Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and its characters are the creation of Jeff Davis and are copy written under CBS (as far as I can tell). No infringement upon their rights is intended. The stories written under the penname Gabigail, however, do belong to me. None are written for profit and are intended for entertainment purposes only.
Black Leather Jacket.
Prologue:
A man, dressed head to toe in black; tight black jeans, a black shirt and a black leather jacket, enters the seedy, smoke-filled pub. The bartender glances towards the door, lowering his silver haired head in recognition and greeting before turning his attention back to the already half-baked patron, and setting the amber filled glass in front of him. Black leather jacket confidently strides towards a man who conceals himself in the shadows of an ill lit, secluded table. With a low grunt, he sits himself across from the man, who he notes, is dressed in casual business attire. Judging by his preppy ensemble that this gentleman is out of his element and the probability of his being a regular at this establishment nil. The waitress clicks towards their table and sets their drinks in front of them. Turning quickly on her high heel, they only catch the sharp whip of her red ponytail, as she saunters back to the bar. Each take a swig of his drink, then lean in towards the other so that the bars other patrons cannot hear their conversation. The casually dressed man sits himself back, gestures towards the bartender for a refill; black leather jacket declines by holding up a hand.
Once the waitress returns with his drink order and disappears, he pulls out an envelope from his jacket pocket, places it on the old wooden table, and covers it with well-groomed hands. In a smooth well-executed move, he slides it across the table towards his companion. The other man stares at it for a long moment before picking it up to verify its contents. Seemingly satisfied, he opens his black leather jacket and shoves it into the inside breast pocket. The pair exchange glances of understanding and with a slow, calculated nod the casually dressed chap slithers away into the night. Black leather jacket remains behind to finish the drink he had been nursing during his meeting, which upon downing the last gulp, he places the glass on the table in front of him, letting it click loudly against the tabletop. He glances at his well worn black leather strapped watch, checking the time, stands, drops a few bills onto the table, tips his head towards the silver haired bartender, who returns his gesture, and makes his way out.
As he drives, black leather jacket carefully gets the slip of paper for the address. He turns off the main street onto the side street of the quiet neighbourhood. Two hundred and fifty-five, two hundred and twenty-five, two hundred and twenty-two, he drives just beyond the home, and cuts the engine. Knowledgeable of his purpose, his briefcase securely in its place in the trunk, he finds comfort in the fact that within that very briefcase resides the tools of his trade. Essentially a number of long sharp well-kept knives, some string, thick rope, leather cord, duct tape, and a pistol with it's silencer attached, in the off chance that things happen to get difficult. He quickly double checks the address, presses the trunk release and steps out of the car into the crisp night air. He grabs his briefcase and closes the trunk before heading up the walk of two hundred and twenty-two. Like many of the homes on the street, inside is shrouded in darkness as the occupants are tucked safely in their beds. Well not for long, he muses, making his way around back to the sliding glass door. Very interesting, he stops himself, one would think that a fireman would know to shove a piece of thick doweling in the doors frame to keep it shut, he quickly picks the lock and the door slides open. Breathing a sigh of relief that there is no security system, the man continues to make his way through the sleeping home, easily ignoring the material things as he goes.
It is one thing to rip the head from the household on a regular job, with the intended mark away from his family. However, it's an entirely different experience with the family so near, a skill that only black leather jacket possesses. With the stealth like moves of a cat burglar, he makes his way upstairs towards the bedrooms. Not knowing the layout of the home may put him at a disadvantage, however, he silently peeks into each room. His intended victim has three children, but that simple fact does nothing to deter him, he has a job to do. Soundlessly entering the master bedroom, he stands over the bed and watches the sleeping couple nestled comfortably. He plots the ease with which he intends to drag the intended victim from his bed. Placing the briefcase on the floor, he opens it and carefully removes the needed items; leaving the pistol for last, he tucks into the waistband of his pants then gathers the duct tape, rope and a knife.
Part One:
"Upon questioning Tim York's wife Belinda, local police say that she didn't hear a thing, and while I find this rather odd at best, neither did his children." Hotchner says taking the lead. He stands in front of the whiteboard, glancing quickly from time to time at the file resting on the table in front of him. "From our preliminary assessment, it's fairly cut and dry. This un-sub is classified as your run of the mill, organised serial killer, which as you can see is bolstered by the crime scene photographs. Please also keep in mind that he leaves very little, if anything behind. Only what he wants us to find and if I were to guess, he has had many a year to perfect his craft."
