CO: "Really? Your name's on the list. Guess Becker volunteered you."
He stares at the note, wondering what kind of torture this -- or if he just did this, neutrally -- but puts it down for a call: A screaming woman, summoning them home.
Francis's son has shot a suitor of his mother's, is what's going on tonight. Becker wasn't at the jail -- was unreachable -- so they called Henderson. When Becker shows up he seems very confused. It doesn't seem that confusing, from the outside.
Sure, why not. We already killed Bullet -- and God -- so there's nowhere else to go. A hairpiece interrupts Stephen's vigil, over the covered body, smacking gum about her personal effects, et cetera, et cetera. Can't hear him.
Her name was Rachel Olmstead, once. (Derived from the Old French ermite + Old English stede: The place of the hermit. Home of the homeless. The North Star.)
"Thought Mills like killing girls, not boys," he jokes, and Stephen's body quickly carries him out of striking distance.
"Bad timing, I guess. Me and her both," the man says, doubling down. "She called the station a million times, last night. Looking for you."
Under the anger there's recognition: She knew something, something was happening. She wasn't merely reaching out. She wanted something. She spoke to Reddick, he says, and Stephen disappears.
Stephen drops Reddick the second he opens the door. The wife and daughter scream, pulling at Holder's clothes; Reddick is terrified and bloody when Holder's gone. His body wanted something, and got it; but he hasn't harmed the case.
Sarah stands before a shrine: Twenty girls; twenty bags of evidence, remainders of whole lives. Holding them all in her eyes. Skinner arrives -- they've matched the jewelry, mostly -- and she speaks up. One right act in a sea of mistakes.
"I was wrong. There's no connection between Ray Seward and Mills."
He's sorry for her, for them. But no more girls will die. She won't be attending the execution. He invites her out with the guys, for drinks, and she smiles. Every part of her wants to fall into his arms; he congratulates her for her service and vacates. Wisely.
"For whatever it's worth, I think you should stay on. This is where you belong, hireback."
And if she can convince him, maybe she can convince herself.
Bullet's picture stands alongside theirs, now. Sarah waits for something to occur to her. Something does.