"Shit." Derek Morgan sat heavily in one of the stiff, uncomfortable chairs in one of the many New York Police Department conference rooms.
"What?" Spencer Reid looked exhausted; until the moment Morgan walked into the room, and not a second before, his head had been on his folded arms on the table. He hadn't been sleeping, he maintained, just thinking; this was a difficult case, and he, Morgan and Garcia were the only ones working it—and Garcia's time was split between this and the Chicago case that Hotch, Rossi and the girls were working.
It didn't help that this case was particularly nasty, in Reid's opinion: someone in New York City—in East New York, specifically—was raping, killing and mutilating young women. He was targeting ethnic women, specifically Haitians and Jamaicans, immigrants so new that they either spoke very broken English or no English at all, instead still speaking in their native Haitian Creole or Jamaican Patois. Two of the seven victims were thought to be illegal immigrants.
001. Grace Williams—twenty-one—nursing student (St. Joseph, night classes), maid (Continental Hotel, 1620 Jefferson Ave.; Anthony DioPaulo, manager)—Jamaican, immigrated around June 08—Unity Plaza, Site 4A, ENY
Reid's eyes moved over the board; there weren't any pictures up yet, just notes that he'd written down earlier in his small, rushed script.
002. Jacinta Gayle—nineteen—unemployed—Haitian, immigrated around May 09 (no record, presumed illegal)—Linden House, Site 3, ENY
003. Dominique Palmer—twenty-three—cashier at Quik Stop (14th and Douglas; Ophelia Rex, manager)—Jamaican, immigrated around March 07—9201 W. Justice Street, Apt. 17, Bronx
004. Vontriece Allen—twenty—maid (6300 Thompson Drive, Brooklyn; Bethany and Michael Daniels, employers)—Haitian, immigrated around Dec. 09 (no record, presumed illegal)—Cyprus Hill Houses, Site 9B, ENY
"Christ, Reid," Morgan said, shaking his head; he had started staring at the notes on the board, too.
"What?"
"How long did it take you to write all of that?"
"Not that long. It's better than writing it on paper that I'd lose." Reid stood, pacing in front of the board. "Alright, so... seven victims. All low-income, all either Jamaican or Haitian, all recent immigrants, all from around the same area, except for Dominique Palmer and Tiana Dixon, both of whom lived in the Bronx. They were also the only two that didn't live in 'the projects'." He sketched quotes in the air around his last two words and continued. "That would be another similarity between the victims, but only Jacinta Gayle and Keisha Powell lived in the same complex, and that particular complex—Linden House—has nineteen buildings, all of which are either eight or fourteen stories; plus, those murders weren't consecutive.
"Grace Williams had two children, Dominique Morgan was married and had one child, Ella Higgins had two children."
"Alright, so we have those seven girls: Grace, Jacinta, Dominique, Vontriece, Tiana, Keisha and Ella," Morgan said, leaning back and propping his feet up on his desk. "They—"
The door opened behind them and both Reid and Morgan turned to look: Officer Raymonde Prince of the NYPD was rolling in a wheeled file cabinet full of pictures, reports and signed statements.
"Here are the seven girls you've got so far," he said, easing the cabinet down and pulling out the top drawer. "Files one, two and three—Williams, Gayle and Palmer—are in drawer one. Files four, five and six are in drawer two. Files seven and eight are in drawer three."
Reid frowned. "There's not an eight yet."
"Yeah, there is," Prince said, and sighed. "Meet Corrine Gray."
Morgan swore and said, "When did she die?"
"That's the good news. She hasn't yet—somebody called the police, and he bunked."
"How bad is her condition?" Reid said, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice. "Is it possible for her to...?"
"She's not bad, all things considering—but there are a few things the Captain wants to discuss with you. But that's at the hospital. He wants us there in ten."