An Imitation of a Light - Part Six
An Imitation of a Light
Written for cm_bigbang
See the header here for full details.
Chapter specific warnings: depiction of torture, violence, mention of bodily functions, and hints of sexual abuse (and yet another unpleasant death)
Rossi sighed, running a hand through his hair; he could remember exactly what Lianne had told them, but he wasn’t sure how much of it was true. She had admitted herself that neither Edward, nor Hotch, had ever really talked about it. Lianne knew the version of events that had leaked through to her via neighbourhood gossip, and what little mention there was of it in the papers.
“Garcia, what records can you find about Carolina Hotchner’s murder?” Rossi asked, fixing his gaze on the phone where it lay on the table. There was a pause, the muffled sound of Garcia typing on the other end of the phone line the only noise.
“There’s a partial police report, it says that, oh,” Garcia was silent before a moment before she cleared her throat, clearly forcing herself to continue, “it says that Carolina Hotchner and her son were at home alone, her husband was at work, when someone entered the house. The neighbour found Carolina’s body in the kitchen.”
“Hotch?” Prentiss asked, and Rossi looked up at her, noting the stiff way she was holding herself.
“They found him in the dining room, under the table.” Garcia said, her voice soft, and Rossi knew she was crying.
“That matches what Lianne told us,” Morgan said, his expression pained, “she said that the police thought Hotch must have seen what happened.”
“Thought?” Prentiss asked, sticking to one word questions. Reid was sitting silently, taking in every word that was being said, though Rossi could see that the kid’s knuckles were turning white.
Morgan nodded, “They questioned him, but he never told them anything.”
“Did they catch the guy?” Prentiss asked, and JJ, her chin cupped in her hands, elbows resting on the table, nodded.
“Eventually.”
“How many more women did he kill?” Reid asked, his voice even. Rossi admired the kid’s control, always did in these situations. It was something that Rossi himself had never quite mastered, though he had always preferred the ‘don’t get mad, get even’ approach.
“Three, and he had killed two others before he killed Carolina.” Rossi answered, avoiding the words ‘Hotch’s mother’. It was easier to just talk about her like he would any other victim, try not to remind himself too often that it was more personal than that.
“Hotch,” Garcia’s voice broke, “do you think that might be why the unsub took him? Because they think he saw what happened?”
“It’s possible.” Rossi answered.
“But why?” Prentiss asked, “It happened years ago, Hotch was just a kid. Even if he saw the man who killed his mom, that’s a lot of trauma, his mind probably blocked it out. He wouldn’t have remembered, couldn’t have, even if he wanted to.”
Morgan sighed, shaking his head, looking impossibly weary, “The killer, he was Hotch’s teacher.”
Prentiss paled again, and Garcia gasped on the other end of the phone, then started typing. Rossi smiled, somewhat grimly, as he listened. If there was one thing he had learned about Penelope Garcia over the years, it was that she took any injury to her team very personally, and she was not a woman you wanted to cross.
“So the police thought he was covering? Or afraid of what would happen?” Prentiss asked, and Rossi shook his head.
“It’s hard to say, we’re working off what Lianne told us.” JJ answered.
“He had a type,” Garcia said, “all of the women he killed had dark hair and dark eyes, and he knew them.”
“So they let him into the house?” JJ asked; it was something Lianne hadn’t been able to say. Edward had moved himself and his son across town after Carolina died, she thought he would have moved further, but he hadn’t wanted to leave his job or family.
“Not all of them. From the police report, they think, because it was a hot day, Carolina had left the back door open, they found toys in the doorway, some were broken.” Garcia answered.
“Did the other women have kids?” Reid asked, and Rossi kicked himself. They needed to stay on point, was there anything that might connect Hotch to the unsub; could the unsub have targeted Hotch because of his mother’s murder?
They waited, listening as Garcia typed. “Three of them, two died after Ho….Carolina.”
“How likely is it that they found out about Hotch being in the house when his mom was killed?” JJ asked, and Rossi watched as Reid moved over to his boxes of newspapers.
“Garcia, what was the date, when Hotch’s mom died?” Reid had already shifted the boxes from the last thirty years out of the way.
“June 1975.” Garcia said. Rossi watched as JJ and Prentiss exchanged a look, and a muscle in Morgan’s jaw jumped.
Reid carried a box over to the table, digging through the stack of newspapers within. Rossi stepped forward, removing the newspapers from the top of the stack, eying the date; January 1975. He grabbed a handful, moving them out of Reid’s way until they reached June. Two weeks in, they found what they were looking for.
They waited, watching as Reid read the article, his expression darkening. “There’s an interview with the detective who was investigating the case.”
“Let me guess,” Morgan said, his tone bitter, “he mentions Hotch as a possible lead?”
Rossi could tell, from Reid’s expression it was worse than that.
“No, he states, leaving little doubt, that he ‘is certain that the victim’s son saw her killer’.”
JJ winced, and Prentiss took a shaky breath. Morgan looked he was seriously considering punching the wall; again. Rossi sighed, feeling old. Not all of the things that had changed over the years were good, but at least it was rarer for a detective to make a statement like that.
“Garcia, can you send us what you have on the children of the other victims?” Rossi asked. He hoped it was a good lead, that one of the two would be the unsub, but he knew it was a long shot. The unsub hadn’t planned to take Hotch, not like he had his other victims, it had been a later choice, a new inclusion to the plan. It made Rossi wonder if their arrival had in fact been the thing that had spurred the unsub into speeding up.
The idea alone made him sick to his stomach.
“Sent.” Garcia said, “Is there anything else I can do?”
Rossi shook his head, then remembered she wouldn’t be able to see him, “Keep searching, see if you can find anything we’ve missed.”
“Will do.” Garcia hesitated, “Find him, ok?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Morgan hit the disconnect button on the phone, then slumped back, rubbing a hand over the top of his head. “It doesn’t fit.”
“Does it need to?” Rossi asked, “If our unsub is the child of one of those three victims, it fits. Hotch may not have been keeping a secret, but he didn’t talk; by not talking he cost those women their lives.” They all stared at him, and he knew why. It was harsh, and he didn’t believe it himself, but he wondered if maybe Hotch did. There had been all kinds of theories, when Hotch had first been assigned to the BAU, with regard to why he had sought out the assignment.
