UchiSays: Short chapter, my apologies. Also my apologies for the delay. Also, a great chunk of this chapter was not written by me, but by my beta SmcdsShipper19 (on ffnet) Miss_Pleezah (on AO3). So, extra special kudos to her because really, if she hadn't taken over you all would have been waiting even longer for an update. I swear, this Doll Case is like my kryptonite, it seemed like such a good idea when I came up with it, but putting it into the works just completely took away my will to write. I am so glad to see it done. I'm going to try to pick up the pace of the story (not chapter updates, because I can make no promises on that subject) so that there's more plot less case work (even though I still have some awesome cases planned for this). One more thing, this isn't terribly important now, but it's going so show up later and I don't want to catch anyone off guard with it because I totally mentioned it in chapter one, but there is a Hotch/Reid warning on this story. Please keep that in mind, I don't want anyone freaking out and/or flaming because "omg, I thought this was a MoReid story, where the hell did this Hotch/Reid come from you never said anything about this I hate you, go die." Because, if that happens, I'm just going to laugh. Alright, enough small talk, on with the show...
Chapter Seven: A Doll's House
"This is a True America Doll," Prentiss confirmed when Spencer brought the doll and Jayla to the front room where the team was gathered.
"Jayla, why didn't you tell me you saw Cha-Cha? I asked you and you lied to me!"
"I'm sorry," the girl cried, clutching Spencer's arm and half hiding behind him. "I promised her I wouldn't say anything, and then I thought it was too late because I'd already lied and I didn't want to get in trouble."
"Jayla, this is too important to lie about. What if whoever has Cha-Cha hurt her and we couldn't find her because you weren't telling us the truth?"
"I'm sorry," Jayla said again.
"It's alright," Spencer whispered to the girl clinging to him. "You told us now, that's what's important."
"There's a registry for True America Doll owners," Prentiss said suddenly, trying to pull the attention away from the upset girl. "I'd forgot all about that. Each doll comes with a unique serial number and there was a mail-in registry that was kind of an insurance policy. If your dolls were lost or stolen, your proof of ownership was that registry and they'd let you replace the dolls during a sale gap for a fee."
"Is the serial number on the dolls somewhere?"
"It's supposed to be printed on the doll's lower back, but I can't say for certain because I never opened mine. It's also written on a card attached to the box because they're not meant to be opened. They're collector items." She turned the doll over in her hands and began removing its dress to look for the number. "Found it."
"Assuming giving the dolls to the girl's best friend is something done each time, what does that tell us?"
"These dolls aren't cheap. If he owns the entire collection, I'd say we're looking with upper middle class background at the least. This doll isn't new. It's very well cared for, but it's obviously had a previous owner, most likely more than one. And it wasn't just put on a shelf to be looked at. It's been played with. It's even been restored more than once."
"How much does restoration cost?"
"Since they weren't meant to be played with the first place, it costs a small fortune to get them repaired. It's actually cheaper to just buy them new. Except, they're extremely hard to find during the sale-gap. A simple touch up on the paint can cost fifty dollars. Clothes repair or replacement start at two hundred."
"Definitely upper class background then."
"But what does the use of the dolls say about the UNSUB?"
"Probably had an unhappy childhood, or a very happy childhood but an unhappy adult life and this is an attempt to regain that childhood happiness."
"I think it was probably an unhappy childhood. The victims were all latchkey kids. The UNSUB probably was as well. Maybe a hardworking mother never home and either no father or a detached one always too busy with something else to be there for his children. Either way, there's some heavy resentment."
"But if the resentment is towards the parents, why target children? Wouldn't it make more sense to target hardworking mothers that never have time for their children?"
"Maybe, unless the purpose is to save the children while punishing the parents at the same time."
"You're saying this man took my baby to punish me for working too much?" Karina Knowles asked.
"That's not what we're saying at all. This is in no way your fault. The UNSUB is delusional. This isn't about you or your daughter. This is about him trying to get back at his own mother for a perceived wrong."
Morgan's phone rang at the moment. "Baby girl," he answered, stepping away from the team for a semblance of privacy. "We were just about to call you." Garcia said something. "Well, we have something to help you narrow down that list. We have a serial number for a True America doll. We need you to access their registry and see if the last owner has any connections to anyone on that list. And you can narrow that further by seeing if anyone of them come from an upper class background and or purchased those dresses."
