Warning: This chapter discusses canon-typical physical and sexual violence in detail.

TUESDAY, APRIL 23, 2013 AT 7:53 PM SUSSEX COUNTY SHERIFF'S OFFICE

Everyone reconvened in a small, private room that the Sheriff had arranged earlier during the day and where David had begun setting up the evidence boards for the team. Though it was minutes to eight, the team was still energized and willing to discuss everything they'd discovered on their assignments, eager to begin building a preliminary profile so they could narrow in on the person behind this heinous crime.

One of the office staff members benevolently supplied the room with light snacks, drinks, water, coffee, and tea. Spencer, who seemed refreshed after just his brief snooze, was going for the coffee machine, but Alex tutted at him to encourage him to go for tea instead. He felt properly chastised and went for the tea, and when she handed him one of the bags of chips, his cheeks colored and his nose wrinkled. "I do have a mother, Blake," he murmured.

"I somehow don't think she approves of your excessive intake of coffee," Alex responded. She pinched her lips before adding anything about his poor diet.

She was not wrong, but Spencer wouldn't tell her that.

They thought the conversation was hushed enough, but Jennifer heard it and smiled, tilting her head and perking her eyebrows, face contorting to a comical, disapproving expression. "You better listen to the lady, Spence," she admonished.

Spencer looked cowed and irritated, but he brought the cup to his mouth to hide what they were certain was the hint of a smile behind the cup.

"So what do we all have?" Aaron asked.

Spencer walked to the two maps next to the evidence board. One was of Stokes State Forest, detailing its paths and trails, as well as the campgrounds and the Rangers station. The other map was of an expanded view of Sussex County and its surrounding areas, which included parts of Middlesex County in New York and parts of Pike County in Pennsylvania. Impressed, he gratefully pointed to the maps and quirked an eyebrow at David. David grinned and let out an ambiguous hum as he shrugged his shoulder, as if to say I know what you like, and I'm good at what I do.

Spencer began marking the maps and pressing just a few pins into them with the meager data he was able to gather at this point.

Derek and David discussed the additional interview they held with the Sanders family, and there was nothing of note that the initial questioning hadn't already revealed.

"Blake? Reid?"

"Well, the first two bodies will be en route to the ME for examination first thing in the morning," Alex stated.

Jennifer shook her head, scrunching her eyes in confusion as she waved her hand in a halting manner. "Wait, wait. First two? There's another body?"

"Quite possibly," Alex answered, eyebrows raised as she expressed her exasperation. "The CSU will be working on excavation soon, so it may take all night and into the morning. They've done a wide sweep and they're sure this is it for bodies."

Derek shook his head.

"Marone," David murmured. "If he does have more in another area, those bodies might never be found. We might have gotten lucky with these two or three."

Aaron also shook his head in dismay, and he let out an aborted sigh. "What did you and Reid gather from and around the burial site?"

"From where we were parked," Spencer started, moving his hand in a circle to indicate that the pin represented where they parked their car, "which—by the way—was about 0.6 miles from a main road or side road, we had to walk a distance of 0.78 miles. The forest at that point was a little too dense for anything else to drive through."

He then pointed to another pin, arcing his hand again. "Here is where the burial site is, and from here the closest foot path is .53 miles."

"So the unsub likely parks his vehicle in or around the same area you parked yours, and has to carry his victim from there to the burial site," Aaron said. "How about the actual walk from the car to the burial sites?"

"Significant but not impossible dips and peaks—if we went a straight path. He'd have had to take a more circuitous route to avoid those inconveniences that we ran into."

"We think he may have used something to transport his victim from his car to the burial site," Spencer supplied.

"Mm-hmm," Alex agreed. "We were thinking something like a wheelbarrow or heavy-duty utility cart. There's no evidence, though, to show that there was any disturbed underbrush."

David hummed. "And if he uses something that size . . ."

"Then he has to have a vehicle large enough to transport both the body and a wheelbarrow or utility cart," Derek concluded. He watched as Aaron pulled his phone from his pocket and put it on the tabletop, Penelope's name showing across the screen.

Meanwhile, David listed these few new observations onto another board.

"I was beginning to feel so lonely, you guys," Penelope said as soon as she picked up on the other line. "Please don't forget about me over here? Tell me you want me to do something for you?"