The BAU attracted two kinds of people; the ambitious and the damaged.
“There’s another possibility.” Reid slid another newspaper across the table, dated to less than a year previously. On the front page, under the main local headline, was an article about the Boston Reaper; it detailed the last acts of the famous serial killer.
Foyet.
Morgan swore, pushing himself up from his chair and walking over to the window, his shoulders tight with tension. JJ and Prentiss remained silent, JJ reaching out to turn the paper over, hiding the article from sight.
None of them needed to read it to know what it would say. The same story had appeared everywhere, there hadn’t been any way to shield Hotch from it.
After a long moment of silence, Prentiss stood, walking over to the printer and typing in the code that would start the files Garcia had forwarded to them printing. Rossi rummaged through the piles of folders until he found their updated list of suspects. He had no doubt that Garcia would have included notes on any other personal tragedies the two had experienced, but it was a distraction.
It was a hard thing when it was better to think that Hotch had been targeted because of his mother’s murder, rather than his failure to protect his family.
-
Hotch was aware of his various injuries, even through the haze caused by the drugs. Sophie’s body was gone, taken away by the unsub just as Laura’s had been.
Hotch wondered, absently, if the unsub timed how long he left Hotch with the bodies, or if it was dependant on his work schedule. There hadn’t been much of a pattern with the times the other bodies had been dumped, Hotch remembered, though most had been dumped in the early mornings.
Hotch closed his eyes, sighing. His shoulder ached, he thought it was badly bruised. The round of drugs that the unsub had given him before killing Sophie had worn off faster than the last. Not wanting to just lie around waiting for the unsub to take another victim, Hotch had decided to see if he could get the door open himself.
It hadn’t been a very good idea, but at least he knew he had tried.
Hotch snorted, opening his eyes again to glare up at the ceiling. Who did he think he was kidding? Nothing he had done had made his situation any better; he hadn’t been able to do anything to help Laura or Sophie. He was useless. Helpless.
Again.
Hotch rolled onto his side, staring at the closed door. The unsub had come down then, after Hotch had given up on the door, another dose of the drug in hand. Hotch hadn’t had the energy to fight. The unsub had emptied the syringe, then forced Hotch to drink another bowl of broth.
Hotch wished that he knew what crime he was being punished for. The unsub had a plan for him, that much Hotch knew; why else would he have kept Hotch alive for so long, when he had killed the others so quickly?
Hotch wondered how the unsub planned to kill him, what his final punishment would be. Hotch doubted that it would be quick or pretty. It would have to be a closed casket funeral. Hotch tried to stop the thought there but he couldn’t. Thinking about death, about funerals, made him think about Haley.
Haley and Jack.
Jack. Hotch thought of his son again, despite his best efforts. There was nothing to distract him, as he waited for the unsub to return, from thoughts of his young son. His son who had so recently lost his mother, and who might just lose his father as well.
Hotch closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. Even after he’d lost his own mother he had had his father, and later his stepmother and Sean. Jack, who was so much younger than Hotch had been when he had lost his own mother, barely understood that his mom was dead, that she wasn’t coming back. Hotch couldn’t imagine how he would deal with losing his father as well.
He should have retired, should have put Jack first.
But he couldn’t go back and make a different choice. He was well beyond the point of no return. He had to own his choice, make his death mean something, somehow.
Hotch shuddered, opening his eyes as he became aware of the unsub approaching before the bolts slid back and the door knob turned. The door creaked as it swung open, the unsub grunting as he dragged a man into the basement, leaving a faint trail of blood behind. The unsub dropped the man’s feet, dusting off his hands before turning to face Hotch, dark eyes examining him critically.
Making sure that the drugs were still keeping him compliant, Hotch thought bitterly.
The man lying unconscious at the unsub’s feet was more of a threat to him than Hotch. Hotch, who might as well be shackled to the floor for all the movement he could manage, his limbs leaden. The unsub took a step closer to Hotch, and Hotch gathered what little energy he had, and struck out at the unsub.
He had to leave a mark, something for his team to notice.
Something to show them who the unsub was.
Even if it was the last thing he did.
-
There was nothing more frustrating than running into yet another dead end. JJ sighed, hitting the end call button and tossing her phone onto the table.
With one dead, the other living out the state, and surprised at getting a phone call asking about his recent whereabouts, neither of the two people who might have had reason to target Hotch were their unsub. Worse still, after breaking for the night, and managing only a few short restless hours of sleep, it had taken JJ almost three hours to learn that much.
She looked up to see Rossi hanging up from his own phone call; he shook his head. The man’s boss had confirmed it; he had been in Colorado for the entirety of the last month.
“We need to start over.” Morgan said, abandoning the file he had been reading. JJ frowned, resting her chin in her hand.
“Start over?” JJ asked, and Morgan nodded, shifting over a little to let Prentiss reclaim the chair beside him.
“There’s something we’ve missed or overlooked.” Morgan said, and Reid frowned, taking a long sip from the coffee mug that seemed to be permanently attached to his hand. He had, JJ knew, been going over the maps again, adding the data on the where the victims had committed their crimes.
Rossi sighed, nodding, “We need to stop focusing on Hotch as a victim, and start focusing on the unsub again.” They were pretty much certain now, JJ knew, that Hotch had been taken by the same unsub. Nothing had turned up to suggest otherwise, and it had been almost four days.
“We know that he plans his kills, that he has specific victims in mind.” Prentiss said, starting the ball rolling.
“He’s local, aware of everything that’s happening.” Morgan said, “He knows when the best time to take his victims is, when he can go unnoticed.”
“He seems to be drawn to crimes that have been committed against children.” Reid said, and Rossi shook his head, holding up a hand.
“More basic. What did he do to his first victim, what solid evidence do we have?” Rossi asked, leaning forward, “He beat a man to death, then shot him.”
