Sorry for not updating during the weekend(s) . . . I got a cold, and I finally am not sounding like a goose being choked by a foghorn. But, I'm updating now though! :D (I also had a plot hole that needed to be filled)
And another liberty of fiction . . . I'm changing around the police HQ . . . now it's right next to the SRU and SIU.
Revenge proves its own executioner. - John Ford
Toronto Police Headquarters, Don Mills, Toronto, Ontario, Canada - 12:00 am
Inspector Stainton had received the call, the cavalry was here, but it wasn't the SRU this time, it was the FBI. The police station bustled, officers and inspectors alike rushing around to file reports, and investigate crimes from petty theft to murder. Stainton sipped the station's staple drink, coffee, an eager rookie, hoping to brown nose his way to the top, had graciously given him a refill from Timmies.
He grimaced, he had left the coffee out too long, and now it was a cold and slimy mess. Still, it had caffeine which was something he really needed at the moment. A knock at the office door snapped him out of the gruesome reports on his desk. At the top lay Constable Chandler's file.
"Stainton," a detective stood at the door, "The feds are here."
"Thanks Donovan," Stainton nodded and stood up, straightening out his suit and following the junior detective out the door.
The bull pen was bustling with activity as the agents entered, Stainton walked up to meet the agents who just walked in.
"Hello you must be Inspector Stainton," JJ approached Stainton and offered her hand, "I'm Supervisory Special Agent Jareau, this is SSA Hotchner, SSA Prentiss, SSA Morgan, SSA Rossi and Doctor Reid."
Stainton nodded as he shook hands with JJ and everyone on the team, "Yep, and if Constable Braddock hasn't already told you, the Mounties and Toronto Police are fully cooperating with you to put this son of a bitch behind bars."
JJ had heard those words spoken many times before, she didn't need to be an FBI profiler to understand the sense of revenge many officers felt when one of their own was murdered, especially brutally and framed for a crime they didn't commit. Inspector Stainton led them to a conference room, all the while filling them in.
"We've got extra patrols on the streets near officer houses, but until we know why this guy's killing, we can't expend our force," Stainton entered the room, steeling himself for the crime scene photos of one of his own, laying on the floor in his own blood, surrounded by family that was also murdered.
Hotch nodded for Prentiss, Morgan and Rossi to get a move on and check out the crime scene, which they left immediately after the order.
1587 Eagle Rd, Toronto, ON M8Z 4H4, Home of Constable Justin Chandler, 1:30 am
Detective Donovan had allowed them into the house, he stood back and looked at the crime scene once again, even without the bodies of his friend and the family, it still effected him the same.
Donovan stood near the door, looking on with slight interest as the profilers began their investigation.
"All four bodies were found in the living room, no sign of restraints or drugs used to incapacitate them," Emily said out loud while examining the room.
Derek chimed in, "That makes no sense, in home invasions, the women and children are separated from the men to prevent any attempts at an organized resistance. So why kill them all in the same room? Especially since one of the victims is a police officer with training."
"Because the UnSub wanted the killings to look like a murder-suicide," Rossi said as he glanced over at the crime scene photos once more, "there was nothing taken and only one thing damaged," he looked up, "the photograph of the father."
"So the rage was directed at the father, but why multiple stab wounds on the other victims and only one single slash to the neck on the father?" Derek looked at the photo of the damaged portrait, it was of Justin Chandler, beaming at the camera as he graduated from the police academy, he was in his uniform.
"So that the UnSub would feel satisfaction in seeing the public view this man as a villain, not a hero," the sudden realization dawned upon Emily, "He wanted it to look like Constable Chandler killed his own family and then killed himself."
"But why didn't he fight back?" Derek asked.
"His kids and wife were probably used as leverage," Rossi mentioned, "If he tried to fight back, his family would be killed."
"He most likely was killed first," Derek mused, "To stop the biggest threat, and then he moved on."
The rest of the group nodded and moved deeper into the crime scene, Detective Donovan shuddered, to think such a psychopath was running loose on the streets was sickening to say the least.
Toronto Police Headquarters, Don Mills, Toronto, Ontario, Canada - 2:00 am
Reid and Hotch had been going over the victimology for over an hour, trying to see, other than that the victims were police officers and their families, what else connected them. Penelope Garcia had been a godsend of information, viewing files and unlocking secrets only the Guru of Technology could.
The Empress of Information worked in a dark room back in Quantico with several monitors and computers, enabling her to work on several tasks at once, whether it be hacking into a database or performing a simple cross reference. Small figurines of cheerful topics and ideas surrounded her, reminding her to smile at least once in a while, even when faced with the cold hard realities of her job.
Currently, she worked feverishly on finding the one link that connected every murdered man together.
Sam was also doing his best to help out with any information on Justin he had. But he wasn't alone, as soon as Team Three heard of the investigation, they piled into the police headquarters, waiting for news and ready to divulge any information.
"What was Constable Chandler like?" Hotch asked Team Three Constable Donna Sabine.
