"For this reason, strangers are not really conceived as individuals, but as strangers of a particular type: the element of distance is no less general in regard to them than the element of nearness."
Georg Simmel
December.
Monday.
Same day.
10.34
During the three and a half hour flight, the team discussed the case avidly. As Atlanta came closer, Abby started feeling more nervous. She often found her thoughts wondering, taking a walk, and had to force herself to focus on the case. She remembered all too well what had happened last time she forgot to pay attention. The dark, deity man sitting across from her with his right arm in a sling reminded her sharply every time she laid her eyes upon him. Hotch had pulled their attention from Abby and the SCU by joining the group with an open case file in his hands.
"Well, he's definitely disorganized." Prentiss started. "He used whatever he could find as a murder weapon, he's sloppy and he leaves his fingerprints behind."
"Blitz attack." Rossi commented.
"Did you know that each serial killer is actually a bit of organized and disorganized?" Reid stated bluntly, looking up once he noticed the silence. "The classification of the disorganized/organized dichotomy is a simplification of the psychiatric terms "psychotic" or disorganized and "psychopathic" or organized for the benefit of law enforcement investigators. As a matter of fact, the idea of organized/disorganized dichotomy was actually developed by the FBI's Behavioural Science Unit in 1974 in order to more effectively investigate serial rapes and homicides."
"You-" Garcia said, sitting comfortably next to Morgan, her blonde hair shimmering in the faint light, "- are so freaky sometimes."
Both Reid and Abby smiled.
"Scott, what's the basic profile for a disorganized killer?" Hotch interrupted their abstruse conversation yet his eyes never left the black ink on the papers in front of him.
She halted, for a second, and her eyes interlaced with Reid's. "Uhm, okay. Age is usually between sixteen till his thirties. Of low intelligence, socially inept, could be sexually incompetent, he feels inferior, he is considered a loner, a freak. He probably lives alone or with parents or guardians and is very reclusive. He could show signs of a severe mental illness, he's likely to have been abused physically and/or sexually as a child, it's highly possible he is in a confused and/or frightened state of mind. IQ usually ranges between eighty-five and ninety. You want me to go deeper?"
"Is that even possible?" JJ asked, having trouble with taking in so many information. Abby tried to keep the speed of the words coming out of her mouth as slow as possible.
"Disorganization may arise from the youth of the offender, his lack of criminal sophistication, drug or alcohol abuse or mental deficiency. Victims are quite often people that knew him somehow. He gains confidence from his surroundings. Overkill is frequently present. The UnSub can feel inadequate.
If he sexually assaults the victim, the victim will be dying or dead already. They can engage in necrophilia and stabbing or biting types of mutilation. He can ejaculate on the victim's clothing or in the wounds. They will typically murder their victims by asphyxiation, strangulation, blunt force or the use of a pointed or sharp instrument."
"You wrote the book on disorganized serial offenders or something?" Morgan said, almost amazed. He stared at her with a partially blank expression, yet his brows were slightly narrowed.
She smiled. "Disorganized killings are usually the most violent." She shrugged once she explained, yet Garcia was still staring at her.
"Okay, so disorganized killer, where do we start? Reid?" Hotch continued.
"He lives close by, probably used the bus or the subway to get to the scenes."
"Endless possibilities though, Atlanta is a transportation hub." Rossi reminded them, the file loosely in his hands, the other resting on the arm of the couch.
"Want me or the Genius to state the facts?" Abby said, grinning widely when seeing JJ's and Garcia's faces.
"Please! No more facts." The blondes replied quickly.
"I'll get started on a geographical profile, see what I can do." Reid said to answer Hotch' question. "Prentiss, Rossi, visit the first two scene's. They've all been cleaned up already, but just make a good sketch of it. Morgan and Scott, you will meet agents Bronckovic and Lewis at the last scene. Apparently they were first there and will walk you through shortly. They don't have much time though, as Wills kindly pressed. JJ and I will head to the SCU, they offered us some space seeing they will be our most valuable resource. We'll start on victimology. Garcia, I want a list of patients with a mental illness in the area and cross-reference it with what Scott just gave you."
"On it." The witty computer expert replied.
Each member of the team nodded in agreement. Soon, their thoughts were diverted from casual talks over a cup of coffee to once more delve themselves into a completely different, violent and morbid world.
December.
Monday.
Same day.
13.07
As soon as she knew for sure her boss wouldn't shoot her or airport officials would chase her around the world, Abby grabbed her smokes from her backpack and lit one. Their ways parted as each group entered the black SUV's that had been parked near the exit of the excruciatingly large parking lot. Abby cut Morgan off just when he wanted to open the door of the driver's seat.
