Samantha Manson slid out of the cab and dropped her luggage onto the wet asphalt beneath her. Her head fell back as she observed the imposing line of the Hoover building- the FBI headquarters here in D.C.- before leaning over and slinging her duffel strap over her shoulder. She grabbed the handle of her other suitcase and set off towards the doors with a brisk walk.
Sam pushed through the front doors and stopped short when a broad guard stepped in front of her.
"Gonna have to see some ID, sweetheart," He leered at her, his eyes flicking up and down her less-than professional attire. Sam felt annoyance build quickly- a T-shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans isn't exactly the most revealing outfit, and there was no need for a grown man to have a look like that on his face.
She tugged her freshly printed ID card out of her laptop bag and thrust it into his face a might too aggressive- as her mother would have insisted- and pushed her chin out at him as he scanned the card.
"Looks like you check out," He says, handing the card back, and Sam snatched it out of his hand before he said anything cheesy. She turned on her heel and stalked towards the elevators. The small groups of people that crossed paths with her parted for her amid surprised stares and furtive whispers. Sam, having received the same exact treatment in high school, ignored it.
If grown adults want to act like teenagers, that's their choice, she thinks, flashing a predatory smile at a very nervous looking agent that almost sprinted out of her way. She slid into the elevator and jammed the button for the top floor, fishing her phone out of her bag as the door slid shut. Suddenly, the sound of wet shoes slapping on marble floors reached her ears and she jerked her head up in time to see a wet and disheveled man slide through the half shut elevator doors and hit the wall with a slight thud. He fixed the obnoxiously red beret on his head before tugging his glasses off and wiping at them with a shirt as soaked as the lenses. Sam fishes a tissue out of her bag and hands it to him wordlessly. He glances up at her, squints, and then smiles and takes the tissue from her. His eyes crinkle as his smile widens.
"Are you the new psychologist?" He asks, and Sam is taken aback. She had expected a thank you, not an interrogation.
"Yeah, on the serial killer team," She says, smoothing her dark hair behind her ear. The man nods before shoving his still wet glasses back onto his nose with a wide grin.
"Tucker Foley, the computer genius and analyst for the serial killer team," He says, thrusting his dark- and still damp- hand out to her. Sam takes it and shakes it firmly.
"Sam Manson, psychologist and profiler," Sam says before releasing Tucker's hand. He glances down at her luggage and raises an eyebrow at her.
"Did Lancer really make you come straight here from your flight?" He asks, appraising her slightly crumpled outfit and probably smeared makeup. Sam nods and tucks her laptop bag strap more securely over her shoulder. Tucker shakes his head and laughs humorlessly.
"Typical Lancer," He mumbles, before leaning over and slinging Sam's duffel over his shoulder. At her frowning face he holds up his hand and literally shushes her.
"C'mon, this is the least I can do, teammate. Lancer has no regard for the human halves of his team," Tucker says, before suddenly snickering, as if he knew something Sam didn't. She sighed. She was already beginning to regret switching from the New York office.
The elevator doors dinged open and Tucker looped his arm through hers, practically dragging her out into the hall. She almost missed grabbing the handle of her other suitcase.
"The rest of the team should probably be here, in the lounge, although Danny is probably still in the morgue," Tucker says, glancing at Sam briefly as a security guard checks both their IDs.
"You know they found a body early this morning, right?" He asks, and Sam is surprised by the sudden serious tone in Tucker's voice. She nods as she stuffs her ID back into her bag.
"The whole team is assembling and we're going to look over all the evidence, for this murder and the past three," Tucker continues, guiding Sam past several offices. He stops suddenly at door labeled 'Bathroom' and gestures towards it.
"We've got a few minutes before the meeting starts, so you can run in and get cleaned up if you'd like," He says, "The door of the lounge is at the end of this hall at the right, but if you want me to wait for you here I will,"
Sam pushes the door open and shakes her head.
"You can go ahead, I'll only be a few seconds," She says, taking her duffel back from Tucker. He smiles brightly at her before saluting her jokingly with two fingers and turning to walk down the hall. She watches him just long enough to see what door he disappears into before turning into the bathroom.