Aaron's expression didn't so much as twitch. "Garcia, I need you to run a search: males between the ages of twenty-five and sixty-five who own sports utility vehicles and or trucks. For now, rule out family vehicles like vans or crossovers. Also, rule out any men who have young children. The unsub we're looking for keeps his victims for at least a week, based on the bruising. Keeping up the ruse of a normal, everyday family life is likely not possible for this kind of person." He paused for a moment to give time for her to gather the parameters.

Continuous clicking could be heard on the other end, as well as murmurs of Mm-hmm, mm-hmm and Evil men with gas guzzling, non-environmentally friendly vehicles.

His lip quirked before his face steeled once more. "Cross reference your findings and generate a second list with anyone that owns a second property, or owns a home but is single. Look within a sixty-mile radius of the GPS location that you gave us at Stokes State Forest, which includes East Pennsylvania and South New York. And exclude from your search anyone that recently moved to the area in the past six months. We're looking for a local who's very familiar with this area, and who's probably had time to create a space that can hold someone captive for long durations." He paused. "You got all that?"

More clacking and a particularly resolute click against her keyboard. "Got it! I'll try to get back to you shortly. Just—I'm sure you realize that those parameters might yield hundreds of results. Like, that is the widest net? That you have ever given me to cast, sir."

"I know," Aaron started, tone light, "But I also know that it's not impossible for you, Garcia."

They could vividly see Penelope perking up in her seat like a preening peacock from the vote of confidence that Aaron gave her. "Oh! Oh, why thank you, sir," she said all too happily. "I'm on it like Sonic, then!"

"What else from the burial site?" Aaron asked, looking pointedly at Spencer and Alex.

"Well, the area where the bodies were is a little clearer than the walk to it," Alex supplied. "Plenty of underbrush. The earth is fertile, I would say? Perfect for digging. DJ was very unlucky to have gone digging in just the right place."

"The fact is that this unsub also had to bring the proper digging tools with him as well," Jennifer suggested.

"So he might have taken at least two trips into the forest," David said. "That's a lot of determination."

"Mm. Another quarter of a mile north-east from the burial site is a stream," Spencer added in observation, not peeling his eyes away from the map. "A boulder about ten yards from the first burial site. These are markers that are easy for the unsub to use to orient himself. Nothing marked on the trees, just landmarks." He turned out to them, voice soft. "And the area was a grove of birch trees. Also, the victim—both victims—were buried more than four feet below the surface. That's deeper than what most predatory animals will dig for, so it's an indication that he doesn't want the site to be disturbed by surrounding animals."

"So . . . he—he truly cares about the condition of these victims," Derek said, pensive.

David pursed his lips, looking at the white board. "Let's really look at what we have here. Both victims are: buried in a supine position, wearing white clothes that are clearly not their own since they're identical, wrapped in fabrics that look pressed and well taken care of. The hands are missing. Take away the signs of physical abuse, and the newest victim is also visibly clean. His body had been carefully prepared for a ritualistic burial. Everything has been carefully and purposefully put into place. We established that this took time. What does this tell us about these victims?"

"JJ, you said earlier today that the unsub might value the victim even in death," Derek stated.

"Mm-hmm?" Jennifer puckered her eyebrows.

"This was a processional. They might be more valuable to the unsub dead than alive," Derek added. "These victims' deaths are a transition and not an end."

Jennifer lowered her jowls, nodding. "I can definitely agree on that."

David nodded. "And we need to figure why that is. What is the importance of doing this"—he pointed to close-up images of Victim A's beaten body—"if the unsub goes out of his way to portray the victim as this?" He then pointed to one of the pictures where Victim A was still wrapped in the linen and was deep underground. "He's not on display for other people to see. This was for the unsub. This is a drastic shift in the way he treats his victim."

Aaron could see where David was heading with this. "You think that the profile is indicative of a person with two completely different personalities—one of which is violently erratic, and the other that is organized, clean, meticulous, controlled, and reverent."

"You're suggesting that we're dealing with two unsubs instead of one? A partnership?" Alex asked.

