Linnea

She hasn't solved a case in three years. Hasn't laughed in longer. The photographs on her desk are starting to look like they're from the same person — same dead eyes, same final moment — because she's been looking at them so long she can't remember which victim is which anymore. She tells herself she's close. She's always close. But somewhere between the third year and now, she stopped believing in closure and started believing in the cases. They believe in her.