No wonder everyone was practically running to get out of your way, she thinks with a smirk, appraising her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was smeared and looked darker than usual, and overall she looked rather bedraggled.
True to her word, all she did was brush her teeth quickly and wash away some of the makeup that had smeared especially bad. After applying some more deodorant and running a brush through her short hair she felt much more refreshed and shoved all her toiletries back into her bag.
The halls were still empty when she left the bathroom and her boots were quiet against the carpet. She pushed through the door Tucker had walked through and was surprised to find it much more populated than the rest of the floor.
Across the room, on a comfortable looking couch, Tucker glanced up and immediately jumped to his feet.
"Sam! Over here!" He practically shouted, waving his arm enthusiastically. Sam fought the urge to face palm as the entire room quieted. Not like there were many people in there to start. She sighed and walked across the lounge, dropping her luggage to the floor and plopping onto the couch next to Tucker. He smiled brightly at her.
"When is this thing going to start?" She asked gruffly, glancing around the room as the few other people there returned to their conversations. Tucker shrugged and glanced at his rather high-tech looking watch.
"Once Lancer and Danny get here, I guess," He said, relaxing into the back of the couch. Seconds later an overweight and balding man strode through the door and cleared his throat. The whole room quieted quickly and Sam resisted the urge to straighten in her seat.
"Head count, agent Baxter?" The man asked, moving to the front of the room, and a blonde agent glanced around briefly.
"Missing Fenton, sir," He said, and the man glanced up and met eyes with Sam. She suddenly recognized him- Director Lancer had been to the New York office a few times, and had been the one to call her with the offer of the serial killer team.
Lancer nodded and shuffled some files he pulled out of his briefcase.
"Mr. Fenton isn't quite done with the newest body, so he'll be a few minutes late," He said, and Sam watched a disgusted expression spread across Agent Baxter's face.
"Could everyone please take a seat?" Lancer asked, and the other agents in the room immediately moved to take a seat. Sam glanced over to Tucker with a frown.
"He's just going to start without someone?" Sam whispered, and Tucker shrugged.
"Danny's late all the time, " He mumbles, but Sam watches him pull out a modified looking PDA and type out a quick message to someone. Lancer clears his throat at the front of the room and Sam drags her attention back up to him.
"As you all should know at this point, a special team has been created to catch a killer that has, as of 3:26 this morning, been discovered to have killed four people. We have reached out to several different agents and personnel and put together the best team we believe to catch this killer," Lancer looked around the room once, meeting the eyes of everyone gathered there, before opening his mouth to continue in his speech. Suddenly the door to the lounge banged open and Sam jumped, wrenching her head around to see who was coming in. No one else seemed to be terribly perturbed.
She was surprised to see a rather short, thin man standing in the doorway, cringing at the loud noise of the door hitting the wall, and found herself wondering if this was Danny.
The black haired man shuffled into the room and offered a sheepish smile to Lancer as he stripped off surgical gloves and dropped them into a trashcan.
"Sorry I'm late, Denorah and I got into a pretty interesting conversation," He said, and Sam is pretty sure agent Baxter gagged from where he was across the room.
"Have a seat, Mr. Fenton," Lancer sighed, and Danny shuffled across the room to drop onto the couch next to Tucker. He glanced up and his eyes met Sam's, and she felt something cold build in her chest as their gazes met. His almost glacial blue eyes were unsettling- not only for their striking colour, but also an emotion that resided in them that Sam knew but couldn't quite place.
And then the spell was broken as Lancer cleared his throat and Sam wrenched her gaze from Danny's, heart pounding surprisingly quickly.
What the hell was that? She wondered, taking a deep breath to try and calm her heart. She forced herself to focus on Lancer's words.
"Now that we are all gathered here, we can begin with introductions. Agent Baxter, you may begin. Please state your full name, qualifications, and what your role is with this team," Lancer said, nodding to the blonde agent he had spoken with before.
Someone clearly has favorites, Sam thought shortly, watching the blonde man stand with a critical eye.
