Author's Note: Alright, this chapter is pretty scattered. Let's just say that I don't think I enjoy writing about cases very much. But this one is an integral part of this story, so I hope you can forgive me.
CHAPTER TWO: MURDER IN YOUR HONOR
Emily watched the team volley ideas back and forth for a while, occasionally adding a contribution of her own, although her words were sparse. Something about this case perplexed her. She knew about these victims. She was raised in politics; it would have been astonishing if she hadn't heard about these victims.
But something must have linked them together, and she felt like it was staring her in the face. She just couldn't seem to grasp at it, and it greatly irritated her.
"Prentiss?" Hotch lifted his head, his dark eyes appraising her curiously. "You've been fairly quiet about this."
The team quieted and turned to look at her, but Emily shifted and tossed two fingers outward in a sort of helpless gesture. "Something about it is just eluding me," she shrugged uneasily.
And that was really all she could say about it. There was nothing concrete about this uncomfortable feeling within her, and certainly nothing else that she could explain to her team. She just felt like something was dancing at the edges of her thoughts, and she couldn't quite remember a detail that would soon become very important.
Hotch nodded. There was a brief pause between the jerky motion of his head and the words that he next uttered, where he presumably recalled how exhausted she had been just a few hours ago, laying down in his office. "You ought to rest," the unit chief suggested.
Emily raised an eyebrow at him, an amused smile tickling the corners of her mouth. He shrugged, an entertained glint in his eye as he turned away from her and back to the file that each of them held.
She turned away as well, understanding that their silent communication had ended, and she had won this round. Not necessarily because Hotch thought she was right to resist sleep, but because this time, he was willing to let her obvious exhaustion slide.
There were many things that she appreciated about Aaron Hotchner, and although his protective streak was one of those things, it was also something that irritated her on occasion. But, Emily thought, it was also exactly the thing that made him a good unit chief.
Hotch was intelligent, yes, and an incredibly good agent, and those things made him a fantastic leader. It had been those traits that had attracted the attention of his superiors, and had subsequently put him in his position. But the title of unit chief, to Emily, implied that he was also responsible for looking out for their best interests. They all screwed up, they all became involved sometimes, and Hotch was not excluded; the man was not without his faults. But that fierce protective streak that urged him to take care of the agents under his command was not only admirable, it had also created foundation of trust within their unit.
And the BAU was absolutely nothing if there was no trust between them. They spent too much time together, and put their lives in the hands of the team far too often for them to be successful without relying upon their fellow agents when the need called for it.
It wasn't until they touched down in New York that Emily remembered exactly how much she detested this city. But she wouldn't think about that when they had a case to handle, and so she politely shook the hand of the lead detective when she was introduced, and followed her team into the FBI issue, black SUVs that awaited them.
The day was long and grueling, and there was more than one detective who seemed not only skeptical of their work, but entirely unwilling to place any stock in it at all. Emily didn't entirely blame them, as she understood why they would be doubtful, but it didn't make their job any easier.
"So, let me get this straight," one brawny, somewhat greasy detective began. "You guys swoop in and expect to find something at these scenes that we haven't already got to, build some psychological profile, and suppose you can find the guy? Come on," he said disbelievingly, tossing his yellow steno notepad onto a desk. "It doesn't matter why the guy did what he did, the fact is that he did it, and we gotta find him. How do you think what you're doing is gonna help?"
"Detective," Hotch paused, waiting just a beat to ensure that he had the attention of most everyone in the room, "the profiles that we construct, the psychology of these crimes helps us learn about the UNSUB's past, and about his current state of mind. It provides a type – some sort of image of what you should be looking for. And when we go to the crime scenes, we don't expect to find something that you haven't, we expect to see things that you aren't necessarily trained to look for. I understand your skepticism, Detective, but if you believe nothing else, believe that we know how to do our jobs."
When the detective shrank back into his chair, albeit reluctantly, Hotch directed his team. "JJ, I want you to find out exactly how much the press knows, and see about touching base with your contacts in the city. See if there's anything you can do to hide that we're here. You don't go after New York politicians for no reason; this guy wants the media's attention, and I don't want to give it to him. Reid, work on building a geographical profile. Morgan, Prentiss, I want you at the first three crime scenes. Rossi and I will visit the most recent three."
The first crime scene was hardly distinguishable from the other two that they visited, and Emily felt frustrated with the results.
"The area around where the bodies were found is neat," she informed the team once they'd arrived back at the precinct, "which stands in stark contrast to the brutality that's present in the murders."
"But he chose construction sites for a reason," Rossi continued. "The problem is that it could be either for the shock that he knew the workers would receive upon locating the bodies, or it could be something more like a class issue."
"How are you doing with the geographical profile, Reid?" Hotch inquired, knowing that there were a lot of explanations for why the UNSUB chose construction sites to dump the bodies, and also knowing that they would be hard pressed to discern the appropriate one just yet.
The genius shrugged, and said, "The dump sites are all around the city. There doesn't really seem to be a pattern for them so far, but I'll keep looking."
"Good," Hotch nodded. "Morgan, call Garcia and get her tracking information we can use for victimology. The victims were all politicians, yes, but there has to be a reason why these specific ones were chosen."
They worked tirelessly until one the following morning, when the team's exhaustion became impossible to ignore.
"Alright, let's head to the hotel. There isn't much else we can do tonight, especially not in this state," Hotch declared, much to the team's relief.