"Are you sure that no one heard anything?" Elle sits back in her seat and sips her coffee. Hotchner shakes his head for emphasis. "The un-sub stopped once he murdered the head of the household. He didn't harm any of the other family members?"
"There was no physical evidence indicating that the family itself was his target." Hotchner replies in a monotone, which Gideon immediately identifies as an attempt to keep his emotions in check. A tone that accompanies his calm, cool, suited exterior.
"That's odd because a man with such skill usually doesn't have the capacity to merely stop once the deed is done. What this suggests is that he could possibly be a man of some honour? And I use the term loosely." Derek Morgan skims the next few pages. Lifting his head to readdress his team, Morgan sighs. "Get this, York isn't his first fire official." He lets the file fall onto the tabletop and looks over at Jason Gideon, who returns his gaze. "Authorities have been investigating a series of arsons in as many states. It seems that torching prime real estate is a very lucrative occupation. Perhaps our buddy is tying up a couple of loose ends. That or we're dealing with two very sick individuals." He lets his fingers drum on the arm of the chair and Gideon's eyebrows furrow in response as he scratches the back of his neck.
"Loose ends?" Reid's puzzled expression speaks volumes for the youth.
"What Morgan means is that this victim, Tim York was the lead investigator on the arson squad. It appears that they were in the process of investigating a series of arsons and thought to have been close to identifying the suspect." Elle tilts her head, a quick nod in Hotchner's direction would have allowed him to finish his earlier point; however, he is once again interrupted.
"If everyone could find a job that they were this good at." J.J. says under her breath from the open door.
"You better believe it." Gideon adds, staring at something in the file in front of him. Removing his glasses with a sigh, he steps into his mode. "Normally, one utilises such acts for release of some sort. Many have concurred that at the very root of an arsonist is the loss of a job, the lack of love in that individual's life, or a combination of both. However, from what I see here, neither would be the case. He simply applies the skills he possesses to make a living. And it just so happens that he's possibly getting his kicks on the side, so to speak."
"What of the murder aspect?" Reid pipes in, absently closing his file.
"The murders are beyond meticulous, beyond organised. He takes a great deal of pleasure in his work. It's all over his signature. And there's an interesting escalation."
"Taking into consideration that Tim York's death is the sixth in the past five months alone." J.J. supplies the facts and Gideon seems to press his lips together deep in thought. "This murder only three weeks after Henry Grant's. I'd say local authorities have a problem."
"Sixth? Really?" Elle's eyes widen in surprise. "Why exactly are they asking for our help now?"
"Because they want to know precisely what kind of monster they are dealing with." Gideon replies. "Being that he's not your average-- run of the mill murderer. He's also an arsonist, which complicates the matter. As a result, we will have to employ a far more creative approach to creating our profile." With a curt nod towards the door, the team take their cue and exit.
"At least it's an at home case." Derek whispers, turning his head to find Reid grinning happily from ear to ear.
"I find it interesting that one so good at what he does can remain so allusive. Usually, one makes the mistake of boasting. In this case, if this is his 'job' then he must 'advertise'". Reid says as they head down the few steps that lead into their work area.
"That may be true. No matter how much of a slithery snake he is." Elle adds with a disgusted look.
"He's a professional. Hence, not a word to anyone." Hotchner's comment comes from behind them and she turns to look at him.
"The killer, or the arson, or both?"
"I'm still hedging a bet that we're dealing with one really sick psychopath. Possibly a sociopath."
"Then wouldn't it be a logical conclusion that he must be working for a developer then? Possibly the company who has recently received the contract to do the work on the site once the dust has settled." Reid pulls his chair out and plunks his small frame into it.
"How much would you pay to have occupied land to develop? Is it worth lives?" Elle rests her hands on his desk, leaning against it. Derek raises his well-groomed eyebrows and rolls his eyes.
"A fire is a quick fix. You by-pass any and all red tape when it comes to developing the property for commercial or even residential use. It's also a quick method to rid a building of its tenants or in the case of a condominium, its owners." Derek sits casually in his seat.
"I suppose, but murdering a fire fighter seems a bit extreme doesn't it?" she sits at her desk and rests her chin on the back of her hand. Derek takes a moment to think.
"Not really. If he knows who is behind the fire, he might be liable to disclose that information and the company would then be in an extremely tough spot. Don't you think?" he replies drumming his fingers on his desk. It seems that as Reid takes in their conversation, the wheels of his over active mind are turning.