"I'm agent Dash Baxter, and I'll be one of the agents solving this case. I served in the Marines for several years before this and have been an agent for four years now," He said, lifting his chin, and all Sam could picture was a bright red letterman jacket on him and a football tucked under his arm. She bit back a snort of laughter and Tucker glanced at her with a knowing smile on his face.
A pretty woman stood up next and smoothed her navy skirt down before casting a bright smile around the room.
"I'm agent Paulina Sanchez and I'm agent Baxter's partner for this case. I was a police officer in San Diego and worked in the homicide division for a few years before becoming an agent for the FBI," She said, smoothing a long lock of dark hair behind her ear before sitting down. Again, Sam was flashed with vivid imagery, this time of bright pompoms and lipstick. She shuddered.
"I'm Star and I work in genetics and DNA analysis and identification in the lab with Danny. I received my undergrad and graduate degree from Cornell, and went to Columbia to receive my PhD in genetics," A pretty blonde said, shooting a small grin to Danny, who returned it. She sat down as well and Sam had the sudden feeling she was the only one who didn't know any of this. Everyone looked rather bored.
"'m name's Danny and I'm the forensic pathologist. I do freaky stuff to dead people to find out why they're dead," Danny said quietly. Standing, he had terrible posture, curling his shoulders in and tucking his arms close to his chest. He wasn't very tall to start with, but standing like this he looked like a high-school student.
He sat down quickly and Sam only had a moment to realize he didn't list his qualifications before Tucker hopped to his feet.
"I'm Tucker Foley," He said loudly, jamming his thumb into his chest, and most of the people in the room groaned, "And I'm the tech lord of this team! I went to MIT on a full ride and graduated early, before getting in trouble with the CIA and getting recruited into doing the government's dirty stuff to avoid jail time."
Sam glanced at Tucker sharply, unaware he was a criminal, and only received a smile and eyebrow wiggle from him as he sat back down. Sam stood with a sigh and idly cracked her knuckles.
"I'm Sam Manson, a psychologist and profiler from the New York office. I'm here to help figure out who the killer is, and why he killed these people. I went to Stanford and Yale," She said shortly, before dropping back onto the couch. She knew there were two more people after her, but she tuned them out as Danny leaned across Tucker to talk to her.
"Do you happen to know a Jazz Fenton?" He asked quietly, and Sam nodded in surprise.
"She's a professor at Stanford, yeah," She said, realizing that Danny and Jazz had the same last name- were they siblings? Danny nodded and offered her a smile that didn't reach his eyes before leaning back to his side of Tucker. Sam noticed that the two were pressed together from their shoulders down despite plenty of room on the couch.
"Now that those pesky introductions are out of the way, we can start going over the information thus gathered," Lancer said, calling Sam's attention back to the current world, and she hastily tugged out her copy of the file from her computer bag. Around the room, everyone was doing the same, apart from Danny. Sam watched Tucker pull out his PDA again.
"The first murder was committed nine months ago. Alisha Lee, second-generation Chinese immigrant, kindergarten teacher, was found in her home by her sister. She was 36 years old with shoulder length black hair and lived alone,"
Sam pulled out the photo of the woman from when she was still alive, provided by her sister, and appraised it critically. Alisha had been beautiful, with kind eyes and a wide smile. She had her arms around two children with bright grins. She felt her lips pull down as she looked at the photo. The worst part about her job was the victims.
Steeling her heart, Sam shuffled through the file until she found a photo of the crime scene, focused on Alicia's body. The woman was posed on her bed, hands tied to her bed frame, naked. Her head was thrown back and hair splayed out in a seemingly natural yet artful spiral, and her legs were spread apart. The bed had only a thin white sheet over the mattress and a loose sheet partially covering the woman's body.
Sam eyed the piece critically, already trying to put together a profile of the killer.
She's obviously posed sexually, that much is clear. Her body looks clean and her hair brushed. She was definitely placed with care. Sam glanced up. Most of the room was observing the photos and information on the crime scene, but a few people were conversing quietly.
"Danny," She whispered, leaning around Tucker to speak to the pathologist. His head jumped up from where it was resting on his chest and he blinked his eyes several times before focusing on her. He looked incredibly tired; dark circles looked like bruises under his eyes, and his face was pale under the splattering of freckles across his face.