JJ frowned, catching on, “How did he get to the point that he was willing to beat someone to death?” It was a lot of violence, for a first kill, or at least it seemed it. JJ remembered what the others had been saying about how the unsub had been escalating. What had happened, before that first victim, to give the unsub the confidence to beat a man to death?
“Barnett wasn’t his first victim.” Prentiss said.
“So why haven’t the locals connected any other cases to this unsub?” Rossi asked. “How hasn’t Garcia found any others during her searches?”
“Because he didn’t kill his other victims.” Prentiss said, “Or maybe he didn’t start leaving the newspaper at the scene until Barnett.”
“So how do we search for other victims?” Rossi asked, reminding JJ of one of her professors from college.
“Every one of the victims we’ve found had committed a crime that went unpunished.” Morgan said, neatly avoiding Hotch’s status, “His earlier victims would have been the same.”
“And how do we search for that?” Rossi asked, “The crimes we know he’s been punishing, they aren’t public record, his victims don’t have criminal records.”
“Barnett did.” Reid said, “He’s the only one that did, it didn’t include the crime he was ultimately killed for, but he had a record. Maybe the earlier victims had criminal records. People knew they had committed crimes, but had gotten away unpunished.”
“And you know what that means,” Rossi said, “our unsub could be law enforcement.”
JJ sighed. It happened more often than any of them were comfortable with, but they knew first-hand how difficult the job could be; especially when a suspect got away.
Morgan grabbed a laptop, flipped it open, and opened up their link to Garcia, hoping she was at her desk. A tired looking Garcia offered them a weak smile, “Tell me you have good news.”
“Sorry baby girl.” Morgan said, “We need you to run a search for us. We think there might be other victims, from before Barnett, they might not have died, but they would have committed a crime and gotten away with it.”
Garcia frowned, “Ok, I really hate to have to say this, but there are a whole lot of people who have committed crimes and gotten away with it; could you give me something to narrow down the results?”
“Look for people who were admitted to hospitals, or who suddenly came forward to admit to a crime.” Rossi said, “Limit it to up to three months before Barnett died.”
“That, my love, I can do.” Garcia turned to look at another screen, her eyes narrowing as she typed, “Twenty-nine people who fit that criteria were admitted to hospitals, another three handed themselves in to the police.”
“Can you cut it down to those who committed crimes against children?” Prentiss asked, and Garcia nodded.
“That gives us, two of the people who handed themselves into the police and twelve of the hospital goers. And, I think I can cut that down a bit more,” Garcia typed furiously, reading from the screen, “There is a list of eight people headed to you as we speak. The other six people, they were assaulted by their loved ones, involved in household accidents, or had the flu.”
“There’s one more thing, Garcia,” Morgan said, and JJ watched as Garcia stilled, recognising the tone of voice he had used, “It’s possible we might be looking at a member of local law enforcement.”
Garcia’s eyes widened, then she nodded, “I’ll see if there’s any officer in common on the cases.”
“Thank you Garcia.” Rossi offered her a smile, and she returned it.
“I am going to keep digging, I’ll use these guys along with the confirmed victims, if there is a connection, I am going to find it. I will not leave a single digital stone unturned.” Garcia nodded to them, and then the laptop screen went dark.
A moment later Sumner pushed the door open, “We’ve got another body.”
-
Hotch could remember what it was like as a child, sitting in a room surrounded by people, and knowing just how they were feeling. He remembered all too well the way his stepmother had felt when his father was late for dinner; when his father smelled of another woman’s perfume.
It had been overwhelming at times, more so when he was sick. It was different though, worse, as he lay on the cold concrete floor, unknown drugs flooding his system. Hotch tried to separate his own emotions for those of the victim and the unsub, but it was an impossible task. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. He could only feel.
The man, whose name Hotch didn’t know, was strapped to the chair, thick leather bands holding him in place against the wooden frame. He was terrified, and Hotch’s head throbbed in sympathy; the unsub had subdued the man the same way he had Laura and Sophie.
Hotch shook his head, trying to clear it. He needed to think. The unsub hadn’t brought a gun with him, instead he had brought a car battery, and jump leads. Hotch gasped, fighting against the urge to close his eyes. His heart beat was loud in his ears, his breathing quickened. Panic flared in direct contrast to the growing sense of expectation.
Hotch forced himself to breathe through his nose, he couldn’t feel his own pain, could barely even feel the concrete floor he was lying on. If he closed his eyes, he knew that it would feel like he was strapped to a chair; it was so much harder to focus on himself without a visual reference.
Hotch forced himself to focus on the unsub. He didn’t want to feel what the unsub was feeling, didn’t want to experience first-hand the pleasure that the unsub felt, but it was better than being overwhelmed by the other man’s panic.
By the sheer blinding terror.
If he focused on the unsub, as much as he could, he could profile the man. Hotch had already created a profile in his head, and he knew, from what he remembered of the last two kills, that it was as accurate as it could be; he just didn’t know what the trigger had been.
What had made the unsub start killing.
The first jolt of electricity made Hotch start, all the breath leaving his body as his back arched, his toes curled. He drew in a sharp gasping breath, then another. There were no dots dancing in front of eyes as he would expect, just the pain.
Hotch had wondered, as a child, if he could gain the injuries of others along with the emotion. He remembered when a girl in his class had broken her arm, the jagged end of the bone sticking out of her skin. He had felt it, not as vividly as he felt the pain of the unsub’s victim, but he felt it.
It had confused him more, after he had broken his own arm, and discovered that there was more than just the emotion involved. He could remember how the blinding pain had been accompanied by spots dancing in front of his eyes, his vision fading in and out. Learning the difference and relationships between emotions and physical reactions had been a long learning curve.
Hotch groaned, the pain fading. Opening his eyes, Hotch winced as he caught the smell he had been dreading. The man had soiled himself, not an unusual reaction to being electrocuted, but one of the more unpleasant ones.
Opening his eyes, Hotch focused on the unsub, pushing the man’s discomfort away as much as he could. He could feel the unsub’s need, but there wasn’t anything sexual, no lust. Hotch could remember what it had been like, his shields weakened by blood loss, when an unsub got off on what they were doing.
