Caffrey is missing.
It makes for interesting half-finished conversations at the Bureau. People are sympathetic, or falsely jocular; he has no time for either.
El is sympathetic too, but he tolerates it from her.
He finds white collar criminals by numbers. It's like painting by numbers without the painting. There should always be painting.
He watches world news; an American reporter in France details the lack of evidence in a recent art heist.
He fantasises about joining Interpol briefly, before crawling into bed.
Downstairs, a postcard from Dijon perches on his mantelpiece: he misses you too scrawled on the back.