Chapter 11 – Narrow Perspective

Essential Listening: Dollhouse, by Melanie Martinez

0o0

Oregon was as beautiful as Grace remembered – though last time* they had been here it had been summer. This far north, winter was biting proper, and the houses and gardens of Clackamas County were buried under a deep blanket of snow. It looked like something out of a painting – the perfect imagining of a Christmastime community.

She frowned, watching skeletal, frost encrusted trees drift past the window. It seemed like a lifetime ago now, in that strange interim period between Gideon leaving and Rossi arriving. The team had been hunkering down then, ready to back one another up if they needed it. She and Reid had been closer then, and a sad smile crossed her lips as she remembered the first time they had gone out to the book fair together; she had had some impressive bruises from an encounter with a fire door, and he had been doing his mother hen routine. Back then, their relationship had been a gentle and uncomplicated thing – nothing more than friendship.

Grace pulled her scarf more tightly around her. She missed those days. Really, it was amazing what eighteen months could do to people.

That case had been the first time Hotch had started to trust her 'sight', too. He had called on her to use it a couple of times since, but they never talked about it if they could help it. She suspected he didn't really want to know, and she was gratified that he was prepared to trust her despite not knowing all there was to know about her more unusual talents – and despite them being far outside the bounds of what a sane person should accept as reality.

Really, it had been a long time since she had had to worry about anyone from the team trusting her – or worry about trusting them (silly, emotionally inarticulate arguments with a particular genius notwithstanding).

"I think the turning's up here," said Prentiss, from the front, bringing her back to the present.

She pulled herself together, glad that at least some of the decisions she had made the year before had turned out so well.

0o0

There is mirth at christenings and laughter at weddings, but no festival should be so merry as the death of a virtuous man.

Arthur Conan Doyle

0o0

They pulled into the parking lot of the Happy Valley City Hall, minds on the case – and on the cold. It was easily ten degrees colder up here than it had been in Virginia, and though they had dressed accordingly, Aaron still felt the bite of it when he opened the door. Someone had cleared the paths and salted the parking lot, so at least the snow wasn't so deep around the car. Still, he was a little jealous of the higher ankled boots that both his female colleagues were wearing, keeping their feet above the snow-line.

He glanced down at Pearce's boots – which reached nearly to her knees – and realised, with some amusement that she was nonchalantly nudging the snow with her toe. There was an odd, happy little smile on her face; it struck him that out here, in a freezing cold parking lot, halfway up the side of a mountain, she looked happier and more relaxed than she had in several months, as if all the tension she had been carrying around with her since Vegas had finally lifted away.

Pearce grinned up at the cold, blue sky, exhaling a stream of cloudy breath into the air above her. For a moment the expression on her face was one of simple wonder, almost exactly the way Jack looked when he saw the first snow of the winter. Aaron shook his head.

"I have never seen an adult this excited about cold weather," he remarked, as Prentiss shivered.

Pearce shot him a furtive look, well and truly caught. "Oh, come on, give me this. Almost every case we've worked in the last month has been somewhere winter doesn't really happen," she told them. "Virginia is Christmassy enough, but this is…" She grinned, gesturing towards the mountains. "This is stunning. I'm just enjoying the moment."

Aaron chuckled and allowed his subordinates lead the way, bickering under their breath about the pros and cons of snow.

Pearce seemed a lot happier since she had met this 'Lily' person. As a rule, Aaron tried to avoid getting involved with the personal lives of his team, but he had found it was generally a good idea to keep abreast of them. All the gossip he'd overheard had been positive, so far, though he was almost one hundred percent sure that Lily wasn't Pearce's girlfriend's name.

She tended to keep things close to her chest, that one, but he couldn't fathom why she would change the name – unless someone on the team knew her, somehow, and she didn't want them to know who they were.

He shook his head, remembering the last time the team had been in Portland, when both Prentiss and Pearce had been pretty new. He had still been deciding how far he could trust either of them.

I made the right decision, he thought, recalling the way Prentiss had supported Todd when she had first taken over from JJ and the way Pearce had dealt with the spectre of revenants in Ohio (and an entirely different kind of spectre he would rather forget about), and mentally editing out the time Pearce had punched another agent in the face, or the mutinous expression Prentiss pulled when he told her she was up for annual review.

Aaron started up the steps behind them, thinking it was good knowing they – like the rest of the BAU – had the team's back. Their little family had weathered a lot in the last couple of years, and he couldn't have been prouder of any of them – even if he did want to lock one or two of them in a cupboard from time to time.

Happy Valley City Hall was rather pleasing, architecturally, consisting of several shallow-angled sloping roofs atop sturdy wood beams, both of which set off the chrome and glass of the entrance and lobby in a way that somehow created a natural meeting of modern and time-honoured materials. It had obviously been well designed, a fitting hub for the local community. As a whole, despite the snow, it was neat and well-tended, giving the impression that the people of Happy Valley were proud of it.