Hotch shuddered, more as a reaction to the memory than any actual emotion of his own. There was only the mixture of satisfaction and terror, then pain as the unsub reapplied the jump leads to his victim.
-
Prentiss watched as Sumner limped into the room, her eyes narrowed. She had asked him at the crime scene, questioned why he was limping, and he had told her about how he had accidently kicked the doorframe that morning.
Sumner didn’t think his toes where broken, but they were badly bruised.
Prentiss wasn’t sure whether she believed him, or if she was just jumping to conclusions. All she could think about was the fact that Hotch had been taken in the broad daylight from the County Sheriff’s Office car park, and no one had seen anyone suspicious. That more than anything made her even more certain that they were right.
One of the people standing in the room with them, waiting for them to start their profile briefing, was the unsub. Maybe it was Sumner, maybe it wasn’t; she would have to mention it to Rossi.
Innes and Yates came in then, just as she was about to turn to Rossi, followed by the Sheriff. It was time to give the profile; she would have to talk to Rossi later.
Morgan moved forwards first, “We are looking for a white male, aged between thirty and fifty.”
“He is most likely married with children,” Rossi said, “based on the fact that his victims are typically people who have injured children in some way.”
“He has a steady job, he’s a good worker, though recently people may have found him to be moody and distracted.” Prentiss said, falling into the pattern that was so familiar, almost second nature.
“He’s local, he has probably lived here his whole life. He knows the area well enough to know when and where he could abduct and dump his victims. His work likely gives him the freedom to move around the area, he stalked each of his victims, learning their routines before he abducted them.” Reid said.
“He has somewhere that he takes his victims, it’s private; a place he knows he wouldn’t be disturbed.” Rossi said, “It could be a basement or a storage place. Whatever it is, he won’t like anyone going in, he’ll be protective of that place, possessive even.”
Prentiss could see that most of the locals were taking notes, only Yates, Innes, Sumner, and the Sheriff weren’t. “He will have suffered a loss, around three months ago, that’s when he started. His first victims were threatened or assaulted. He convinced two of them to turn themselves in to the police.”
“It was this loss that drives him to commit these crimes. Each of his victims committed a crime that they got away with and he is punishing them for those crimes.” Morgan said.
“He has a plan, and a specific target in mind, most likely the person he sees as being responsible for his loss, for his suffering.” Reid said, “All of the victims so far have been practice runs before he punishes that person. He needs to build up to that final act.”
“How does he know that they committed crimes?” One of the deputies asked.
“It’s possible he knew them, either casually, or via word of mouth, and he managed to connect the events to them somehow. The newspapers he has been leaving with the bodies relate specifically to the crimes committed by each victim.” Morgan answered, and the Sheriff’s eyebrows rose.
“You think it could be one of us?” the Sheriff asked, and Prentiss took a breath. This was always the worst bit, trying not to insult the locals while telling that one of them could be the killer.
“It’s a possibility.” Rossi said, and the Sheriff nodded, giving his people a look that dared them to challenge what Rossi had said. None of them said a word, though both Sumner and Yates looked unimpressed.
“What exactly do you think he lost?” Yates asked, leaning back against the wall, his jaw coloured from breaking up a bar fight the night before. Two of the deputies, and one detective were sporting similar bruises from the same incident.
“Considering how many of his victims were responsible for injuries to children, we think he lost a child.” Rossi answered. Prentiss watched various people’s expressions darkened. Children being harmed was almost a universal sore point; the loss of a child was a tragedy.
There was a good chance that once they caught the unsub, the media would run with that angle. Who could blame a father for avenging the loss of a child?
“Time isn’t on our side,” Prentiss said, after allowing enough time for them to raise any more questions they might have in regard to what had already been said; it wasn’t a surprise that none of them did, “he is almost ready to confront the source of his anger. He had escalated to the point that he killing daily now. It’s possible that he already has his next victim, and he still has Agent Hotchner.”
“Do you think he’s still alive?” Duncan asked from his place perched on the edge of a desk.
“Considering the unsub’s MO, it seems very likely. If Agent Hotchner were dead, we should have already found his body.” Rossi paused, “We are working on the assumption that he is still alive.”
“Someone might have seen the unsub in the proximity of one of his victims,” JJ spoke for the first time, “we need you to use this profile, talk to their neighbours. We also need you to reach out to the local community, see if they know someone who fits the profile.”
The Sheriff waited a beat before he moved forwards, standing in front of the BAU team to address the room at large. “You heard what the agents have to say. You need to keep those characteristics in mind when you’re out there, but I also need you to do your best not to raise alarm, or get people thinking this man is a hero.” He waited for them all to murmur their assent before he nodded, dismissing them.
The Sheriff waited until they had all left before turning to Rossi, “I hope we catch this man before he kills any more people.”
“So do we.” Rossi answered, and the Sheriff nodded, his expression grim.
“I’ll leave you to your work then.” The Sheriff followed the others out, and the only people who remained were Prentiss and her team. The room felt smaller somehow.
“That went better than I expected.” Rossi commented dryly, and Morgan shook his head.
“Only because the Sheriff thinks the same thing. It’s impossible to ignore the possibility, given that the only thing linking all the victims is that they weren’t punished for their crimes.” Morgan said, frowning when his phone rang. He glanced at the number then hit accept, raising it to his ear, “Hey baby girl, what you got?”
Preniss watched as Morgan’s frowned deepened, his head shaking faintly in reaction to whatever it was that Garcia was saying.
“Hold up, I’m putting you on speaker.”
“-ait, are you guys alone?” Garcia sounded panicked, and Prentiss exchanged a worried look with Rossi.
“It’s just us Garcia, it’s ok,” Rossi said.
There was a long pause, “It’s just you guys? None of the locals?”
“Yeah, it’s just us.” Morgan repeated Rossi’s assurance.
“Ok, well, I know I should have caught this earlier, but I wasn’t looking, and I didn’t know that he was with you, until I spotted a note in his recent record, and that makes it so much worse…”
“Whoa, slow down, who?” Morgan asked, frowning at his phone.
There was a pause as Garcia calmed herself. “The unsub, it’s Detective Yates.”