Prentiss read out the number to Morgan and he repeated to Garcia. He put the phone on speaker while Garcia worked her magic. "I got something," the techie said about a minute later. "The doll was last owned by a Gretchen Miller. It belonged to four of her cousins before that. She's the daughter of an old money family."
"Does she have a brother?"
"Gretchen does have a brother. A younger one named Riley. Riley is on my list of school district employees. He's actually the district social worker. He's also on our list of dress purchasers. I'm like ninety-nine point nine percent certain this is our guy despite the lack of any police record besides a parking ticket two years ago. Ah, and here's our stressor. Not the parking ticket, mind you. I just found death certificates for Gretchen Miller and her ten year old daughter from two and a half years ago. Less than a month before our first murder."
"Tell me you have an address, baby girl."
"Sending it to your phones now."
"Thanks baby girl, you're the best."
"Anything for my heroes. Go save the day and bring this little girl home. Garcia gone."
The call ended and the team immediately hopped into action.
…
Riley Miller's house was in a suburb on the other side of town. Spencer rode in one of the suburbans with Morgan and Rossi. He adjusted the straps on his Kevlar vest as the truck sped through town, lights flashing and siren blaring. When they got closer to Miller's house and no longer needed them to clear the way on main streets, Spencer shut the sirens off. They didn't want to alert Miller of their coming for fear of spooking him into killing Chalandra.
They were the first ones to arrive and Morgan parked the car at an angle in front of the house while all the other cops pulled up. They all silently got out of the car while the chief walked up to Hotch. "How're we gonna play this?" Everyone was silently checking their guns and vests whilst Hotch was contemplating what to do. Morgan walked up to them, just finished with his checking and double checking.
"A group of us could go round the back and see if we could gain a point of entry and get to Chalandra from there. We could use a distraction from the front to keep him occupied and maybe stray him away from her."
"Good idea Morgan. You, JJ, Prentiss, the chief, myself and a few agents will split up and go around the back; Reid and Rossi, see if you can distract Riley long enough for us to get in and grab her and get her out..."
….
Meanwhile inside the Miller house, Riley was in the kitchen making a cup of hot cocoa for Chalandra, or Cha-Cha. He chuckled to himself remembering when she told him in one if their meetings the name she preferred to be called. While he was waiting for the milk to heat up, he was crushing a few Donormyl pills into fine powder to add to the cup. He was so pleased with himself that he'd be able to save another child from the misery of a lonely childhood. Of those years where parents just simply didn't give a crap about their kids. That kind of thing just angered him. Why would you do that to your children? They deserve so much better! They deserved to be loved and cherished and given attention.
Well, now he had the chance to help these kids and show these parents up at the same time. These parents deserved to have their kids taken away from them for good! These children didn't need them!
He looked over to the stove and saw the milk was ready and he added the powdered sleeping pills to the cup with the cocoa and switched the stove off. As he was about to pick up the pot with hot milk there was a knock on the front door. He looked up quickly and spun around. Who the hell?
"Mister Miller? My name is Spencer, I'm from the Behavior Analysis Unit in the FBI. I just wanted to have a word with you? May I come inside?"
FBI? Crap! Riley looked out his kitchen window cautiously and saw all the cruisers and suburbans lined up in front of his house. No no no NO! This wasn't supposed to happen! This was never meant to happen. He spun around looking for anything to help him. He glimpsed the knife on the counter he used to crush the pills with and picked it up, slipping it behind him in between the band of his underwear and suit pants and covered the handle with his shirt. He poured the milk into the cup and stirred whilst simultaneously opened the cupboard door above him as he had done many times to grab the bag of marshmallows stored there. The FBI guy was still talking but he paid no mind to whatever he was saying. As he added three marshmallows to the cup, a small smile spread across his face. Cha-Cha was going to get her hot cocoa no matter what before he answered the door.
….
Morgan, JJ, Prentiss, Hotch and a few other officers had split up, weapons drawn and slipped round the house to the back and met up again at the back door giving the all clear signal. An officer came up and began to pick the lock while Hotch quietly gave the signal to Reid and Rossi to knock on the front door through his mouth piece. As Reid knocked and called out to Riley, the officer opened the door and held it while Morgan slipped in first, followed by Prentiss, JJ and Hotch. They each split up, guns already drawn, cautiously looking for either Riley or Chalandra. Morgan made it to the front and quickly but silently went up the stairs to the next level. He turned left toward the only room with a door open and quietly walked through. As he walked further in he heard a quiet gasp and spun to his right quickly, seeing Chalandra sitting at a small table, tears tracks on her cheeks looking like she was pretty much made to sit there and have a tea party. He quickly put his finger to his lips while he tucked his gun away and cautiously walked up to the little girl.
