The London Murders: Rosie waits

Rosie Tracer wiped at the steam on the window and gazed out into the night. There was something about this night...something that was reminding her of him. But she never let herself remember. It had been too long ago, and since that terrible night had taken his Faith from him, she knew it would take a miracle for him to see what was necessary for them to be together.
Her breath soon fogged the glass again, taking away the view of the London city lights, and with them the memories best forgotten.
She returned to sipping her lukewarm coffee. Having come from Scotland, she was more partial to coffee than she was the weak tea the English always served. At least that was what she told herself. Subconciously, it was because the drink reminded her of him.

"It's going to be another long night, isn't it?" Rosie turned to look at the two detectives sitting at the conference table in her office at Scotland Yard. "Yes, Kevson," she answered without emotion. "It will be long."
The two detectives--Kevson and Niles--glanced at each other, then turned back to the papers spread on the table and continued rifling through them--searching for clues amid thoroughly exhausted reports. But Rosie turned back to the window with a roll of her eyes. Kevson's sense of humour popped up at the strangest times. She heard him take a breath, and she knew the next thing to come out of his mouth would be directed to her.
"Is there a fresh pot of tea down the hall?"
She considered giving her usual short answer of "Quit using my psychic abilities for your own benefit", but her nerves were on edge tonight, and she was tired of his persistent questions. "Yes," she told him. Without another word, Kevson stood and walked out the door, his teacup in hand.

After the door shut behind him, Niles' quiet voice said, "That wasn't very nice." Rosie turned to look at him, but couldn't see his eyes through the hair which was covering them. "Niles," she said pointedly. He pushed the hair from his face. "You know there's no tea down the hall," he said.
Rosie sighed. "No, I don't know if there's a fresh pot of tea down the hall. And neither do I know if we will be here all night. I don't know if we'll find any clues in those over used reports, and I don't know if 'Jack the Ripperger' will strike again tonight, tomorrow, next week, or ever!" Emotion began to creep into her voice. She was stuck, and she knew it. She didn't know which direction to go. "If only he were here," she thought without meaning to. When it came to crime-solving, he was the best to be found. Years ago and now. She heard about his work in America from time to time.
But she was asking for trouble thinking this way. She stopped herself and glanced out the window. "And I have absolutely no idea why it is that I have this distinctly uneasy feeling."
"Well, young women are out there being killed by a sadistic and maniacal murderer. So...yes...that might be it."
"No. I know that feeling well. It's not that. It's something else." She turned to him, hoping he could explain it. He was the best undercover detective Scotland Yard had to offer. Surely he could think of something. "It's something more," she said under her breath. "Like I'm waiting for something...."
But whatever Niles would've answered was forgotten when Kevson walked back through the door--a teacup in one hand, a teapot in the other, and a satisfied smile on his face. "Tracer," he said, "I think we should keep you around for awhile." A disbelieving smile flashed across Rosie's face.
"It was a coincidence, man," Niles stated.
"Suuuure," Kevson winked at Niles, then sat down to get back to work, the teapot near his hand.
Rosie shook her head. Kevson would not believe her claim that that true psychics had only a few and random insights to that which normal men did not see. She tried to explain it by saying it was like having hypersensitive intuition--that she could sometimes experience others' emotions, or see another's memory running through her head as if her own. But this explanation went over his head, and indeed over the heads of many and most people to whom she found the need to explain her ability.

"Come on, men, let's get back to work." Rosie was so used to being seen as one of the guys that she didn't notice Niles' comment. She simply returned to the table, and the three of them began running through the facts.

"So far five women have been killed, beginning with Eliza and Verga from Germany. Both sixteen years of age." This said by Rosie.
"Then there was Clarissa, who was from Switzerland. She was eighteen." This given by Kevson.
"And Marianne and Alicia. Both eighteen. And both from Italy." This said by Niles.
"All of these women have been Catholic. Odd, isn't it?" Rosie was quite intrigued by this case.
"Wait," said Kevson. "They were both from Italy? Did they know each other?"
"We don't know," Niles answered, slightly irritated that he couldn't keep up.
"We don't know?" Kevson was startled. "How could you not know?" He directed his question to Rosie, though Niles had been the one to answer him.
"Not now, Kevson. Please."
"No," said Niles. "We don't know. We're working on it."
"Why is it that all of these women come from countries which don't have English as their official language?" Rosie was suddenly struck with this fact.
"That's right," agreed Niles. "None of these women have been English. Why?"
"Well, if you don't know," Kevson was continuing along the same vein. He was not going to be deterred. "Then I suppose you're slipping." Niles and Tracer tried to ignore him, and continued going down the list, but Kevson soon caught Rosie's attention again.
"That must be why they're bringing him in." Not seeing that Rosie had frozen in place, he flipped his tie over his face and leaned back in his chair, intent upon taking a nap.

She tried to overcome the fear that had suddenly jumped into her throat. She wanted to ask. But she couldn't. Her pride wouldn't let her. Instead, she sat in the chair and stared, unseeing, at the paper in her hand. Then it seemed to her that she heard footsteps in the hall. Louder and louder, they came closer and closer. Niles continued speaking, oblivious to all external sounds, so lost was he in thought. Kevson was even more oblivious, so lost was he in sleep. Were they deaf that they did not hear? Rosie's breath seemed to suddenly leave her body, and her heart seemed to suddenly no longer exist.

The door opened. In the eternity that it took for the door to reveal who was standing at the entrance, Rosie swore she would never again be caught off-guard like this. But her fears were unfounded. In the doorway stood Dr. Welch, the head of S4. "There's been another murder," he said without greeting. His eyes swept the room. "Wake that man up," he ordered Niles, nodding his head toward Kevson. Niles stood and leaned over to Kevson, pulling his tie from his eyes. "Noooo!" Kevson screamed, still asleep. His scream startled both Niles and Tracer. Niles let out a yell of his own, and Tracer knocked her coffee over and onto her lap.

This was the scene Jace Buntley walked in on that night at Scotland Yard HQ.