Donna's serious face darkened a slight bit, "He was a great guy, he worked as a sniper, and was usually Sierra One."
"Sierra One?" Hotch questioned, raising an eyebrow.
The blonde haired officer nodded, "Yeah, it's the primary sniper on calls, the one who usually takes the kill shot. He took the job seriously and did have some trouble with it, we all do. Being a public executioner isn't exactly the happiest job on the planet."
Reid was also interviewing a team member, Constable Jake Evans, he was Justin's closest friend on the team, and a team member with a family.
"Were there any threats made against Constable Chandler?" Reid looked up at Jake as they sat in the conference room.
"Justin was a good man, but he always had some sort of threat made against him because of what he did for a living," Jake looked down a bit, seemed to collect himself, and then continued, "A week before he was killed, he shot a hostage taker in a domestic. PALE practically jumped down his throat in that, picketed SRU for a few days after-wards."
"Pale?" Reid asked.
"It's a new group against law enforcement, it stands for People Against Law Enforcement," the disgust was apparent on Jake's face, he said more to himself, "As if we need another reason to feel unsafe."
"Has this group caused trouble before?" Reid made a mental note to ask Garcia about PALE later.
"No, but they formed after the City Hall Sniper incident," Jake frowned, "as if the threat to law enforcement wasn't enough in that incident."
"What happened then?"
"Some Croatian called Petar Tomasic grabbed a sniper rifle, went after Constable Ed Lane in Team One, ended up almost killing Constable Jules Callaghan instead. Constable Braddock shot him, killed the son of a bitch before he could kill anyone else," Jake sighed, "First that, now this."
---
The team met up a few minutes later in the conference room, sharing gathered information. A rain had started to fall, and the cold water pounded against the window. Sam looked out the window, Stainton had told him to go home, it really wasn't his case. But he stayed around the station anyway, having nowhere nice to go to. His apartment leaked bad and despite numerous calls to the land lord, it never got fixed.
He flinched as the rain pounded against the window in a gust of cold wind, being raised in the desert for most of his life, rain was a spectacle he wasn't entirely used to. The sounds of conversation drifted into his ears.
Rossi spoke up, "The UnSub first incapacitates the officer in the family, then comes after the civilians."
"How did he get in?" Hotch questioned.
"No signs of forced entry. It could be that our victim knew his attacker," Morgan said, "He let them in."
"Yeah, but in the middle of the night?" Emily asked.
They were interrupted by Hotch's cell phone ringing, "It's Garcia," he said as he put it on speaker, "Garcia, what have you got?"
Garcia smiled to herself as she recounted the fruits of her labor, "I found the connecting point in all of your victims. They all have shot armed subjects in the last month."
Sam started, Jules and Ed had both been involved in shootings within that time period. Why would the bastard want to kill Jules? Or Ed for that matter? Jules had saved their lives from a crazy guy with an automatic. And Ed, he only shot as a last resort.
Shit.
He made his way into the hall, nearly bowling over Donovan, who looked after the ex-military cop and shrugged. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed his cell phone and pressed three on speed dial.
The phone rang . . . and rang . . . and . . .
"Sam, what the hell are you calling me at three am for?" Ed's grouchy and groggy voice came over the phone.
"Sorry," Sam answered quickly, with a rush of relief, "I was meaning to call an army buddy, must have dialed the wrong number," he knew it was against some big rule to tell anyone about an ongoing investigation so he
Ed just grumbled something incoherent that sounded like, "Damn rookie," and the line went dead.
Now, to call Jules . . .
SRU Headquarters, Don Mills, Toronto, Ontario, Canada - 3:15 am
Donna Sabine and the rest of team three minus Chandler sat at the table in the conference room, they had just gotten back from being questioned by the FBI about their murdered colleague. Commander Holleran regretted not giving them any more time off, but crime never stopped, and a team down in the SRU meant more work for everyone else.
"Rolie," Jake Evans called, getting the team sergeant's attention, "How's the replacement going?"
Everyone at the table knew what he meant, Sergeant Roland "Rolie" Cray, a big man with blonde hair in a buzz cut and possibly the tallest guy in team three, looked up, "Got it down to a few people," he replied, "You up for the rest of the night Jake?"
"Yeah," Jake replied, "I can't shirk off my duties to the public," he looked down a bit, "Justin would have wanted me to stay."
"You sure?" Donna asked, "It's bound to be another quiet night."
Just as she said that, the alarm blared out with Winnie's voice permeating the air, "Team Three, Hot Call. Gear up, shots fired at 604 Woolwick Drive, Scarborough."
Donna looked downcast, "I stand corrected," she said sourly as she joined the rest of the group in getting ready for the call.
Three black Chevy Suburbans screamed out of the head quarters, Donna driving in the lead with Jake, Antony "Tony" Cole in the middle with William "Double" Williams, and finally, James White and Sergeant Cray in the back of the caravan.
"Stealth approach," Rolie cautioned into the headset, "It's three am, the subject's probably tired and ready to jump at any noise. Barricaded subjects get jumpy around flashing lights and sirens."