"It is a possibility that we can't rule out," Aaron answered. "But I'm disinclined to say that there are two people involved. The psychopathology of such an organized and meticulous perpetrator—someone who needs this much control"—his hand waved at the burial pictures before Victim A was unwrapped—"leaves very little room for a partnership. It took considerable strength to transport the body from captivity to this location, and to neatly bury the victims, yes. But there would be no patience on their part for someone who has violent behavior to this degree"—his hand struck through the air and he pointed a finger at the latter pictures, showing some closeups of the bruising and abrasions—"especially if there is risk of being overpowered by their partner. That can be unpredictable and therefore undesirable. There would be an eventual fallout. No, it would be better if he was working with someone who is subservient, and the weaker of the two. That's not the case here."

"But. There is a possibility," Derek suggested. "Their partnership would just have to be rock solid."

"Yeah," Aaron responded. "We'll get more evidence from the medical examiner and forensic anthropologist, and these will help us draw on this aspect more. Reid and Blake, I want you two to go to the ME first thing in the morning and get a more thorough topical examination on the condition of the victim before the autopsy and see what other information you can gather. Garcia will send you the address. Tomorrow, Dave and Morgan, you'll comb through old files to see if there are any local missing people's cases like this in the past ten or so years, or unsolved cases that have any similarities. JJ, as soon as Garcia's search yields results, start combing through those so we can narrow our suspect pool and compare lists. Let's get something to eat, then rest for the evening."

"I heard there's an amazing Thai restaurant around here that's top notch," David said. "Shall we head?"

"Ugh," Alex answered. "I'm starving!"

When the group arrived at the Thai restaurant and ordered food, conversation was light and began with Aaron's missed pillow-fort adventure with his son, which led to the group sharing fond childhood stories. It was a comfortable reprieve from the starkness of their case.

Spencer picked at his food but was attentive to the conversation. He accepted food being put on his plate with reluctance.

By the time the group left the diner, full and ready for bed to refocus on the case come morning, it was nearing ten.

Jennifer showered, then facetimed Will and they spoke for a while. She asked after Henry. Will put the phone to her little boy's face, and she listened to his soft breaths as he slept, watching the eyes flutter in his dream-like state. She slept well.

Aaron showered, then called Jessica to see how Jack was and made gentle requests to speak to his sleeping son; she finally relented, and they had a brief conversation, which made Jack alert and excitable. Aaron apologized to Jessica, and she laughed it off. Afterwards, he called Beth to see how she was doing in New York. He slept well.

David showered, laid in his bed, and fell asleep minutes later, snoring loudly enough that neighboring rooms could hear.

Derek showered, then stared at the ceiling in the dark, thinking. When they caught their unsub, he would relish in seeing him rot in jail for whatever atrocities would further come to light as the case would unfold. But the thoughts trailed to his abuser, who had been recently murdered in prison. He was still wrought with conflicting emotions whenever he thought about it. Carl Buford was dead, yes, but the memories of what he'd done would endure. He didn't deserve such a swift end. He, like all others of his sort—people who abused their authority, people who used leverage over those who relied on them—deserved to rot for the rest of his miserable existence in a six-by-eight room. He didn't sleep well.

Alex showered, then called James, who was halfway around the world, still, and they spent nearly an hour talking fondly about Ethan. Afterwards, as she laid in the bed in the dark, she thought of Spencer and of how—if her son had another life—she hoped he would have been like her colleague. But she worried on ways of how she, or how the team, could help him. He was withering away, and they needed to intervene before he vanished. So, she spent hours hamster-wheeling on what might be the best approach for her and for the rest of the team to help Spencer work through his grief more healthily.

Spencer showered, sat at the small desk in his hotel room, pulled out some stationery from his satchel as well as his favorite fountain pen, and wrote a letter to his mother, the same as he did every night. He finished, stuffed it into an envelope, sealed it, and stamped it. And then, like most nights, he thought of the letters that he and Maeve exchanged. He sat on the mattress, unable to sleep for hours.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 24, 2013 AT 8:52 AM MORRIS COUNTY FORENSIC LAB

Spencer and Alex were led through double swinging doors and where there was a little hall that had large, glass observation windows into the examination room. They were led toward the other door and opened it, where they were met with the back of the examiner and her photographer.

"Hello," Alex started as she and Spencer stepped towards the examiner. "We're here to consult with you regarding this victim. With the FBI."