-
Part Seven
Written for cm_bigbang
See the header here for full details.
Chapter specific warnings: depiction of torture, violence, mention of bodily functions, and hints of sexual abuse (and yet another unpleasant death)
Rossi sighed, running a hand through his hair; he could remember exactly what Lianne had told them, but he wasn’t sure how much of it was true. She had admitted herself that neither Edward, nor Hotch, had ever really talked about it. Lianne knew the version of events that had leaked through to her via neighbourhood gossip, and what little mention there was of it in the papers.
“Garcia, what records can you find about Carolina Hotchner’s murder?” Rossi asked, fixing his gaze on the phone where it lay on the table. There was a pause, the muffled sound of Garcia typing on the other end of the phone line the only noise.
“There’s a partial police report, it says that, oh,” Garcia was silent before a moment before she cleared her throat, clearly forcing herself to continue, “it says that Carolina Hotchner and her son were at home alone, her husband was at work, when someone entered the house. The neighbour found Carolina’s body in the kitchen.”
“Hotch?” Prentiss asked, and Rossi looked up at her, noting the stiff way she was holding herself.
“They found him in the dining room, under the table.” Garcia said, her voice soft, and Rossi knew she was crying.
“That matches what Lianne told us,” Morgan said, his expression pained, “she said that the police thought Hotch must have seen what happened.”
“Thought?” Prentiss asked, sticking to one word questions. Reid was sitting silently, taking in every word that was being said, though Rossi could see that the kid’s knuckles were turning white.
Morgan nodded, “They questioned him, but he never told them anything.”
“Did they catch the guy?” Prentiss asked, and JJ, her chin cupped in her hands, elbows resting on the table, nodded.
“Eventually.”
“How many more women did he kill?” Reid asked, his voice even. Rossi admired the kid’s control, always did in these situations. It was something that Rossi himself had never quite mastered, though he had always preferred the ‘don’t get mad, get even’ approach.
“Three, and he had killed two others before he killed Carolina.” Rossi answered, avoiding the words ‘Hotch’s mother’. It was easier to just talk about her like he would any other victim, try not to remind himself too often that it was more personal than that.
“Hotch,” Garcia’s voice broke, “do you think that might be why the unsub took him? Because they think he saw what happened?”
“It’s possible.” Rossi answered.
“But why?” Prentiss asked, “It happened years ago, Hotch was just a kid. Even if he saw the man who killed his mom, that’s a lot of trauma, his mind probably blocked it out. He wouldn’t have remembered, couldn’t have, even if he wanted to.”
Morgan sighed, shaking his head, looking impossibly weary, “The killer, he was Hotch’s teacher.”
Prentiss paled again, and Garcia gasped on the other end of the phone, then started typing. Rossi smiled, somewhat grimly, as he listened. If there was one thing he had learned about Penelope Garcia over the years, it was that she took any injury to her team very personally, and she was not a woman you wanted to cross.
“So the police thought he was covering? Or afraid of what would happen?” Prentiss asked, and Rossi shook his head.
“It’s hard to say, we’re working off what Lianne told us.” JJ answered.
“He had a type,” Garcia said, “all of the women he killed had dark hair and dark eyes, and he knew them.”
“So they let him into the house?” JJ asked; it was something Lianne hadn’t been able to say. Edward had moved himself and his son across town after Carolina died, she thought he would have moved further, but he hadn’t wanted to leave his job or family.
“Not all of them. From the police report, they think, because it was a hot day, Carolina had left the back door open, they found toys in the doorway, some were broken.” Garcia answered.
“Did the other women have kids?” Reid asked, and Rossi kicked himself. They needed to stay on point, was there anything that might connect Hotch to the unsub; could the unsub have targeted Hotch because of his mother’s murder?
They waited, listening as Garcia typed. “Three of them, two died after Ho….Carolina.”
“How likely is it that they found out about Hotch being in the house when his mom was killed?” JJ asked, and Rossi watched as Reid moved over to his boxes of newspapers.
“Garcia, what was the date, when Hotch’s mom died?” Reid had already shifted the boxes from the last thirty years out of the way.
“June 1975.” Garcia said. Rossi watched as JJ and Prentiss exchanged a look, and a muscle in Morgan’s jaw jumped.
Reid carried a box over to the table, digging through the stack of newspapers within. Rossi stepped forward, removing the newspapers from the top of the stack, eying the date; January 1975. He grabbed a handful, moving them out of Reid’s way until they reached June. Two weeks in, they found what they were looking for.
They waited, watching as Reid read the article, his expression darkening. “There’s an interview with the detective who was investigating the case.”
“Let me guess,” Morgan said, his tone bitter, “he mentions Hotch as a possible lead?”
Rossi could tell, from Reid’s expression it was worse than that.
“No, he states, leaving little doubt, that he ‘is certain that the victim’s son saw her killer’.”
JJ winced, and Prentiss took a shaky breath. Morgan looked he was seriously considering punching the wall; again. Rossi sighed, feeling old. Not all of the things that had changed over the years were good, but at least it was rarer for a detective to make a statement like that.
“Garcia, can you send us what you have on the children of the other victims?” Rossi asked. He hoped it was a good lead, that one of the two would be the unsub, but he knew it was a long shot. The unsub hadn’t planned to take Hotch, not like he had his other victims, it had been a later choice, a new inclusion to the plan. It made Rossi wonder if their arrival had in fact been the thing that had spurred the unsub into speeding up.
The idea alone made him sick to his stomach.
“Sent.” Garcia said, “Is there anything else I can do?”
Rossi shook his head, then remembered she wouldn’t be able to see him, “Keep searching, see if you can find anything we’ve missed.”
“Will do.” Garcia hesitated, “Find him, ok?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Morgan hit the disconnect button on the phone, then slumped back, rubbing a hand over the top of his head. “It doesn’t fit.”
“Does it need to?” Rossi asked, “If our unsub is the child of one of those three victims, it fits. Hotch may not have been keeping a secret, but he didn’t talk; by not talking he cost those women their lives.” They all stared at him, and he knew why. It was harsh, and he didn’t believe it himself, but he wondered if maybe Hotch did. There had been all kinds of theories, when Hotch had first been assigned to the BAU, with regard to why he had sought out the assignment.