And our unsub is hitting right at the heart of it.

The lobby was busy – not bustling, just the everyday, average sort of busy that suggested the locals hadn't yet cottoned on to the possibility of there being a serial killer in their midst.

"Good afternoon," said the receptionist, as they flashed their badges. "Ah, Mayor Halliday is expecting you. I'll show you through."

"Thank you," said Aaron, using his eyes to signal that Pearce and Prentiss should stay behind for the moment and use the time to check out the diorama.

The receptionist led him upstairs and along a small maze of corridors to a room overlooking Mount Scott; the mayor's office was bright and airy, not ostentatious. There was a much-used desk, a table for larger meetings, and a more informal area with a couch and a coffee table. It boded well, Aaron felt.

As the receptionist showed him in, two women who had been talking together in the more informal part of the room got to their feet.

"Madam Mayor?" he asked, extending a hand as one of the women nodded, giving him an appraising look. "SSA Aaron Hotchner."

"Alison Halliday," said the taller woman, shaking his hand. "This is Detective Leah Marr."

The second woman, more compact than the first, shook his hand. He got the impression that she was assessing him just as much as he was assessing them.

"Detective."

"We sure are glad you folks could come out," said Mayor Halliday, gesturing towards a seat. "This whole thing is… well, it's unsettling."

"The whole department's on edge," Detective Marr added. "We've managed to keep it out of the press and the public eye for the moment, but it's only a matter of time before someone starts putting things together. Particularly as the perp seems to be getting bolder."

Aaron nodded. "This kind of unsub generally contacts the press," he told them. "They feel the need for recognition. Managing the press may become an important part of this investigation."

The two women exchanged a speaking look.

"I can have a word with them," said the Mayor.

"I'd appreciate that," said Aaron. "But go gently – our media liaison, Agent Todd, can advise you. She's at the station, presently."

"Good, I'd like that," Mayor Halliday replied, looking mildly relieved.

"See, I told you they'd know what to do," said the Detective, nudging the mayor's arm.

Aaron guessed they had been friends for a long time.

"Forgive me," said the mayor, with a tired smile. "It's not that I didn't want you guys out here, it's just that this whole thing is a little outside my area of expertise." She gave a hollow chuckle. "I thought the most I'd have to deal with in my term would be disputes over fishing rights and contentious carnival floats."

"You're doing fine, Alison," Detective Marr told her. "This is the kind of thing that throws everyone for a loop – that's what their department are for." She nodded in Aaron's direction. "I attended a seminar at the Portland Field Office last year," she told him, answering his unasked question. "Run by Agent Bill Calvert. He told us how helpful you were with that guy who was scaring people to death on his patch. As soon as we confirmed Davina Bishop's death was no accident, I thought of the BAU."

Aaron nodded. "I remember Calvert," he said, with a genuine smile – though he was actually recalling Reid and Morgan's encounter with an argumentative elevator as he said it. "He's a good agent." Pleasantries concluded, he surveyed the detective for a moment. "You handled Davina Bishop's case?" he said gently, and watched as a dark cloud passed over her features for a moment.

"Yes," she said heavily. "I can't believe I missed the sleeping tablets."

"There was no sign of a break in?"

"None. Nothing that suggested anything other than a single woman having a drink in the evening. There wasn't even a second glass – you'd think she'd have offered him a drink if she let him in."

Aaron nodded. "Which tells us that either she didn't know he was there, she felt comfortable with him being around, but didn't consider him an equal, or that she did consider him an equal and offer him a drink, but he washed up the glass. Don't beat yourself up about it. This unsub takes particular care not to leave traces behind anywhere except the model – and he obviously plans each crime meticulously."

Detective Marr grimaced, but nodded. "All I care about is catching the s-o-b."

"Agreed," said Mayor Halliday. "I have a responsibility to this town, and I don't like the idea of someone hunting people down in it. Anything you or your team needs, Agent Hotchner – you just let me know."

0o0

Grace loosened her scarf a little.

Whoever was in charge of the thermostat in City Hall knew what they were doing – it was unusually well balanced; cool enough to be comfortable without being stifling, warm enough to bring the feeling back to your bones after being out in the north western chill.

She leaned down to get a closer look at the diorama. It was an impressive model, taking up much of the main lobby and comprising a great deal of Clackamas County. The detail was extraordinary. She could see, from where she was standing, the City Hall, outside which each tiny rock and shrub had been perfectly recreated.

It was, perhaps, fortunate, that the model had been created in summer, and none of the Christmas cheer she had spotted about the town and in the foyer of the City Hall had been replicated on the model. Grace wasn't sure she could cope if someone started using the accoutrements of the season in their murder kit. You shouldn't giggle at a crime scene, but she felt that anything involving a candy cane stabbing might send her over the edge.