The pathologist turned around and quickly acknowledged the two agents. "Yes, hi, hello!" she said, brushing a little sweat dripping above her brow with the back of her wrist. "Michael, you can step out for a little while. Say . . . twenty minutes?" She looked at Alex to confirm, and Alex nodded with wink. "Twenty minutes, Michael. Thank you."

Her assistant nodded quietly and left. The pathologist was an average height woman in her late thirties or early forties with a pale visage and wavy reddish-brown hair. Although nothing else aside from those few attributes was similar, Spencer held his breath for a moment and was overcome with visions of Maeve standing before him instead.

His ever-mourning brain supplied the rest, and he hated how in his daily life he would see snippets of the physical features of a person who he only ever saw for mere minutes before she'd been taken from him—as if he ever even had her.

By day, he saw Maeve in people he didn't care to know, people who didn't even resemble her, and then memories of her would assault him in his sleep at night, sometimes in which he would lift the laced white veil that matched her wedding gown and finally see her true visage instead of a blank canvas. This he hated since it affirmed how deeply he would have cherished her if she'd never died. Other times he would dream of staring at her with helpless shock as she laid next to that Nobody that claimed her life, blood pooling around them. This was equally as hated, since it was the reality of what became of her and what would never be.

And lately he would dream of her in the Oxford library with ushers serving coffee and tea, and after a little conversation, Maeve, wearing the same thing she wore when he first and last saw her, would ask him if he wanted to dance. He would awaken with his chest burning, aches from an invisible yet ever-pulsing wound. It was so sharp, and the loss left him empty and sometimes sick enough to vomit.

The pain went straight from his heart to his head and increased its soft crescendo to steady thumps against his skull.

He dreamt about her again last night after laying in his bed at the hotel for hours when he finished writing his letter to his mother. Afterwards he sat on the bed with his one lone light turned on. He'd reached for his satchel to pull out a smaller bag, which had three compartments with a few tablets in each.

'How are your headaches?'

'G-good. I mean—I mean they're gone.'

'Yeah? Are you taking your riboflavin and magnesium?'

'In equal doses, and a sporadic shot of B-two like you said.'

The riboflavin and magnesium tablets both sat in the palm of his hand and he stared at them for an indeterminable duration, as if they were the key to a door that he wasn't sure he had the strength to open. His mind—normally racing with equations, conversations, and words lifting off various texts—could only focus on the two tablets in his hand until they disappeared from his eyes and all he could sense around him was a grey mist.

When he waded beyond it, he realized that it was half past one, and he'd just been sitting in a fog for over two hours. His breath stuttered in his throat and he blinked away the emptiness. The tablets had begun to melt and become gloppy in his sweaty fist. He dropped them in the small waste bin by his bed and took a napkin to wipe the residue from his hands.

Clicking off the light and letting the bright moonlight stream through his open curtain, he lay underneath the sheets and stared up at the ceiling. His eyes drooped as weariness began to overtake him. Tonight, it seemed he would get more than a couple hours of—

'And sleep?'

His eyes popped open, and he let out an abrupt breath. After a moment, he murmured in a near whimper, "I can't."

'Are you letting your grey matter rest?'

It had taken another hour to fall asleep, and—same as every night for the past few months—whenever he slept, all he could see was her and soon awoke with an ache that didn't let him rest.

These were some of the things he didn't know how to express adequately to anyone. Frankly, he would never willingly pull these thoughts and images from the recess of his darkening mind to the light. There in his mind they were trapped where they shouldn't be seen. But he longed to be over this pain if—

"I'm Dr Dale, Pathologist," the woman introduced herself, effectively breaking the ruse and bringing Spencer back to attention. "Dr Reid and SSA Blake, based on what your technical analyst and—Unit Chief? Yes, Unit Chief—informed us. Sorry I can't shake your hands." She then held up her own gloved hand. "Sorta elbow deep in this right now."

"That's actually okay," Spencer said with the rising inflection in his voice at the last word—a clear sign to those who knew him that he was moments away from one of his mini lectures. "There are many pathogens that pass in a handshake anyway," he finished simply.

The pathologist turned away from them and said, "Don't I know it. What an unfortunate formality. It's safer to kiss, though I wouldn't prefer that alternative either," she murmured.