As soon as they entered the neighborhood, they turned off their sirens and lights and drove slowly up the street, finally stopping in front of the house.
"Looks quiet, sure we haven't been swatted Rolie?" Jake asked as he took in the dark windows and exterior, he was alluding to a prank pulled by people with no lives. They called 911 and reported that some sort of crime had taken place so that the police would come in on unsuspecting civilians.
"It looks too quiet," came Rolie's answer, "And the neighbors are up," he looked towards the house across the street which had their lights on and a man stood out on the porch with a phone in their hand and talking to an officer who had arrived earlier.
"Let's go," Rolie said, "Double, talk to the neighbor, I want to know who owns this house, when the shots were fired and whether he saw anyone leave or enter the premises. Jake, Tony and Donna, enter in through front, I'll take the shield and go in through the back. Everyone copy?"
"Copy," everyone answered.
William ran up to the neighbor's house, "Sir, I'm Constable Williams with the police, can I ask you a few questions?"
Jake, Donna and Tony ran to the door, Donna taking the submachine gun and Jake aiming his glock, both stayed to the side as Tony hefted a battering ram and prepared to strike. Rolie had to be both an active member and a negotiator in this situation, he hoped Holleran wouldn't get angry about the megaphone getting a bit muddy.
"This is the police Strategic Response Unit," he called out into the megaphone, hiding behind his shield, "Come out immediately with your hands in the air. We don't want to hurt you."
No answer. Rolie shook his head and donned his helmet as he dropped the megaphone to the ground and drew his glock, "Okay guys, we're going in."
"Copy," Donna said, she nodded to Jake.
Jake began counting down, "Five, four, three, two . . . GO!"
Tony rammed the hunk of metal against the door and it flew open, giving way in splinters of wood. Simultaneously, Rolie rushed the back door, he found it ajar. His already fast heartbeat quickened.
Separate, yet loud, shouts of, "Police!" rang through the house.
"Someone hit the lights!" Donna called as she struggled to get a clear view of the room they were standing in. She had a powerful flashlight, but it still wasn't good enough, and there was a smell she crinkled her nose. It was metallic, like rusted iron, the room was dead quiet.
Suddenly the room lit up as Tony flipped the light switch, it took a second for the scene to sink in.
"Oh god," Jake choked, "Not again."
Rolie entered, "Clear the rest of the house," he said, "Let's stay focused."
"Wait!" Donna yelled, kneeling down by a woman with brown hair, "She's still alive. Get EMS!"
Jake nodded and spoke into the radio, "Winnie," he said, "Get EMS here and . . ." he looked at the scene once more, "Get the FBI here too, tell them there's been another murder."
Toronto Police Headquarters, Don Mills, Toronto, Ontario, Canada - 3:15 am
"C'mon, pick up the phone, pick up the phone," Sam said desperately, he paced the corridor as the phone kept ringing.
Finally, someone picked up, "This better be pretty damn important Braddock!"
"Jules?" Sam let go of the breath he was holding.
"Yes," Jules' voice snapped, "Do you know the time?"
Sam instantly reddened, "Uh, yeah, it's three fifteen."
"Are you drunk, incapacitated or staring down the barrel of a gun right now?" the voice asked with a hint of exasperation.
Sam was dumbfounded, mainly by lack of sleep, "What?"
"Just answer the damn question," the killing intent was practically tangible.
The word, "No," was barely out of his mouth when the line clicked and went dead. Jules had hung up. He reminded himself never to cross a tired Jules late at night, ever.
4834 Eglinton Avenue, Toronto, ON M4P 1A6 (Jules Callaghan Residence) - 3:30 am
Damn Sam Braddock. Curse him for eternity and throw away the key. And curse her ability to never sleep when interrupted. Damn it.
Jules groggily made her way to the couch, she collapsed onto it as she tried to fall asleep once more. She had stayed up past midnight, talking to Chris, and now she got only two hours of sleep until a certain somebody decided to call her at three am. She felt a small nudge on her leg and she saw Bailey, her husky, looking up at her with questioning eyes.
"That phone call wake you up too?" Jules asked scratching Bailey's ears.
She took out a home improvement magazine and began reading it, wondering what color she should paint the master bedroom. She was just beginning to feel tired when the shrill ringing of her cell phone startled her out of her stupor. She glared at the offending piece of technology and picked it up.
"Hello?" she asked grumpily.
Rolie's voice, surrounded by a symphony of sirens and the rush of rain, came over the phone, "Jules?"
"Yes," Jules answered, a nervous edge creeping into her voice, Team Three was on call, wasn't it?
"There's been an incident regarding your brother, Christopher . . . he listed you as next of kin," Rolie said, "I'm sorry Jules."
HAH! It's NOT Jules!!!! -dances- But still, it's Chris T_T And I liked the guy too. This chapter was Hell to write, it was too long. -checks page numbers- eight pages with over three thousand words. WOW.
Btw, names and addresses are generated by this awesome random generator that I can't post the link on because fanfiction's a moron.