"I can see why an unsub might want to use the model to display their kills," Emily mused, calling her mind back to more sensible things. "It's right at the heart of this place."

Grace 'hmmed' her assent. "Not easy to access unnoticed," she observed, straightening up. "The reception desk has a good line of sight, and this is clearly a high-traffic area."

They both looked over at the security guard lurking by the wall. There was another, less obtrusive gentleman sitting in the reception area, too, patiently reading a book – though he turned the pages occasionally, his eyes weren't moving across the page. Instead, he was covertly observing the room.

Clever, thought Grace. A double blind. Someone from outside this building – or without surveillance training – would never spot it. If our guy does, then so much the better for the profile.

"And if he doesn't, we should have him," she murmured aloud.

"Pardon?" Emily asked, and Grace shook her head. She hadn't intended to speak aloud. "Just mumbling to myself," she admitted. "There can't be many people around here with the skills to replicate that level of detail on a model," she suggested. "Perhaps we should have Garcia look into local clubs or shops."

"Good idea," said Emily. She looked as though she were about to add something more, but then her expression changed to one of open politeness. "Hi," she said.

Grace turned to find a couple of office workers looking sheepishly at the two agents.

"Good afternoon," said the first, a middle aged woman in a cardigan and a neat two-piece. "I'm sorry to bother you, but –" She glanced at the younger man beside her, who nodded. "But Sam and I were wondering whether you were the FBI?"

"We are," said Emily and introduced them both.

"I'm Lara Stone, and this is Sam Edwards," said the woman. "We're in charge of public outreach – that is, community morale – I mean –"

"The diorama was our idea," Sam explained, coming to his colleague's rescue; she shot him a grateful look.

Grace nodded; given what was going on she could well understand why Mrs Stone might be a little flustered.

"We were wondering – might it be a good idea to 'retire' the model for a little while?" Mrs Stone suggested. "For maintenance, or something – just until you've got this guy?"

"No," said Grace, and the two civil servants turned to her, both frowning deeply. "Right now, there's a chance this unsub doesn't know about us – and if we take away his podium, it's unlikely he would stop killing."

Emily nodded. "He would probably look for another means for recognition."

"Like what?" Mr Edwards asked, looking pale.

"Well, he wants to be remembered," said Grace, "so something no one would ever forget."

"But it's at the heart of our community," Mrs Stone complained, sadly.

"Lara, I get the feeling we shouldn't encourage this guy to up his game," said Edwards, reading between the lines.

"No," said Emily. "Look, we understand how difficult this must be for you guys, particularly since the diorama was your project, but right now the best way for you to help us catch this guy is to leave the model alone and see what he does next."

"Alright," said Mrs Stone, though she was plainly far from happy. "Is there anything else we can do?"

Emily exchanged a look with Grace. "Yes, actually," she said. "How was the project commissioned?"

"We had a contest," Mrs Stone replied at once. "Twenty artists were shortlisted from around eighty applicants. We narrowed it down further to five, then Mayor Halliday picked from those."

"It was pretty intense," said Mr Edwards, with a smile. "And a lot of fun looking through the portfolios people submitted."

"Do you still have copies of those?" Emily asked.

"Yes, somewhere," he said, and then frowned. "Why?"

"Because someone who is very good at modelling is murdering people," Mrs Stone realised, and put a hand over her mouth. "Oh God, what if it's one of them?"

"Were any of the twenty modellers local?" Grace asked.

"A few," the woman nodded. "There's a society – they mostly do railway models and the like, but I think they all entered."

"But not all of them made the shortlist?" Grace checked.

"No…"

"Do you have their details?"

"We could get them for you," said Mr Edwards, immediately. "It'll take a little while –"

Grace pulled out her card and scribbled on the back of it. "That's our technical analyst's email address," she told him. "She's best placed to start crossing people off the list. If you think of anything else, don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you," said Mr Edwards. "It's good to be able to do something to help."

"Yes," Mrs Stone agreed. "We'll get the information to you as soon as we can."

When they had gone, Emily turned to Grace and added, "We should check them out, too."

"Responsible for the model, local, familiar with City Hall, eager to insert themselves into the investigation – I should say so," Grace agreed. "If nothing else, we can rule them out and bump them back down to 'concerned citizen' status."

"Yeah."

"Hey boss," said Grace, as Hotch joined them. "Get much?"

"Anything we need," he said, and both women raised their eyebrows.

They really were freaked out, here.

"Detective Marr is marshalling her department and Mayor Halliday is going to liaise with Todd and talk to press," he told them. "You?"

They told him about Stone and Edwards, and the information they were rustling up.

"Good," he said. "Then we'd better get to the station, see if the others have anything."