Alex gave a short, whinnied laugh. The two walked around the table and began exchanging inquiries and statements clinically over the shell of a man who looked no older than thirty.

"Gloves are over there," the pathologist said, pointing to where the two could find gloves. "Heard you had a little accident at the burial site, yesterday, Dr Reid," Dr Dale said.

Alex made an aborted sound, and Spencer remained quiet, but his cheeks flushed as his attention was rapt on putting on the gloves that suddenly weren't being cooperative.

"I'm not supposed to tell you this, but you're not the first to nearly fall on a dead body or drop something on or near a site. But you didn't hear that from me," she smiled at them as they walked over to her. "You know, legally. Evidence compromisation and all."

"We'll pretend we didn't hear that, then," Alex said lightly. Spencer stood by her.

Dr Dale's expression suddenly took on one of deep soberness, and she pointed her hand to the body of the John Doe before her, Victim A. "I've worked here eight years and have seen my share of hefty cases, but none quite like what this seems to be turning into," she said woefully. "I heard they may have found a third. Look at this place." She lifted her head up to give the room a sweeping glance. "It's not meant to hold three dead bodies on a slab simultaneously." She, of course, was talking metaphorically—the space itself could certainly host more than three cadavers.

"Hmm. They might have," Alex responded, referring to the third body, whether human or otherwise, that was being excavated. "And what have you found so far?" she asked, preferring to get to it.

"I got here at the crack of dawn this morning, given the severity of this case, and have been doing the external examination since then. My diener benevolently ran radiography last night before leaving. I wanted to get a little head start before today, ya know?"

"You got a lot done already, hmm?" Alex urged.

"Yeah, well, you know. Top priority and all." She took a deep breath. "He's been dead for approximately two to three days. Interring him those four or so feet—as well as wrapping him in the fabric—helped to slow the decomp rate, especially given the cooler temperature these past few days. I took a proper picture of him and sent him to your technical analyst so she can check to see if he matches anyone on any missing persons database while I continued to work. I was just in the middle of documenting his external injuries, after collecting any other evidentiary items under his clothing." She said the two words with air quotes, sighing with irritation.

"That sounded caustic. Is there a reason for the . . ." Alex trailed off and mimicked the air quotes, squinting her eyes and pursing her lips as she tilted her head in curiosity.

"Well, because for all it's worth, John Doe didn't have much evidence—flakes, fibers, or residual material otherwise—to collect, under his clothes after we'd photographed him, or in his hair. Of course, CSU tries to collect what they can to send to the forensics lab, but this man here is very clean. I'd say that aside from the signs of abuse, whoever kept this man had him in a relatively sterile condition, or at least took care to clean him very, very thoroughly before the burial. Internal exam might reveal otherwise, but for now it stands as such. From a bit of what's been gathered, the bed sheet and clothes wrapped around him revealed nothing other than a simple household cleaners and bleach, which anyone has access to. But our lab techs will be able to further examine these things."

"Hmm, another intentional forensic countermeasure, or is this perhaps a part of our unsub's ritual?" Spencer asked Alex.

"Unsub?" The pathologist asked.

"Our criminal," Alex clarified, to which the pathologist kicked back her head and let out a soft Ah of understanding. "We classify them as unsubs—unknown or unidentified subjects—as we build a profile, until they've been properly identified."

"Gotcha."

"If it's a forensic countermeasure, this unsub is extremely meticulous," Spencer pointed out.

They stood straight when they heard the door open.

"Mornin', Dale," a man said, donning his PPE. "Got an early start, I see?" he asked. His voice was wispy with the age that his sagging, sepia-brown skin disclosed, and he seemed to have a calm and gentle disposition, crow's feet wrinkling at the corners of his eyes.

"Morning!" She turned to Spencer and Alex and introduced them to the man. "Dr Huxley, my primary assistant. Dr H, these are Dr Reid and Agent Blake from the FBI. They're behavioral analysts." She turned back to the agents when her assistant hummed in surprise. "We both had to leave the site earlier during the day because we were scheduled to testify in court for a completely separate case, you see, otherwise we would have all met yesterday instead."

"Ah," Alex said.

Dr Huxley joined them in looking over the body.