The drive back was quiet. Each of them was tired, and a feeling of uselessness was already beginning to creep its way into their subconscious minds. This UNSUB was good; there was no forensic evidence left behind, and the killer was obviously skilled enough to get the victims from the kill site to the dump site without being seen. They needed a lead that would, eventually, unravel the metaphorical ball of yarn that they were looking at – they just weren't sure where to find it.
Emily roomed with JJ for the night, but both of them understood that they were too exhausted to catch up on things. They showered, changed clothes, and crawled into bed as quickly as they could manage.
And they began again the following morning.
"Garcia," Hotch said into the speaker of one of the office phones in the conference room they'd overtaken, "can you send me everything you found on the victims?"
"Sure can, Boss Man," the technical analyst agreed. "But I don't know if you'll find much. I scoured and scoured, and pushed my babies to the limit – which is pretty damn far, let me tell you – and I can't find so much as a dance studio where they took their kids in common. These guys run in the same kind of circles, so you'd think it'd be easy to find similarities, but there just aren't any."
"Alright, Garcia, send us anything new. I want to know – "
"Hotch!" JJ rushed into the room, her low heels clicking against the floor and adding a sense of urgency to her appearance.
"What is it, JJ?" The stoic man understood that he was about to hear something that he wasn't going to like.
"They found another body," JJ informed quickly. "But the UNSUB already knows we're here."
"Why do you say that?" Hotch's brow furrowed, gathering his suit jacket and the keys to the SUV, making his way toward the door.
"Because the UNSUB left a letter at the crime scene," JJ followed the team out, apparently deciding that she would tag along, "and it's addressed to Emily."
There were two brief seconds of complete silence where they took a moment to understand what their media liaison was telling them, but they all looked to Hotch for instructions.
The unit chief turned his head to the lead detective, and said firmly, "Nobody touches that letter until we arrive, Detective. Let's go."
Hotch's directions seemed to snap everyone back into action, and they all piled into the SUVs. Hotch gently grasped Emily's elbow before she slid into Rossi's vehicle, and he shook his head, nodding in the direction of the one that he would be driving. Emily nodded, and followed quickly, hopping into the new SUV and refusing to allow her mind to consider why the UNSUB could have possibly addressed anything to her.
"You said something was eluding you on the plane," Hotch asked, the unit chief persona radiating from him in heavy waves, keeping his eyes on the road, but turning his head slightly in her direction.
"I still don't know what it is, Hotch," she said helplessly.
"Was it about the victims or the crime scenes?" He pressed.
"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I've been thinking about it since we got here, but it's just not coming to me."
They pulled into a space next to the curb of a construction site, and most of them hurried up the steps of the unfinished pet store. On the ground level, however, Hotch announced that Agent Prentiss needed to see the letter that had been left behind.
The uni who'd first arrived on the scene nodded, and placed the envelope into Emily's now-gloved hands. Hotch waited beside her.
In elegantly printed letters on the front, the name Emily T. Prentiss stood in black ink. Emily forced her fingers to remain steady as she slid the flap of the envelope open, but she barely managed to keep them still as she pulled out the letter.
Dear Emily,
I understand that you've returned to New York, finally. I've waited for you for quite some time now. But I also know why you detest this city as much as you do, and so I certainly cannot blame you for staying away. I would probably have done the same.
I need you to know that I've done this for you. Now, I know that you've nurtured a strong hatred for killers, but I hope – in fact, I plead with you – to make an exception in my case. I will not argue that a killer is what I am, but I have only the best intentions, I promise you. Always, I watched as you suffered, and as I watched, I did nothing. I will never be able to apologize enough for that, my Emily. I will never be able to express to you the guilt that has haunted me for so many years, because nobody ever said anything in your defense.
I'm more than twenty years too late, Emily, and if you think I don't know that, you are sadly mistaken. Nevertheless, I never forgot what happened to you, and I certainly never forgot that, even when you were so very brave enough to share what had happened to you, nothing was ever done to punish those at fault.
Now, finally, all these years later, I offer you solace, Emily. I bring you vindication, and hopefully peace. Because I know that what happened to you was so very wrong. I know that you will never, despite the distance between you and this city, forget what was done to you. And I know that you never in a million years or worlds did anything to deserve something so cruel.
The others I killed to bring you back to the city, Emily, but do not worry – they were all guilty, and deserved some sort of punishment. This murder, though, was the one that I waited for. I wanted you to see what I did for you, and to see that the world is not always so unjust. I murdered this one for you, Emily, and so this is the only murder that I myself was personally invested in.
Soon, I'll be finished. Forgive me, my Emily.
"Where's the body?" Emily asked, pushing the letter into Hotch's chest and quickly rushing up the stairs, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.
"We haven't IDed him yet," the uni informed, hurrying up after her.
The team cleared out of the way once they saw that she was there, and Emily's breath hitched upon seeing the mutilated body on the ground, organs spread out around him. "We don't need to," she whispered.
Hotch was quick to follow Emily after reading through the letter.
"You know who this is?" Morgan asked carefully.
The look in Emily's eyes as she turned her gaze away from the dead body was a strange one. "Yeah," she said, clearing her throat and taking a couple steps away.
"Who is it, Emily?" Hotch posed the question carefully, reaching out and grasping her shoulder gently.
"Andrew Alan Prentiss III," she said, looking up at him in such utter confusion that Hotch's heart stuttered. "He's my father."
