and insisting the deputy step aside. Now she has a clear view of what are presumably the judge's severed legs, sticking out of the back seat of the car, with several lengths of catheter dangling from them into a dark, sticky puddle in the dirt. "Drained the blood. It was neat," Cross says, which makes me curious to know what her definition of "messy" would entail. Ruiz wonders aloud if this means they're looking for a doctor. The deputy points Cross to the purse in the driver's seat, proudly claiming that he checked and everything seems to be there. Except there's no ID, so that's a glaring miss on his part. Ruiz speculates that IDs might be the killer's trophy. Well, those would certainly be easier to save in an album than, say, femurs. Cross asks Ruiz if Christina Fuentes still had hers. "Don't remember," he admits a little shamefacedly.
So Cross decides they need to go to Juarez and ask her parents. Ruiz says he isn't about to take a blonde woman down there. Cross lets it go for now as she continues scoping out the car. "Would you like to write up the scene?" she suddenly offers, as though she's doing him a favor. "Go ahead," he demurs, and she busts out her notebook, dashing off notes as she stares lovingly into the puddle of blood. We get a puddle's-eye view of her face for a moment, until we pan up and behind her to look at the giant metal power line pylons buzzing overhead. Yes, wires down. We get it.