"Mm. A lot of these wounds look consistent with blows made by fists," Alex observed, pointing at a few around the torso.

Spencer hummed in agreement and bent forward and hovered close to the body, taking a closer look. His jaw dropped the way it normally would when he was mentally hurtling towards conclusions or unravelling an enigma.

Without unfurling from his bent position, he upturned his eyes to the examiners. "This one here, for example, where there's only one impact site. You can definitely tell it was caused by an object consistent with a human fist. It's too large to be a woman's. Fractured what looks to be his sixth through eighth ribs here on the right, and left a deeper imprint here, so our unsub might be left-handed, which seems to be consistent with the impact bruising of other contusions." Returning his gaze to the cadaver below, he continued, "These bruises here on the inside of the forearms—they're defensive wounds." He skipped his head down and looked at the exposed flesh of where the hands were removed. "The cut is very clean and . . . looks to be postmortem, so the unsub likely took off each of these hands in one blow with an axe or power tool . . ."

"Which, in the northwestern part of New Jersey where his body was found, can be everyone apparently," Dr Huxley added glibly.

"Hmm, these lateral bruises here along his torso." Alex tilted her head. "Are we thinking these were made with a belt?"

"It seems so," Dr Dale answered. "Or some of them, at least. I would attribute these ones"—she pointed— "to electrical wiring; any household cord would do the job. Some of the capillaries burst with those particular bruises."

"And bruising around the neck is consistent with strangulation," added Spencer, shaking his head.

Alex sighed and shook her head as well. Fists, belts, wires, strangulation—this unsub was truly torturing these victims.

"Not just strangulation, but repeated strangulation," Dr Huxley interrupted, looking pensive. "Petechiae along his jaws and face here. Bruising and abrasions along his neck are in various stages of healing, and they were done for the most part by hand; you can see finger pad markings along the sides. However, it looks like a ligature was involved at one point and used to garrote this victim. Here you can clearly see the thin lines of the ligature across his neck and crossing over each other, even though it's in the last, fading stages. An internal examination will likely reveal a fractured larynx or hyoid bone."

Spencer stood straight, the implications of what this victim suffered from this alone disturbing him. "Aside from the long-term effects that repeated strangulation can pose to a victim, he'll have suffered from difficulty breathing and swallowing, intense coughing, nausea, vomiting, hallucinations, headaches, dizziness, bladder and fecal incontinence, possibly seizures, among a plethora of other symptoms. Possibly cerebral anoxia, too."

Dr Huxley, impressed, nodded. "Quite so."

"And yet he is found to be very well taken care of, at least upon death," Alex supplemented. She looked at her companion. "The manual strangulation—that's extremely personal and sexual in nature. Think of the position of his body."

"Your life is in my hands. It's a form of abusive control and is used as terrorization. It could just be a means to subdue and incapacitate his victim, but yeah—strangulation points to a sexual component of the captivity. The thing is . . ."

"Mm-hmm?"

"It doesn't make sense, given the actual burial sites. Sexual sadists don't feel remorse, which is shown in spades where they're buried."

Alex turned to Dr Dale for confirmation. "Was there evidence of sexual assault, or did you not get there yet?"

"I haven't quite gotten there yet, no," the woman answered. "At least not rectally. No bruising on the scrotal area indicative of sexual violence. Buccal swabs might show transferred DNA if the perpetrator forced him to perform oral sex or if the perpetrator fellated him and then osculation was involved."

Something fluttered in Spencer's stomach upon the last words of her supposition. His hand pressed against his stomach to stem the spike, but his mind wasn't afforded the same restraint.

"However, he did have stage one pressure sores all along his right side. I wouldn't be surprised if they're on his backside as well. Dr H and I will see about that when we turn him over, and also determine if sexual assault was involved. It seems he may have endured long periods of sitting and laying down."

Spencer and Alex noted what she said but focused on the aspect that they brought up.

Alex tilted her head. "Hmm, so as of now, there's no evidence of sexual assault on the victim's genitalia. So many of these forms of abuse are consistent with sexual sadism. That's highly irregular that the unsub wouldn't have manipulated or disfigured this victim's genitals if he's otherwise so violent with his victim and if there seems to be a sexual component involved." She looked at Spencer. "Perhaps he has a misguided moral compass—some things that he won't do? Could speak to his psychopathology and history."