"Can you tell me where there was bruising on Alisha's body?" She asked quietly, and Danny leaned towards her with a frown.
"Wasn't that in the file?" He asked, and Sam shrugged.
"I have moderate dyslexia, so it's easier to hear the information than try to read it," She said, and a flash of understanding crossed his face before he smiled gently at her.
"Yeah, of course," He said, settling his hands on his knees, "She had moderate bruising around her wrists, on the back of her head, and severe bruising and brain trauma on her left temple that was the cause of death," Sam nodded and chewed on her lip. She appreciated Danny keeping his information non-technical for her.
"So she wasn't suffocated, like the others?" Sam asked, glancing up to meet Danny's gaze. His eyes were vacant for a moment before refocusing on Sam's.
"Alisha was very smart. We think the killer tried to suffocate her, and she pretended to die. As soon as they let go of her she tried to run. That was when the killer grabbed the baseball bat Alisha tried to defend herself with and hit her in the head with it, killing her instantly," Danny said, his tone very matter-of-fact, and Sam nodded.
"It would make sense their first kill was sloppy and this uncoordinated," She mumbled, glancing down at the photos. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Danny's fingers entangled themselves and squeezed tightly enough that they whitened when the photos were in view.
She closed the folder and sat back with an apologetic smile as Lancer cleared his throat again.
"Alright people, onto the next victim. 37-year-old high school teacher Laila Sydney, African American, found by her girlfriend seven months ago in their shared apartment. She was 5 foot 10, tall compared to Alisha's 5 foot 2."
Sam tugged out the next paper clipped file in her folder and gently took hold of the photo of Laila when she was alive. The woman with her must have been her girlfriend- they were pressed together, cheek to cheek, both smiling broadly at the camera. Laila was also beautiful. Sam felt the same sadness prick at her chest as when she had seen the photo of Alisha.
She flipped through the papers until she found the photo of the crime scene and forced herself to observe it critically. It was even more obscene than Alisha's pose, and Sam found herself clipping it back under the paper clip and closing her folder before turning to Danny. This time he was watching her- seemingly waiting for her to ask him about the body.
"Same question?" He asked, glancing down at his hands when Sam nodded, "Bruising around her wrists, like Alisha, although it was more severe, and bruising around her throat as well. There's also evidence of strong blows to her midsection and torso,"
"She put up a fight?" Sam asked, and Danny made an aborted movement that looked like a cross between a shrug and a nod.
"Alisha put up a fight too, just in a different way," He said quietly, studiously looking at his fingers, "Laila was taller and heavier, and she attended a boxing club on the weekends for over three years. The killer was aware she was strong, but was caught off guard when she fought back so viciously. Laila had managed to get a few punches in herself,"
Sam leaned forward in interest, eyeing Tucker for only a moment to see if he cared. He was totally absorbed in his PDA.
"She had several scrapes and cuts on her knuckles, and had a boxer's fracture," Danny said, making a fist and pointing out the last two knuckles on his hand, "They're a common break from not punching correctly. Seeing as they were fresh, and it had been almost an entire week since she had last attended her boxing club, and she was a veteran, I deduced it was because she was caught off guard and didn't have time to line up her arm and wrist correctly before punching the killer,"
Sam nodded. Having learned several different martial arts throughout the years, she was familiar with a boxer's fracture.
"But she was killed by suffocation, correct?" Sam asked, and Danny nodded.
"And after she was killed- Alisha too- they were undressed, washed, and positioned in their bedrooms is some sexual manner?" She asked, and Danny rubbed the back of his neck.
"Yeah, it's the same in these two cases, and the other two as well," He said, other hand picking at a small rip in his jeans, and Sam nodded. The killer was refining their methods, perfecting their signature. The biggest inconsistency was in their differing appearances, however. Yes, they were both teachers, and in their late thirties, but they were of very different races.
"Now, onto the third victim," Lancer said, calling attention back to him. He eyed Tucker with distaste for a moment before sighing.
"Mr. Foley, if you could please focus on the meeting," He said.