"I'm driving." She made sure her voice was strong and ardent enough, yet sounded casual to avoid him starting a discussion. Abby snatched the keys from his long, smooth fingers and blew out some smoke whilst she waited for him to step aside.
"No you're not." Morgan too tried to keep his voice calm and cool to get the upper hand in the discussion that was bound to follow - despite both their efforts not to start bickering like they always did.
"This is my old neighbourhood, I owned these streets; I'm driving. Besides, you can't even drive!"
"I can drive! I'm fine." He lifted his wounded arm – he took of the sling back in the plane- to prove his point.
"Morgan, let her drive." Hotch said to his faithful right hand without even looking at the scene. From behind his dark shades, Abby could see his eyes getting wide and his eyebrows were raised, almost in offense, but he remained quiet and headed towards the passenger's seat. "Yes ma'am."
"And Morgan? Put the arm back in the sling please." Hotch added.
Abby smirked but whipped the satisfied grin off her face when Morgan raised his finger at her. "Loose the grin Scott."
"Yes sir."
Ten minutes later, Abby had rested her head against the window frame of the car, the window down, the sun caressing her face gently and she blew out some smoke. Once they reached the highway, they immediately got stuck in traffic. She pushed her sunglasses back on the bridge of her nose and tossed the cigarette butt away.
"Would you stop smiling already?"
She looked at her partner. He looked annoyed. "Sorry."
"I can't believe you even missed these traffic jams."
"Who says I missed the traffic jams?"
"You're smiling."
"I miss this smell. It's so much cleaner back in DC."
"What, you like the smell of pollution?"
Abby sent him a glare that was supposed to shut him up, but he chuckled amused and sighed again. "No." She started. "This is the scent of the city. The scent of thousands of people calling this place home. Day or night, they come home to this place."
A wise man as he is, Morgan kept quiet.
Half an hour later they finally left Atlanta's terrible traffic behind them and entered the city. It felt good to be back and Abby instantly felt at home again. Ike Charles-Washington, the latest victim, had been found under the viaduct on Whitehall street, which meant that Abby would have to wait to see the SCU headquarters again. There was an awkward tension between the two of them and Abby wasn't sure if it were the lover's leftovers or just the whole situation in general. About five minutes away from the crime scene, Morgan finally opened his mouth. By the controlled look on his face, Abby guessed that he had been chewing on the words for quite some time.
"How long have you known these streets?" He asked.
"Why are you asking?" Abby shot back, knowing exactly where this was going as she took a right.
"It takes a long time to actually know the streets, let alone 'own' them." Morgan let the silence fill in the rest.
"I grew up here. I was an active kid, always running around. Only time I ever was indoors was for sleep and school, if I went at all. Hell, I practically grew up on these streets. I cleaned them up with the DEA, then protected them with CIRG. By the time I joined the SCU, everybody knew who I was and I knew them. If there was trouble, I would know about it. I know these streets Morgan," She turned the last corner and parked the car near a police squad, the yellow tape like a beacon right in front of them. "Like the back of my hand. I know them better than the hobos. I know my city, as my city knows me."
Recognizing faces, Abby exited the car and didn't wait for Morgan. As she passed the hot hood of the black SUV, she pointed her finger at him. "And don't you dare question that, especially not whilst were in that very city." She made her point clear.
"Okay." Was his only reply as he followed her, like a lion taking in his surroundings.
Baggy, light grey jeans. Hell blue and white checked long sleeved cotton shirt. Worn black All-stars. Leather jacket. Dark blond hair like he just got out of bed. Next to him - tight black jeans with dark boots and a dark red blouse tucked behind the waistband of her jeans. Black hair tied up in a ponytail with her hands in her pockets. Abby showed her badge to the police officer in front of the tape and made dust dance around her shoes as she headed towards the bridge.
"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." She said loudly, getting the attention of the two figures standing guard near the body.
Both persons in question turned around and big smiles were painted on their faces once laying eyes on the young FBI agent. Milo 'Miles' Bronckovic, Abby's best friend, was the first to open his arms and did a little dance.
"Frankie Scott. Back from the dead!"
"Hiya Miles. How's it going?" Abby gladly accepted the warm embrace and for a second, she felt like nothing had changed and she was still with the SCU. The scent of cars and polluted air, dry sand and dust and many mixtures of food combined with the arms of her best friend around her and her colleague next to them, nearly made her feel whole again.
"Going good, going good."
"Frankie." The black haired woman smiled the smile that was only reserved for a few lucky ones. Her big dark eyes took in the features of Abby's face and as she always did, quickly took in Abby's face. Holly 'Lewy' Lewis was what Abby liked to call a 'face reader'. She could tell amazing things just by looking at people's faces.
"Lewy. How's the trouble?"