"Mm. Maybe." Spencer didn't dwell on it and flippantly switched to the next topic. "Have the x-rays revealed anything of note?"

Dr Huxley went over to a table on the other side of the room and clicked on the light to illuminate the x-rays. "Well." He glanced back at them, then back at the x-rays. His quiet demeanor piqued Spencer's interest, so he walked over to examine the images. "Like you posited earlier, Dr Reid, the sixth, seventh, and eighth ribs are indeed fractured. Hmm." He tilted his head.

"What's that?" Spencer asked as he pointed to one image. "Is that a—"

"That would appear to be a healed fracture on his left radius. It could easily be a sports related injury, possibly an oblique fracture. We may be able to use that to identify him if a missing report was filed and there are medical records. However, look here." He pivoted his body.

Alex and Dr Dale walked over to examine the images as well.

Dr Huxley continued. "His left acromioclavicular joint was dislocated, and the left clavicle has a hairline fracture. Both are recent injuries, likely sustained at the same time. That explains some of the bruising we see topically. It could be when he sustained this closed skull fracture here, and this hairline fracture to his zygomatic bone here. No conjectures though, until we gather more data. Once we look at his brain, presence of intracranial hemorrhaging and subdural hematoma will be a better indicator of if this may have caused any trauma."

"So it's likely that he fell from a significant height," Spencer suggested. "Four, maybe five feet."

"Because his hands are missing, we wouldn't be able to determine if he was able to brace himself for it such a fall, but my educated guess is that he didn't, given these injuries," Dr Huxley finished.

Alex spoke up. "Are those the kind of injuries one would get from tumbling down the stairs, or . . ."

"No—everything Dr Huxley mentioned is indicative of someone falling once to deal that kind of impact damage," Spencer answered. He used his hand to demonstrate his next point, flattening one out at eye-level and pushing it down: "His body was likely nearly parallel to the ground when he fell. He could have even been unconscious when it occurred."

"Fascinating," Alex murmured.

"We haven't even gotten started," Dr Dale said, turning and indicating that they return to the body.

"What is your medical practice, Dr Reid?" Dr Huxley asked before nearing the table.

"Oh, no—not in any medical field," Spencer answered. "Chemistry, Mathematics, and Engineering."

"Ah." Dr Huxley gave a brief smile, then looked down at the body. "So this x-ray was interesting," he said, pointing specifically to the mouth.

"Oh, yes, yes," Dr Dale agreed. "There are so many things that I noted when I completely removed the fabrics. So! Starting with the oral cavity." She walked back to the examination table, then pulled on the lips of the victim, revealing his teeth. She kicked her head to the x-ray as she spoke over the victim. "One outer incisor, one canine, one molar, and two premolar teeth have all been removed antemortem, and not all at the same time."

"This could be to slow down an investigation in case the body was found," Alex said, mentally keeping a list of all the things that this viewing was revealing. "We wouldn't be able to conclusively identify him based on dental records."

"But antemortem and at different times?" Spencer asked, voice betraying the dubiousness of Alex's suggestion. "Maybe, yeah, but varying time-frame suggests that the tooth removal may have been to torture the victim."

"Hm."

Spencer then kicked his head at the pathologist for her to continue.

"The molar was the last to be removed and was done recently. The flesh is swollen around it and the pulp is still visible. The condition of the teeth and gums themselves is interesting. When you look at the various stages of bruising on the victim, it's an obvious conclusion that he was in abusive conditions for at least ten to fourteen days. But his teeth and gums are fine." She spread his grey-blue lips for better visual access. "He doesn't show signs of developing gingivitis and there is no plaque buildup." She pointed to the gums.

It was another thing for Spencer and Alex to tick off.

"Then his actual oral cavity." She positioned the jointed magnifying glass attached to the examining table above his mouth. She held the mouth open, and they all peered above the magnifying glass one by one.

"Oh," Alex murmured with intrigue. She glanced at her teammate to see his expression. He looked positively fascinated and perturbed.