Grace couldn't help but grin as she turned and walked outside, trotting down the steps into the packed snow.

Good news, British lady – it's actually cold here, she thought, in a voice uncannily reminiscent of Garcia's.

In fact, it was insanely cold, and as Hotch had rightly pointed out as they'd pulled into the car park, Grace couldn't get enough of it. There was snow, there was slush, there was ice, there was a vicious wind from along the valley – it just felt right.

"This is making me a little homesick," she admitted, as they reached the SUV.

"You, my friend, have problems," Emily laughed.

0o0

Jordan pinned another photo of another pale, staring corpse to the board she and Reid had been assembling, feeling oddly philosophical. When she had started working with the BAU, some of the autopsy and crime scene photos had made her shudder. These days, they made her a little sad, but mostly she took them in her stride, as the other members of the team seemed to.

It was a thankless sort of operation, trying to stem the relentless flow of murderers and rapists, helplessly watching the bodies stack up. As soon as they tracked one down, five more seemed to spring up in their place – and while saving each individual they could made the late nights and the nightmares and the constant moving around worth it, it didn't quiet the horror of losing the ones they didn't reach in time.

The BAU was very different to Counter Terrorism. There, the fear had been distant and diffuse, and the people your actions saved or killed might have been on something of a grander scale, but generally you never met them. As much as she'd enjoyed working with this team, there was a part of her that would be delighted to go back to her 'normal' job when SSA Jareau came back off maternity leave in a few months' time.

She glanced back at Doctor Reid, who was busy applying himself to the stack of files in front of him, absorbing information at an extraordinary rate.

"It's weird how he only leaves trace on the model, not at the crime scenes," the young genius remarked.

"Something about this isn't weird?" Jordan asked, glancing at the tiny model of Dawn Harper, sprawled in her lawn chair.

Reid raised an eyebrow, which she took to be agreement.

"He's obviously trying to send us a message," she suggested.

"Yeah, but what?" Reid wondered. "Look at what I can do? Look at what the people in this town are doing? Look at what the police have missed?" He frowned. "Catch me if you can?"

"Do you think it's a taunt or a cry for help?" she asked. "The unsub seems very precise about what he does or doesn't show us."

"Hard to say, at this point," Reid told her, pulling a face. "I mean, if the models were getting into the press, then I would have said they were taunts – but the possibility can't be ruled out. It could be an expression of remorse, but there's no other evidence of that in the profile. Really, we need more information."

"You mean we need another body," said Jordan, with a touch of resignation.

Doctor Reid looked up, a touch of sadness around his eyes. "Maybe." He picked up the autopsy report for Dawn Harper. "He is taking care to distance himself from the attacks," he reflected.

"I thought strangulation was a pretty up close and personal method of execution," Jordan remarked, joining him at the table.

He seemed more relaxed today, than he had been in a long time – since she'd joined the team in fact. She might not have been with the team for very long, and she might not be a profiler, but she wasn't a fool. There was obviously some kind of rift between the doctor and Agent Pearce; she could hardly have failed to notice the tension between them, or that it was fading now. He had been very supportive since Jordan had arrived, when he wasn't simply glaring at things because a particular British agent was in the vicinity. It was pleasant to find him in a tutoring mood.

"Well yes – I mean, it is – but he used a ligature, from behind," Reid said. "What does that tell us?"

She thought about it. "That… he didn't want to see her face when he killed her?"

"Exactly. Gretchen Ross and Andy Kirwan were killed by interfering with their cars," he reminded her.

"So, he didn't want to be anywhere near them when they died," Jordan realised. "Same with Ian Alvarez."

Reid nodded encouragingly.

"And Davina Bishop?" she asked. "He held her under the water, face to face."

"Morgan called," he informed her. "The M.E. found Zolpidem in her hair."

"He drugged her," she realised. "So he got to be close, but he didn't have to see her expression. He's evolving, experimenting. That's why he took the tongue now, but didn't do anything like that before."

"Maybe, yeah – but he's taking care not to give them a chance to fight back," said Reid. "What does that tell us?"

"He's physically compromised in some way," Todd suggested, following his train of thought. "He's smaller or weaker – he can't control them any other way."

"Exactly."

Jordan nodded, looking hard at the picture of Dawn Harper from before her murder. Maybe they could do this without another body.

"The tongue though," Reid mused. "He's gotta be trying to send us a message." He frowned. "But what?"

0o0

*See Moments of Grace – Season Three, Act One: The Road Less Travelled

0o0

So, part of the reason I've been so busy is that I have a book out. I don't entirely approve of using this place as a plug, but what the hell – Garcia would ;) If you're interested, have a hunt for The Fox and the Fool by Lauren K. Nixon.

Thank you all so much for your patience – I've needed these last couple of weeks off. I feel so much less exhausted (though I'm still months behind, hah!).

Parlanchina xx