The BAU attracted two kinds of people; the ambitious and the damaged.
“There’s another possibility.” Reid slid another newspaper across the table, dated to less than a year previously. On the front page, under the main local headline, was an article about the Boston Reaper; it detailed the last acts of the famous serial killer.
Foyet.
Morgan swore, pushing himself up from his chair and walking over to the window, his shoulders tight with tension. JJ and Prentiss remained silent, JJ reaching out to turn the paper over, hiding the article from sight.
None of them needed to read it to know what it would say. The same story had appeared everywhere, there hadn’t been any way to shield Hotch from it.
After a long moment of silence, Prentiss stood, walking over to the printer and typing in the code that would start the files Garcia had forwarded to them printing. Rossi rummaged through the piles of folders until he found their updated list of suspects. He had no doubt that Garcia would have included notes on any other personal tragedies the two had experienced, but it was a distraction.
It was a hard thing when it was better to think that Hotch had been targeted because of his mother’s murder, rather than his failure to protect his family.
-
Hotch was aware of his various injuries, even through the haze caused by the drugs. Sophie’s body was gone, taken away by the unsub just as Laura’s had been.
Hotch wondered, absently, if the unsub timed how long he left Hotch with the bodies, or if it was dependant on his work schedule. There hadn’t been much of a pattern with the times the other bodies had been dumped, Hotch remembered, though most had been dumped in the early mornings.
Hotch closed his eyes, sighing. His shoulder ached, he thought it was badly bruised. The round of drugs that the unsub had given him before killing Sophie had worn off faster than the last. Not wanting to just lie around waiting for the unsub to take another victim, Hotch had decided to see if he could get the door open himself.
It hadn’t been a very good idea, but at least he knew he had tried.
Hotch snorted, opening his eyes again to glare up at the ceiling. Who did he think he was kidding? Nothing he had done had made his situation any better; he hadn’t been able to do anything to help Laura or Sophie. He was useless. Helpless.
Again.
Hotch rolled onto his side, staring at the closed door. The unsub had come down then, after Hotch had given up on the door, another dose of the drug in hand. Hotch hadn’t had the energy to fight. The unsub had emptied the syringe, then forced Hotch to drink another bowl of broth.
Hotch wished that he knew what crime he was being punished for. The unsub had a plan for him, that much Hotch knew; why else would he have kept Hotch alive for so long, when he had killed the others so quickly?
Hotch wondered how the unsub planned to kill him, what his final punishment would be. Hotch doubted that it would be quick or pretty. It would have to be a closed casket funeral. Hotch tried to stop the thought there but he couldn’t. Thinking about death, about funerals, made him think about Haley.
Haley and Jack.
Jack. Hotch thought of his son again, despite his best efforts. There was nothing to distract him, as he waited for the unsub to return, from thoughts of his young son. His son who had so recently lost his mother, and who might just lose his father as well.
Hotch closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. Even after he’d lost his own mother he had had his father, and later his stepmother and Sean. Jack, who was so much younger than Hotch had been when he had lost his own mother, barely understood that his mom was dead, that she wasn’t coming back. Hotch couldn’t imagine how he would deal with losing his father as well.
He should have retired, should have put Jack first.
But he couldn’t go back and make a different choice. He was well beyond the point of no return. He had to own his choice, make his death mean something, somehow.
Hotch shuddered, opening his eyes as he became aware of the unsub approaching before the bolts slid back and the door knob turned. The door creaked as it swung open, the unsub grunting as he dragged a man into the basement, leaving a faint trail of blood behind. The unsub dropped the man’s feet, dusting off his hands before turning to face Hotch, dark eyes examining him critically.
Making sure that the drugs were still keeping him compliant, Hotch thought bitterly.
The man lying unconscious at the unsub’s feet was more of a threat to him than Hotch. Hotch, who might as well be shackled to the floor for all the movement he could manage, his limbs leaden. The unsub took a step closer to Hotch, and Hotch gathered what little energy he had, and struck out at the unsub.
He had to leave a mark, something for his team to notice.
Something to show them who the unsub was.
Even if it was the last thing he did.
-
There was nothing more frustrating than running into yet another dead end. JJ sighed, hitting the end call button and tossing her phone onto the table.
With one dead, the other living out the state, and surprised at getting a phone call asking about his recent whereabouts, neither of the two people who might have had reason to target Hotch were their unsub. Worse still, after breaking for the night, and managing only a few short restless hours of sleep, it had taken JJ almost three hours to learn that much.
She looked up to see Rossi hanging up from his own phone call; he shook his head. The man’s boss had confirmed it; he had been in Colorado for the entirety of the last month.
“We need to start over.” Morgan said, abandoning the file he had been reading. JJ frowned, resting her chin in her hand.
“Start over?” JJ asked, and Morgan nodded, shifting over a little to let Prentiss reclaim the chair beside him.
“There’s something we’ve missed or overlooked.” Morgan said, and Reid frowned, taking a long sip from the coffee mug that seemed to be permanently attached to his hand. He had, JJ knew, been going over the maps again, adding the data on the where the victims had committed their crimes.
Rossi sighed, nodding, “We need to stop focusing on Hotch as a victim, and start focusing on the unsub again.” They were pretty much certain now, JJ knew, that Hotch had been taken by the same unsub. Nothing had turned up to suggest otherwise, and it had been almost four days.
“We know that he plans his kills, that he has specific victims in mind.” Prentiss said, starting the ball rolling.
“He’s local, aware of everything that’s happening.” Morgan said, “He knows when the best time to take his victims is, when he can go unnoticed.”
“He seems to be drawn to crimes that have been committed against children.” Reid said, and Rossi shook his head, holding up a hand.
“More basic. What did he do to his first victim, what solid evidence do we have?” Rossi asked, leaning forward, “He beat a man to death, then shot him.”