"Reid, would you work with Garcia in finding out which company may have hired our un-sub?" Reid twitches his lips with a nod as he gathers a new notepad from his desk drawer. "Try and find out to what extent said company is attached to the initial bid for development and whether or not they have now been chosen." Hotchner looks down at the file in his hands.
"I'll also try and see to what extent the competition may or may not be involved."
"That sounds like a plan." Hotchner replies as Reid nearly runs to Garcia's cave of technology. Amused by the younger mans eagerness to help, Hotchner lets a smile tug at the corners of his usually tight lips before turning his attention back to Elle and Derek.
"Elle, I would like you and Derek to examine the latest crime scene. I've been informed by office O'Connor that the forensics team has completed their job, so it's ready for you." Glancing at his watch, Hotchner nearly walks into Gideon, who managed to sneak up behind him.
"Actually, Hotchner. I'll go with Elle, I want Derek to head over to Scruffy Joe's." Gideon cuts in glad that his toes are still intact.
"Scruffy Joe's? What could I possibly find out by going there?"
"An eye witness thinks that he may have seen the man in the police sketches. If at all he is our un-sub, we need to get as much background on him as possible to determine his personality, along with his background to establish his reasoning." Gideon makes a quick gesture for Elle to get her jacket and they rush off to the elevator.
"I'm flying solo I suppose." Derek says under his breath. Hotchner shrugs as he turns his attention to him with a sigh.
"I have to stay here and monitor a few logistical issues." His reply more of an explanation as he watches the elevator doors close. Derek chuckles more to himself as he grabs his leather jacket and catches the next elevator.
Happy to have the chance to observe Gideon in his element, Elle sits in the passenger seat with one of the files open across her lap skimming it's contents while he concentrates on the road, allowing her to familiarise herself with what they will be encountering. Glancing up, she makes a mental note of the streets numbers.
"Could you slow down?"
"Elle?"
"Humour me." She takes in the neighbourhood and envisions it at night, immediately noticing that not all the homes have illuminated numbers, which by extension would make it a bit more difficult for one to see them by the darkened sky. Even with the glow of lamps lights, some of the numbers would not be visible in the darkness. "I have a feeling that if he didn't know the neighbourhood, he would have to drive slowly."
"Ah, I see your point." She sees the corner of his lip curl as he slows down and then stops in front of the home still surrounded within the police caution tape, and the seal on the door intact.
"I highly doubt that he would park right in front of the home of his intended victim. Perhaps he parked up there?" she points to a leafy tree that would probably cast a shadow over the license plate. He parks the car three doors down, under the tree.
"Point of entry?" he inquires as they walk towards the home, Elle opens her file.
"The back sliding door." She leads and they walk briskly and purposefully towards the rear of the home. The glass has an odd purplish tint where the fingerprint dust had been applied by the forensic team.
"Easy enough when there is nothing to keep the door closed and no security system." Gideon shakes his head as they make their way back to the front door. Breaking the seal, he unlocks the door and pushes it open. Elle steps over the threshold and looks around at the near pristine scene. Nothing appears to have been disturbed. Everything she had learned regarding the reasoning for breaking and entering are absent from this crime scene. "Upstairs." Gideon leads and they head to the master bedroom. "Investigators said that both were asleep and the suspect was somehow able to pluck his intended victim from his bed without his wife being aware." Elle places the file on the bed and walks around the room, getting a better perspective. Gideon plants himself at the foot of the bed and closes his eyes.
The room is dark, save for the sliver of moonlight as it is filtered through the sheers. I would probably stand at the foot of the bed, contemplating the best method to execute my intent. I quietly place the bag of tricks beside me and probably remove them very deliberately from their resting place. Almost as though moving around the area as their un-sub before them, Gideon almost appears to be acting out the scene in his mind. Walking to the wife's side of the bed, I most likely used the knife to rouse him, running it along his exposed arm. Getting his attention, to keep him quiet, I cover my lips with a finger and hold the knife so that he would believe that I would kill his wife with one quick slash. Walking back to the foot of the bed, Gideon turns towards Elle.