"Meh, I'm still kicking." The skinny woman retorted and smacked Abby against the shoulder. By now, Morgan had stopped behind the threesome.
"Miles, Lewy, Derek Morgan, my partner. Morgan, Milo Bronckovic and Holly Lewis."
"I'd love to shake, but it seems like you've got your hands full." Lewis said to him, her voice cool and cold as always. Then she turned to Abby and both women started walking towards the body, the men following close behind. "You think you could get me into the BAU? You've got way better looking partners."
"Now, and who would be causing all the trouble here then, eh?"
"Don't worry, you can leave that up to me." Miles jumped in.
"Idiot. He got arrested last weekend." Lewy informed her former colleague, "Figured it was a smart idea to explain the law in his drunken state of mind to a couple of old cops humping their pension. He was lucky though, Mac only gave him gun locker duty for a month."
"What?!" Abby exclaimed. "Mac's getting soft now? He should have done that years ago."
"Believe me, it doesn't suit him." Miles commented. "But those old bastards did retire early." He put on a pair of gloves and Abby followed his lead. Morgan hung back, but kept his eyes and ears open and silently observed the interaction.
"Okay, so what have you got for me mate?" Abby said as she squatted down next to the body. Miles did the same on the other side of the painfully white blanket.
"Ike Charles-Washington. Twenty-four. stabbed in the neck. You can still see some pieces of glass. PD found the rest of it a few feet further. He bled out."
"He still had all his possessions, watch, wallet, credit card; he even had 50 bucks cash. It's safe to say this clearly wasn't a robbery." Lewis reported.
"Fingerprints on the murder weapon?" Abby asked.
"Belong to our John Doe, the same one whom killed those other three." Miles replied, barely even looking up.
"You got a time of death yet?" God. She missed this.
"Body was still warm when a patrol unit came by. Last couple of months there have been some complaints about teens and drugs. It must have happened between six and six-thirty." Miles told her in his usual hoarse, slightly high pitched voice.
"You talked to Dirty Maria yet?" Abby asked, referring to the hooker they all knew. "It is her turf."
"We haven't been able to hook up with her. So to speak." Lewy answered.
"Dirty Maria?" Morgan repeated, glaring from one person to the other.
"Local hooker, bit atop of the food chain. Says she knows everything that happens here." Abby said as she studied the wound in Charles-Washington's neck closer. She checked his fingernails and took a good look at his clothes.
"She usually does know everything." Lewy commented.
Abby ignored her and looked at Miles. "Any idea why he was here?"
"Not yet. We got a priority call, this is actually our lunch."
"Bon appetite." She replied whilst waving away a couple of flies.
The coroner showed up again, after lingering around his van. Abby reckoned Lewy must have chased him away. She never did get along with coroners. He pressed the matter that the body should be transported to the morgue in order to preserve all the evidence. Lewy stepped forward to send him away again, but Abby intervened.
"No, that's okay. You can take him now."
"You got anything else beside the body?" Morgan asked the two SCU agents.
"No, not yet. Like we said, we got the call, reckoned it was the same guy again. Cuba compared fingerprints and confirmed what we thought. We were about to start investigating when we got a call from Wills to drop everything. We barely even processed the scene. Science guys did though. They'll send it all to you." Miles said to him and he took his gloves off.
"Why did you get the call?" Morgan continued.
"Sorry?"
"You said the body was discovered this morning around six. We got the call in Quantico around eight. Why were you brought in? Looks to me like a simple homicide." He elaborated.
Abby and Miles looked at each other for a short period of time. Lewis pretended not to hear anything.
"His dad is a colonel in the army. Big guy. Did a lot of things during the war." Miles carefully replied.
"You guys don't strike me as the political crap types."
"We know him." Abby suddenly said.
"The victim?"
"No. His father. We served with him."
"Politics." Lewy mumbled as her phone rang. She looked at the display before picking up. "On our way."
Miles nodded and winked at Abby. The three of them knew exactly who that was; big boss Angie Wills.
"Let us know if you need anything." Miles shouted over his shoulder as he and Lewy walked towards their car.
"Thanks!" Abby called back at him. Then she turned back to the scene, standing next to Morgan. "What do you think?"
"I think you have some dodgy friends."
Her head snapped to meet his. "Dodgy friends?" She repeated. "I meant about the scene, genius."
"Still, you have dodgy friends. Lewis, is it?" Abby nodded. "How much time did she serve?"
"Eighteen months in juvi."
"For what?"
"Aggravated assault and breaking and entering."
Morgan stared at her. Abby could only shrug. "Teenagers and boyfriends.."
"Wise men profit more from fools than fools from wise men; for the wise men shun the mistakes of fools, but fools do not imitate the successes of the wise."
Cato the Elder