"I am," Tucker said, without looking up, and Lancer rubbed at his forehead.
"Anyway, the third victim is Lorena Martin, 34-year-old high school teacher, born in Columbia and raised there before immigrating to the United States. Her neighbor, who she went for a jog with each Saturday, found her in her apartment when she didn't answer her phone. This was five months ago."
So the killer has a consistent cooling down and heating up period? Sam thinks, pulling out the photo of Lorena and studiously ignoring the crime scene photo. She could look at that later.
Lorena was also gorgeous, her curly dark hair piled on top of her head in an artful style and beaming in a traditional Columbian dress. Danny was already looking at her before she even turned to him.
"Same thing- some bruising around the wrists, died of suffocation, washed and posed at the crime scene," He said. Sam nodded and relaxed back into the couch. She studied the photo- Lorena appeared to be small, so that would explain why the killer could overpower her without too much force. Again, she was a different ethnicity than the other two women, but still a teacher and in her mid-to late thirties. Is that the pattern?
"The fourth body was discovered this morning, in her home, and has been identified as Denorah Pine, a second-generation Filipino immigrant. She was 35-years-old and a special education teacher at the high school down the block from her house," Lancer paused and sighed, before seemingly building his resolve, "One of her students found her body."
Sam stilled as the room went silent. She could only imagine the kind of trauma that would inflict on a high school student- and one with possible learning and processing disabilities? She felt her stomach plunge in sympathy and rage for the poor student.
"We have yet to call the witness in to collect their full statement," Lancer said, and Sam's eyes rose to look at him incredulously. Someone else beat her to speaking, however.
"Is that really the best idea?" Danny asked, an echo of something in his voice saying here, I'll answer that for you, and say no, it's not the best idea- not even a good one. Lancer eyed Danny and sighed.
"Mr. Fenton, you know as well as any of us that this killer is not going to stop. And- you had actually said so yourself- based on the timeline, there may be another body out there that has not been found yet," He said sternly, eyebrows drawing close in a frown, "It is imperative we gather all the information we possibly can,"
Danny frowned right back at the director, his eyes flashing as he straightened in his seat.
"You have no idea what this kid might have gone through, before or during this crime, and you really wanna chuck them into some cold, scary interrogation cell with some impersonal, uncaring agent and grill them for something they might not have even seen?" He asks incredulously. Lancer was shaking his head before Danny had even finished.
"Mr. Fenton, of course we will handle this with utmost care, but this witness-"
"Is a child!" Danny suddenly exploded, lunging to his feet, and Sam didn't miss how several people in the room flinched away from him. She eyed his clenched fists tightly and the fury in his eyes. But there was something else there, something else hidden behind his angry snarl and furrowed brows.
It was fear, Sam suddenly realized. Immediately, her mind jumped to the worst conclusion- could Danny be the killer? Was he afraid the child had seen him? She dispelled that thought instantly, looking Danny up and down again. When she had first seen him, she would have dismissed the idea of him being capable of killing anyone within seconds. But now, observing the smooth bulge of muscle under his long sleeves, and the thick scars and marks on his knuckles and fingers- not to mention the look in his eyes- she found herself second guessing that thought.
No, his personality doesn't fit with the killer- But Sam found herself hesitating. She hadn't fully read the case file, it was much too early to create a comprehensive profile of the killer- but for some reason she was sure Danny wasn't the killer.
Already suspecting your teammates of being serial killers, Manson? She thought to herself, watching Danny force himself to take a deep breath.
"Daniel," Lancer said quietly, "I understand your feelings- belief me, I do. But we must advance this case. We must do all we can to save lives."
Danny stared at the director for a long moment before sitting back down silently. Tucker, now devoid of his PDA, snaked his arm through Danny's and held hands with him tightly. Sam was momentarily floored with the display- were they romantically involved? Tucker had made no move to try to calm Danny down when he was actually angry. He seemed now to be comforting Danny- but when her eyes caught their white knuckles, she wondered if Tucker was restraining him.
"Ms. Manson," Lancer suddenly said, and Sam quickly focused her gaze on him.