"I'm thinking that he probably stood here and watched as the couple slept calculating his method." He tilts his head slightly, as though looking for another point of view. Elle nodding her understanding pulls out the digital camera that she usually carries with her and stands beside him. Quickly taking a few photographs of the newly stripped bed, as the forensics team had hoped that the sheets would assist them in finding evidence that would positively identify their suspect. "I suppose he then would have carefully colleted the tools needed for the job." He adds, gesturing towards the floor.
"You're probably right, these look like the markings of some sort of briefcase." She snaps another quick picture and finds herself almost staring at Gideon, who seems to close his eyes deep in thought, as he places himself back in the crime scene.
Because of my obvious advantage in the situation, my intended victim feels that it is best to comply with my demands. Once he has gotten out of bed without waking his wife, I bind his wrists so that he is unable to defend himself, and then I take him into the basement where the fun begins.
"My family?" he inquires.
"Providing that you comply, they will not be harmed." I reply, looking into his pleading eyes. He has no other choice, nor does he know if I am being truthful and will honour my side of the agreement. Not seeing an alternative, I can see him making his peace. I am slow and very meticulous in my actions, taking great pleasure in being the cause of the pain he suffers, and silently at that.
"His wife found him in the basement this morning around eight o'clock. She had taken the children to school and was just starting the laundry." He hears Elle's voice and opens his eyes. Her expression doesn't change. "How would I have been able to drag him from his bed without his wife waking?"
"If I didn't cover his mouth with something, he would no doubt have screamed to alert someone that something was going on and his wife and half the neighbourhood would have heard." Elle goes quiet. "He remains quiet, because I position myself close to his wife, using her as leverage. Threatening her life and thereby extension his family. Wanting to protect his family, he complies." She turns to Gideon with a perplexed expression.
"What is it Elle?"
"He's a fire fighter. They all were fire fighters. How does someone wield that much power, if you will, over them?"
"Do you know if local authorities have any leads as to the significance of their position?"
"As head of the arson squad, wouldn't they have the responsibility of writing, or at the very least signing off on the final reports? Perhaps the bribe wasn't enough and whomever did this was going to be exposed." Elle follows Gideon down the stairs towards the basement. Turning on the light, they are greeted with the crime scene, nothing being touched until the go ahead given by the police chief to clean the area.
"What this man has done to him is horrible." Elle hardly says above a whisper, as she remains frozen at the foot of the steps. Gideon heads straight to the sight of the murder.
"He wanted to protect his family. In this case the un-sub kept his part of the agreement." He continues to look around, searching for something that will help them. "Elle, could you get some pictures for me?"
"Sure." She takes a deep breath and begins to snap the pictures. The blood now dry, is rusty colour, appears to splatter out from the centre of the room. The pattern indicating how the un-sub took great pains in making his victim suffer. Elle still cannot understand how Tim York would not have tried to defend himself. "Were there any indication of defensive wounds?"
"None." Gideon shakes his head and opens the file in his hands reading a few notations the extent of the injuries illustrated by a diagram. "This really isn't as helpful as I thought." He turns to Elle with a deep frown as she finishes taking the photographs and they head back upstairs. "Usually there is something that indicates the intent. A signature, if you will. We already have the apparent motive; there is just a piece of the equation missing. We are no closer to having a profile that differs from what we've already established" His sigh is one of frustration. "I hope that Morgan has better luck at the pub."
Pubs always differ by the light of day. Losing what little charm a couple of drinks and the darkness gives them. With Derek's entrance, the silver haired bartender, busy setting up for another evening of individuals wanting to forget themselves in a series of pints looks up from said routine. Most of the chairs are set upside down on the tabletops; however there are two occupied tables, probably his early regulars.
"Is there anything that I can help you with?" the silver haired man asks as he places a glass in its place behind the bar. Derek nods his response and stands in front of him.
"I'm looking for some information."
"Isn't everyone?"
"I suppose." He replies as he retrieves his wallet and opens it, revealing his FBI identification.
"Well then. What kind of information are you looking for?"
"Have you seen this man?" he opens his file and places the photograph on the bar. The bartender glances at it, trying to look as though he has never seen the man in the picture. His charade is short lived however, as Derek is able to read his reaction instantly. "I gather you have. Is he one of your regulars?"
"He comes in periodically, I wouldn't say that he was a regular."
"I'm looking for a name."
"Sorry, I can't help you there. I know the names of my regulars, and since he only comes in occasionally, I don't. Perhaps Cindy knows, but she's not in until eight." He sighs. "Out of curiosity, what has he done to have the FBI looking for him?"