JJ frowned, catching on, “How did he get to the point that he was willing to beat someone to death?” It was a lot of violence, for a first kill, or at least it seemed it. JJ remembered what the others had been saying about how the unsub had been escalating. What had happened, before that first victim, to give the unsub the confidence to beat a man to death?
“Barnett wasn’t his first victim.” Prentiss said.
“So why haven’t the locals connected any other cases to this unsub?” Rossi asked. “How hasn’t Garcia found any others during her searches?”
“Because he didn’t kill his other victims.” Prentiss said, “Or maybe he didn’t start leaving the newspaper at the scene until Barnett.”
“So how do we search for other victims?” Rossi asked, reminding JJ of one of her professors from college.
“Every one of the victims we’ve found had committed a crime that went unpunished.” Morgan said, neatly avoiding Hotch’s status, “His earlier victims would have been the same.”
“And how do we search for that?” Rossi asked, “The crimes we know he’s been punishing, they aren’t public record, his victims don’t have criminal records.”
“Barnett did.” Reid said, “He’s the only one that did, it didn’t include the crime he was ultimately killed for, but he had a record. Maybe the earlier victims had criminal records. People knew they had committed crimes, but had gotten away unpunished.”
“And you know what that means,” Rossi said, “our unsub could be law enforcement.”
JJ sighed. It happened more often than any of them were comfortable with, but they knew first-hand how difficult the job could be; especially when a suspect got away.
Morgan grabbed a laptop, flipped it open, and opened up their link to Garcia, hoping she was at her desk. A tired looking Garcia offered them a weak smile, “Tell me you have good news.”
“Sorry baby girl.” Morgan said, “We need you to run a search for us. We think there might be other victims, from before Barnett, they might not have died, but they would have committed a crime and gotten away with it.”
Garcia frowned, “Ok, I really hate to have to say this, but there are a whole lot of people who have committed crimes and gotten away with it; could you give me something to narrow down the results?”
“Look for people who were admitted to hospitals, or who suddenly came forward to admit to a crime.” Rossi said, “Limit it to up to three months before Barnett died.”
“That, my love, I can do.” Garcia turned to look at another screen, her eyes narrowing as she typed, “Twenty-nine people who fit that criteria were admitted to hospitals, another three handed themselves in to the police.”
“Can you cut it down to those who committed crimes against children?” Prentiss asked, and Garcia nodded.
“That gives us, two of the people who handed themselves into the police and twelve of the hospital goers. And, I think I can cut that down a bit more,” Garcia typed furiously, reading from the screen, “There is a list of eight people headed to you as we speak. The other six people, they were assaulted by their loved ones, involved in household accidents, or had the flu.”
“There’s one more thing, Garcia,” Morgan said, and JJ watched as Garcia stilled, recognising the tone of voice he had used, “It’s possible we might be looking at a member of local law enforcement.”
Garcia’s eyes widened, then she nodded, “I’ll see if there’s any officer in common on the cases.”
“Thank you Garcia.” Rossi offered her a smile, and she returned it.
“I am going to keep digging, I’ll use these guys along with the confirmed victims, if there is a connection, I am going to find it. I will not leave a single digital stone unturned.” Garcia nodded to them, and then the laptop screen went dark.
A moment later Sumner pushed the door open, “We’ve got another body.”
-
Hotch could remember what it was like as a child, sitting in a room surrounded by people, and knowing just how they were feeling. He remembered all too well the way his stepmother had felt when his father was late for dinner; when his father smelled of another woman’s perfume.
It had been overwhelming at times, more so when he was sick. It was different though, worse, as he lay on the cold concrete floor, unknown drugs flooding his system. Hotch tried to separate his own emotions for those of the victim and the unsub, but it was an impossible task. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. He could only feel.
The man, whose name Hotch didn’t know, was strapped to the chair, thick leather bands holding him in place against the wooden frame. He was terrified, and Hotch’s head throbbed in sympathy; the unsub had subdued the man the same way he had Laura and Sophie.
Hotch shook his head, trying to clear it. He needed to think. The unsub hadn’t brought a gun with him, instead he had brought a car battery, and jump leads. Hotch gasped, fighting against the urge to close his eyes. His heart beat was loud in his ears, his breathing quickened. Panic flared in direct contrast to the growing sense of expectation.
Hotch forced himself to breathe through his nose, he couldn’t feel his own pain, could barely even feel the concrete floor he was lying on. If he closed his eyes, he knew that it would feel like he was strapped to a chair; it was so much harder to focus on himself without a visual reference.
Hotch forced himself to focus on the unsub. He didn’t want to feel what the unsub was feeling, didn’t want to experience first-hand the pleasure that the unsub felt, but it was better than being overwhelmed by the other man’s panic.
By the sheer blinding terror.
If he focused on the unsub, as much as he could, he could profile the man. Hotch had already created a profile in his head, and he knew, from what he remembered of the last two kills, that it was as accurate as it could be; he just didn’t know what the trigger had been.
What had made the unsub start killing.
The first jolt of electricity made Hotch start, all the breath leaving his body as his back arched, his toes curled. He drew in a sharp gasping breath, then another. There were no dots dancing in front of eyes as he would expect, just the pain.
Hotch had wondered, as a child, if he could gain the injuries of others along with the emotion. He remembered when a girl in his class had broken her arm, the jagged end of the bone sticking out of her skin. He had felt it, not as vividly as he felt the pain of the unsub’s victim, but he felt it.
It had confused him more, after he had broken his own arm, and discovered that there was more than just the emotion involved. He could remember how the blinding pain had been accompanied by spots dancing in front of his eyes, his vision fading in and out. Learning the difference and relationships between emotions and physical reactions had been a long learning curve.
Hotch groaned, the pain fading. Opening his eyes, Hotch winced as he caught the smell he had been dreading. The man had soiled himself, not an unusual reaction to being electrocuted, but one of the more unpleasant ones.
Opening his eyes, Hotch focused on the unsub, pushing the man’s discomfort away as much as he could. He could feel the unsub’s need, but there wasn’t anything sexual, no lust. Hotch could remember what it had been like, his shields weakened by blood loss, when an unsub got off on what they were doing.