"Hello, what's your name?"
"Cha-Cha."
"Hello Cha-Cha, I'm Derek. I'm going to help you get out of here and back to your mummy okay?" The little girl nodded and quickly got up from her seat. He spoke into his mouth piece, "Guys I've found her." Just as he spoke he heard a crash downstairs and a scream.
….
Riley was putting the finishing touches to his cup of cocoa when he heard something like footsteps. He came out of the kitchen with the cup smiling to himself and froze. There, in front of him was a group of officers with guns, and they were all pointed at him. Cha-Cha! What if someone already got to her?! No no no! They were messing it all up! It wasn't meant to be like this.
"Mister Miller? My name is Aaron Hotchner…" Riley dropped the cup and screamed "NOOO!" He began to shake "NO! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! GET OUT!"
His front door burst open and a few more officers came through. He guessed it was the real skinny one that was having the conversation with the door just a minute ago. Everyone had their gun pointing toward him.
"We will.. As soon as we have Chalandra with us. Though you'll have to come with us too. You've got a lot to answer for Riley."
He tried to block out the woman's soft voice and shook his head. He looked up to see a tall, black man with his Cha-Cha. She was gripping on to his arm as he was slowly making his way down the stairs. All he felt was a hot, blinding rage. Cha-Cha needed to be set free. These people would never understand that. They had no idea how it feels to be lonely, no one having anytime for you. Everyone just too busy to play with little Riley. His big sister just thrusting the dolls in his arms saying she was 'way too old for these, why don't you just take them Riley and leave me alone'. Having only those dolls as his friends. Being in such a lonely, dark place, like a flower growing in a basement—crooked and yellowed. No one deserved that. Not him. Not those poor girls whose mothers never weren't even there to see them home from school. It was unfair to the children. They deserved better. Cha-Cha deserved better.
That was when he decided, he absolutely had to do this, he had to save her from the hurt, the loneliness. He was going to get her away from these people and save her. He reached behind him and pulled out his knife. There was a loud shot, a scream and then silence. For a little moment nothing happened, everything just stopped and Riley wanted to know why. He looked up to see every person in his house looking at him. That's when he felt it, he put his hand on his shoulder where he'd just started to feel the blinding pain. That officer shot him! He got shot! He looked down to see the knife on the floor and he wobbled and he sank to the floor on his knees.
….
The plane ride back to Quantico was its usual quiet journey. When they got back to the office, Hotch dismissed them for the day, saying that paperwork could wait for morning. "You did good work today," the team leader stated, "go home and get some rest."
Spencer pooled the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder and headed for the elevators. Derek strolled up to him and threw his arm around Spencer's shoulders. Spencer only tensed for a little bit, he was still a little reserved about people touching him but at least it wasn't as bad as before. People don't seem to catch it now so he guessed it was a vast improvement.
"Hey Pretty Boy, how about you and I grab a bite to eat?"
"Um," Spencer started to say, he realized that he hadn't really spent much time with any of his co-workers this week but he just felt that sometimes he needed time to himself. He'd already made a mental plan of how he was going to spend his evening. He could practically taste the glass of wine he planned on having whilst reading the brand new book he'd just bought on hypnotism after seeing that movie Trance with Prentiss the week prior. He was just about to open his mouth to decline when Derek just continued speaking.
"Yeah I'm thinking Chinese. Or maybe Indian, I know this great place. Okay Pretty Boy Indian it is, lets go."
Spencer just looked at him wide eyed whilst he was being practically manhandled into the elevator. "But," Spencer started to say again, but Derek cut him off.
"None of that, Pretty Boy. I'm sure you were planning a romantic evening at home with your favorite paramours Ink and Page, but I want some time with you. So we're going to go to dinner and we're going to talk about tv shows and books and music, but nothing to do with work or personal life. And afterward, we'll have a couple of drinks and jokingly profile the other patrons of the bar. Then I'll drive you home and tomorrow I'll meet you at Roasted and give you a ride to work, during which time we can talk business. Sound like a plan?"
Derek wasn't actually giving him much of a choice, but Spencer couldn't find any complaints. "Alright," he said.
"Good, because I want some Tandoori chicken and I'm curious to see what weird Indian dish is going to catch your interests. Let's have some fun tonight."
"Alright," Spencer said again, a smile curling at his lips.