"We think he may have some information that will assist us in an on-going investigation." He fishes a card from his wallet. "He may unknowingly hold the key to the whereabouts of a man we are looking for." His reply is cryptic enough to cover the truth. "Here is my card. If you see him around, give me a call." The silver haired bartender nods his understanding and returns to his routines as though their conversation hasn't occurred. As he exits the pub, Derek cannot help but think of his wasted time.
Returning to Quantico, Derek finds Hotchner and J.J. in the conference room busy going over updated reports.
"Have the two of you found anything?" Derek sighs as he sits in one of the vacant seats. J.J. looks up from the file she's been fussing over and shakes her head.
"It would appear that black leather jacket is quite allusive." Hotchner comments with a snort. "We need to get the profile to the authorities as quickly as possible. That way they will have a better idea of what they are dealing with." Knowing that they have to wait for Gideon and Elle's arrival, he stands and begins pacing the length of the room, stopping only to glance out the large window. J.J. watches him for a moment.
"Our un-sub doesn't appear to be the run of the mill un-sub. Is it not time or a possibility to consider an outside of the box approach? Maybe empty the box and begin putting things back?" J.J. suggests as Elle and Gideon enter the room.
"Anything of interest?" Hotchner turns from the window in greeting.
"Nothing out of the ordinary that would assist us in developing a profile that differs from what we already have." Gideon tosses his file on the table and runs a hand through his dark cropped hair in frustration. Elle sits herself beside Derek and takes out her camera, reviewing her crime scene photos, looking for something that would differentiate this un-sub from the others.
"Is it possible that he has some sort of split personality disorder? A part of himself that is satisfied with the act of arson and the other the pleasure of torturing and murdering his victims?" Elle looks up from her camera. Gideon crosses his arms and leans against the wall.
"So what you're saying, or suggesting is that it could very well be something as simple as our un-sub being off his medication?" his reply is a tad dry and borderline sarcastic.
"Perhaps it isn't as cut and dry as a disorder controlled by medication." She inhales loudly. "What we do know is that he's incredibly organised, to the point of pathology. "
"OCD?" Hotchner fills in the possible blank.
"Which makes sense in respect to his pattern of behaviour; behaviour for which he is handsomely rewarded for possessing. Set a fire here, torture and murder a fire official there. Next question: How does one with his ability seek out employment? He must have a regular job." She keeps her eyes on Gideon hoping for some sort of key into his mind.
"Or vice versa. Where does one go to hire such an individual? I don't see him advertising. It would be through word of mouth." Hotchner leans against the lone podium in the conference room.
"Scruffy Joe's." Elle pauses. "If not there, some other lowly establishment where someone of his nature doesn't stick out." Shifting in her seat, she rests her elbows on the table.
"We've been through every bid on the mysteriously burnt to the ground properties and there has been nothing to connect them with one particular firm." Reid breaks in and leans casually against the doorframe. "Black leather jacket seems for all intents and purposes right off the radar." He scratches the back of his neck with a nervous smile.
"Well he's completed his job. Until we have another crime scene, be it a fire or a torture murder scene. We have nothing." Hotchner says as he resumes his pacing. Gideon can only sigh as he removes his glasses and shoves them in their holder in his breast pocket, and rubs at his eyes.
"Unless there is something that we're not seeing, I think that it's probably for the best that we call it a day. Monday morning will bring clarity. However, do keep in mind that we are on call if anything materialises, Hotchner or I will contact you." Gideon tilts his chin towards the door to dismiss the team. Derek and Elle take their cue and head out, with Reid on their tail.
"The man doesn't have to tell me twice." Derek hits the bottom step and makes his way to his desk to tidy a few loose papers. Looking up, he grins as Reid grabs that old warn leather messenger bag and shoves files into it. "Don't you ever just kick back and relax?" he teases as he puts whatever paperwork he can into the desk drawer and locks it. Picking up her jacket, Elle shakes her head, and her deep brunette wavy locks bounce around her shoulders.
"I hope we have a weekend to ourselves." She looks over at Reid, who continues his packing. "See you Monday."
"Yeah, you too." He replies as he pushes his chair in.
"Have a good one." Derek flashes her one of his mischievous smiles and she merely rolls her eyes in response to his obvious jest, then makes her way to the elevators. People handle the stress of the job in their own individual way. Friday nights can spell the beginning of a quiet weekend or the makings of a sea of people and activities, either way one learns to appreciate the weekend.