Untouchable

No Way Out (S2E13)

The small diner was a quaint area to conduct her first interview with a serial killer. She would have appreciated different circumstances, like no bystanders or some sort of upper hand over him, but her choices were limited at the time. There was a calm murmur around the single-room restaurant. As they entered a waitress approached them, but Lydia paid her no attention.

You walk in first. Look like you're in charge. Don't look to me for any help. You know what you're doing. If he doesn't respect you, he won't tell us where she is. Make him respect you.

A man sat alone in a booth, facing away from the door. Gideon had told her all about this man. He doesn't feel fear. He doesn't know how. When you speak to him, neither will you.

A man in his late 50s. Average height. Grey hair.

She stood next to the table and waited for him to acknowledge her. When he didn't turn away from the window, she said, "Is this seat taken?"

He was completely smug to see her standing there beside him. It was sickening. But she acted as though she reveled in his attention.

"Please," he replied, gesturing to the cushioned seat across from him. "You should try Fat Sam's milkshakes."

She shook her head, leaning back comfortably in the booth. "Not in the mood. I'm cold and tired."

"You're also not from around here."

She shrugged in acquiescence. "Where are you from?"

Gideon silently stood beside the table, watching the man across from her intently. He gave away nothing as they spoke, but his serene composure was evidence enough. They knew he had done it. That's not why they were there.

Morgan stayed by the door, glancing outside at the cop cars surrounding the building.

The waitress approached, dropping a milkshake with the extra in a separate cup on the table in front of them.

"You really should try the shakes," he tried again, pulling the pink drink towards him.

"Is that an offer to have some of yours?"

He shook his head, sternly. "What's your name?" When she didn't respond he tried again. "Come on. Names are a hobby of mine."

"Lydia.".

"I've never met a Lydia before," he admitted. Then, he nodded towards Gideon. "What's his name?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

Gideon didn't wait for him to decide, putting his hands down on the edge of the table. "My name is Jason Gideon."

"Jason. From Greek Mythology. To heal." he said, sounding like he was reciting from a textbook. "Gideon. A hero from the old testament who led the Israelites against the Midianites. Your parents had great ambitions for you." He looked back at Lydia. "I'm Frank. Germanic. Third century. Deprived from the name of a type of spear. I wonder what aspirations my parents had for me."

"Why don't we cut the crap, Frank?" Morgan interrupted, walking over to their table. "Where is she?"

He didn't take his eyes off Lydia. "Now, that's direct."

"You'll have to excuse Morgan, he doesn't have our patience," she said, sizing him up for a moment to show him she wasn't intimidated. "If you'd prefer that I'd be more forward, though, I can work that out. You were right, I'm not from around here. I work for the FBI."

The whole room went silent, many turning to stare at the group. She pulled out her badge, sliding it across the table to Frank.

He didn't touch it, just stared for several moments. "You're not an agent," he remarked.