Hotch shuddered, more as a reaction to the memory than any actual emotion of his own. There was only the mixture of satisfaction and terror, then pain as the unsub reapplied the jump leads to his victim.
-
Prentiss watched as Sumner limped into the room, her eyes narrowed. She had asked him at the crime scene, questioned why he was limping, and he had told her about how he had accidently kicked the doorframe that morning.
Sumner didn’t think his toes where broken, but they were badly bruised.
Prentiss wasn’t sure whether she believed him, or if she was just jumping to conclusions. All she could think about was the fact that Hotch had been taken in the broad daylight from the County Sheriff’s Office car park, and no one had seen anyone suspicious. That more than anything made her even more certain that they were right.
One of the people standing in the room with them, waiting for them to start their profile briefing, was the unsub. Maybe it was Sumner, maybe it wasn’t; she would have to mention it to Rossi.
Innes and Yates came in then, just as she was about to turn to Rossi, followed by the Sheriff. It was time to give the profile; she would have to talk to Rossi later.
Morgan moved forwards first, “We are looking for a white male, aged between thirty and fifty.”
“He is most likely married with children,” Rossi said, “based on the fact that his victims are typically people who have injured children in some way.”
“He has a steady job, he’s a good worker, though recently people may have found him to be moody and distracted.” Prentiss said, falling into the pattern that was so familiar, almost second nature.
“He’s local, he has probably lived here his whole life. He knows the area well enough to know when and where he could abduct and dump his victims. His work likely gives him the freedom to move around the area, he stalked each of his victims, learning their routines before he abducted them.” Reid said.
“He has somewhere that he takes his victims, it’s private; a place he knows he wouldn’t be disturbed.” Rossi said, “It could be a basement or a storage place. Whatever it is, he won’t like anyone going in, he’ll be protective of that place, possessive even.”
Prentiss could see that most of the locals were taking notes, only Yates, Innes, Sumner, and the Sheriff weren’t. “He will have suffered a loss, around three months ago, that’s when he started. His first victims were threatened or assaulted. He convinced two of them to turn themselves in to the police.”
“It was this loss that drives him to commit these crimes. Each of his victims committed a crime that they got away with and he is punishing them for those crimes.” Morgan said.
“He has a plan, and a specific target in mind, most likely the person he sees as being responsible for his loss, for his suffering.” Reid said, “All of the victims so far have been practice runs before he punishes that person. He needs to build up to that final act.”
“How does he know that they committed crimes?” One of the deputies asked.
“It’s possible he knew them, either casually, or via word of mouth, and he managed to connect the events to them somehow. The newspapers he has been leaving with the bodies relate specifically to the crimes committed by each victim.” Morgan answered, and the Sheriff’s eyebrows rose.
“You think it could be one of us?” the Sheriff asked, and Prentiss took a breath. This was always the worst bit, trying not to insult the locals while telling that one of them could be the killer.
“It’s a possibility.” Rossi said, and the Sheriff nodded, giving his people a look that dared them to challenge what Rossi had said. None of them said a word, though both Sumner and Yates looked unimpressed.
“What exactly do you think he lost?” Yates asked, leaning back against the wall, his jaw coloured from breaking up a bar fight the night before. Two of the deputies, and one detective were sporting similar bruises from the same incident.
“Considering how many of his victims were responsible for injuries to children, we think he lost a child.” Rossi answered. Prentiss watched various people’s expressions darkened. Children being harmed was almost a universal sore point; the loss of a child was a tragedy.
There was a good chance that once they caught the unsub, the media would run with that angle. Who could blame a father for avenging the loss of a child?
“Time isn’t on our side,” Prentiss said, after allowing enough time for them to raise any more questions they might have in regard to what had already been said; it wasn’t a surprise that none of them did, “he is almost ready to confront the source of his anger. He had escalated to the point that he killing daily now. It’s possible that he already has his next victim, and he still has Agent Hotchner.”
“Do you think he’s still alive?” Duncan asked from his place perched on the edge of a desk.
“Considering the unsub’s MO, it seems very likely. If Agent Hotchner were dead, we should have already found his body.” Rossi paused, “We are working on the assumption that he is still alive.”
“Someone might have seen the unsub in the proximity of one of his victims,” JJ spoke for the first time, “we need you to use this profile, talk to their neighbours. We also need you to reach out to the local community, see if they know someone who fits the profile.”
The Sheriff waited a beat before he moved forwards, standing in front of the BAU team to address the room at large. “You heard what the agents have to say. You need to keep those characteristics in mind when you’re out there, but I also need you to do your best not to raise alarm, or get people thinking this man is a hero.” He waited for them all to murmur their assent before he nodded, dismissing them.
The Sheriff waited until they had all left before turning to Rossi, “I hope we catch this man before he kills any more people.”
“So do we.” Rossi answered, and the Sheriff nodded, his expression grim.
“I’ll leave you to your work then.” The Sheriff followed the others out, and the only people who remained were Prentiss and her team. The room felt smaller somehow.
“That went better than I expected.” Rossi commented dryly, and Morgan shook his head.
“Only because the Sheriff thinks the same thing. It’s impossible to ignore the possibility, given that the only thing linking all the victims is that they weren’t punished for their crimes.” Morgan said, frowning when his phone rang. He glanced at the number then hit accept, raising it to his ear, “Hey baby girl, what you got?”
Preniss watched as Morgan’s frowned deepened, his head shaking faintly in reaction to whatever it was that Garcia was saying.
“Hold up, I’m putting you on speaker.”
“-ait, are you guys alone?” Garcia sounded panicked, and Prentiss exchanged a worried look with Rossi.
“It’s just us Garcia, it’s ok,” Rossi said.
There was a long pause, “It’s just you guys? None of the locals?”
“Yeah, it’s just us.” Morgan repeated Rossi’s assurance.
“Ok, well, I know I should have caught this earlier, but I wasn’t looking, and I didn’t know that he was with you, until I spotted a note in his recent record, and that makes it so much worse…”
“Whoa, slow down, who?” Morgan asked, frowning at his phone.
There was a pause as Garcia calmed herself. “The unsub, it’s Detective Yates.”
-
Part Seven