"Do you have enough information to create a profile?" He asked, and Sam fingered the edge of the folder thoughtfully.
"I definitely have enough to start," She said. Sam didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. Creating profiles, despite popular belief, can be incredibly hit-and-miss at times. She could either nail the killer to every last personality trait and childhood problem, or she could be off by a mile.
"If you need anything, just ask," Lancer said, "We're your new team, and you can rely on all of us."
Going by the curled lip from agent Sanchez at that statement, Sam could guess that wasn't necessarily true, but she smiled and nodded at Lancer anyway.
"Daniel, could you take over from here and describe your findings of Ms. Pine?" Lancer asked, raising an eyebrow at the pathologist. Danny carded his free hand through his hair.
"Pretty similar to the other victims," Danny said, eyes downcast and slightly vacant. He's remembering, Sam realizes suddenly. Does he have an eidetic memory?
"Bruising around her wrists and throat, but there were some inconsistencies. She had massive bruising up one side, and damage to one wall of her apartment indicates she could have been slammed against it. Her left hand was broken in several places as well. The breaks stipulate that she was holding something cylindrical when extreme force was exerted on her hand. She's an avid tennis player, and I believe she was trying to defend herself with a racket when she was thrown into the wall, fell to the ground, and the killer stepped on her hand holding the racket. Then the killer suffocated her." Danny's voice was quiet and matter of fact, and when he finished speaking he blinked several times and his gaze refocused.
"Analysis of the crime scene revealed blood, skin, and hair on one of her rackets, and we believe it is the killer's. We're analyzing it now," A blonde woman interjected- Star, Sam thinks- and Danny nods.
"Where was the kid?" Tucker suddenly asks, and everyone turns to him, surprised. Danny is the only one who doesn't look surprised- only confused.
"Excuse me, Mr. Foley?" Lancer asks. He looks mildly annoyed.
"Where did they find the kid? Where were they in Denorah's house?" Tucker asked, sitting up and suddenly looking very interested in the case. Lancer looked confused for a moment before fishing through his file.
"I don't see how that is pertinent, Mr. Foley," He mumbles, shuffling through the papers, and Sam watches as Tucker frees his hand from Danny's grasp and steeples his fingers, eyes focusing intensely on thin air behind his glasses.
"Does no one realize?" Tucker asked, glancing around the room. Everyone stares at him with varying degrees of annoyance, apart from Danny, who has a dawning look of realization on his face. Sam is confused, but also intrigued- this is so much more interesting than the New York office, she thinks.
"The kid called in at what, three in the morning? Why would they be there that early in the morning? On a Saturday?" Tucker asked. Agent Baxter sighed and rolled his eyes.
"The kid was in special ed, do you really think they would have reasoned that three isn't a normal time to visit your teacher?" He asked, annoyance clear in his voice, and both Tucker and Danny shot him identical looks of anger.
"Yeah, the kid might have lacked reason, but Denorah doesn't. She would never let a student wander to her house at three in the morning- don't any of you see it?" He asked, voice rising, and Sam felt the inkling of a thought begin to grow in her mind. Oh god, she thought, eyes widening in realization. Tucker catches her expression and nods vigorously, turning back to face the other people in the room.
"Even the newbie's got it!" He almost shouts, jumping to his feet. Agent Sanchez sighs and runs a hand over her hair.
"Can you just tell us already, techno-geek?" She asks, clearly fed up. Sam throws a caustic glare at her before turning back to Tucker, who is literally vibrating where he stands.
"The kid was at her house the whole night! They saw the whole murder because they went home with her after school the day before- Denorah would never let a kid come over at three in the morning, she'd just have them stay with her the whole night!" Tucker exploded, hands coming up to squeeze at his beret. The room is deathly silent. Lancer is frozen at the front of the room, staring blankly at a single sheet of paper clutched tightly in his hands.
"Under," Lancer murmurs, and Tucker spins to look at him.
"Under the bed, the student said they hid under the bed," He repeated, louder. Tucker's hands dropped to his sides and he stared at the floor, the excitement of figuring it out suddenly leaving as he realizes what he had figured out.
Danny stands and leaves the room silently.
The rain pitters against the window.