"His tongue was removed, which can cause massive hemorrhaging. This is fresh, and more than half his tongue is missing. As you can see, the cut is clean, so the murderer likely used pliers or some type of gripping mechanism to hold out the tongue before cutting it off with scissors or something of that sort. It was definitely done antemortem and is likely to be the cause of death. Considering all of these injuries, though, will make it difficult for us to pinpoint exactly what the cause of death was, so the internal examination will hopefully determine that."

Spencer straightened his body to his full height and regarded the victim distantly, trying to slot many of these pieces together. Hip slightly thrusted forward, he wrapped his left arm around his torso and propped his right elbow on his left wrist, fist curling under his chin—the near-likeness of a living, breathing Rodinesque thinker.

"Not only was this victim's mouth wrapped in fabric, but his tongue was removed? The redundancy is need-based," he observed. "What purpose does it serve to remove someone's ability to taste and or communicate?"

Alex stared intently at her partner and asked, "What do you have in mind, Spencer?" She could see him slotting another piece into the puzzle, but they had neither a reference picture with which to compare it to, nor all the pieces at present.

"I'm wondering if sensory deprivation is our unsub's goal. Tell me, what of his ears?"

Dr Dale gave a grave nod, knowing where he was leading. "You're very good, you. I did find this peculiar, and I'm keen to talk about this," she admitted. "When I removed the blindfold from our victim and peered into his ears, I found these guys." She leaned behind her and grabbed a small metal pan atop a cart and held it over the victim's body. They all leaned over.

In the pan was warped pieces of cotton.

"Huh."

"Hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil," Dr Huxley rumbled, expression grim.

Spencer hummed. "Extreme sensory deprivation, but postmortem. No sense of taste, touch, sight, or hearing. Anything in the olfactory orifice?"

"I thought to check too once I noticed the pattern," Dr Dale said. "Nothing to be found."

"Huh," Blake exclaimed and then asked, "Was there anything else on the blindfold? Chemicals, such as with the clothes or bedsheet?"

"Nothing to be collected. Again, the lab techs will get more info on anything chemical."

Alex tilted her head at Spencer and lifted her brows, hoping that he could supply them with a quick conclusion that could help with the building profile. He couldn't, and his face showed it. She prompted other questions for them to discuss. "They haven't found the tongue or hands so we can assume that the unsub is—what?—keeping them as trophies?"

"Or fetishizing them," Spencer countered, eyebrows furrowed.

The examiner let out a sound of disgust, but she continued, "Either way, a person will struggle, which makes the cut jagged. This cut is too clean. We'll run toxicology reports to see for any drugs in his system."

They continued the examination, looking at the torso.

"Looking at these sliding abrasions," Alex said. "There are so many sites. It looks like some of them were healed almost completely with just a little bit of scarring." There were many sliding abrasions—up and down his front, his sides, his back, his legs—a sign that he'd been dragged around by his captor. As they were mostly topical, the healed scars could have been days old, or they could be weeks old.

His legs were also covered in what looked like more bruises from a belt, and larger impact sites. His knees were heavily abraded—another potential indicator of sexual assault. Then they looked at his feet. Although there were ligature marks on both ankles, the left one was near polished with a perfect, red brand where it had been chafed. The bottoms of his feet were clean, but were calloused.

"His right ankle looks swollen, like it was sprained."

"The X-ray showed a hairline fracture, actually," Dr Huxley supplied.

As he finished speaking, the door opened, and her photographer walked back in.

"Thank you for your assistance in this investigation," Alex said as she resisted the urge to put her hands in her pockets. "We'll be waiting on the preliminary report of this one later," she finished, pointing her chin to the body.

"You got it. Shouldn't be more than a couple of days for it. Other things may take a few weeks, as you know. You'll probably have solved this all by then. You're welcome to look at the other body. Dr Huxley can take over on that."

"You got it," Alex responded.

Alex and Spencer briefly looked over Victim B, who was rolled from his pocket in the wall, but spared him any grand scrutiny: There was adipocere formation from his chest to his thighs, which were slightly exposed due to movement from transportation from the site to the facility. Additional data hadn't been taken of him, so they weren't to touch him yet. The skin of the Victim B's head was leathery where any tissue had remained; the area of his maxilla and mandible, though, were bare but for the fabric covering the bones, so they couldn't determine if any teeth were missing. What they could see beyond the fabric was that his eye orbits and nasal aperture were exposed, devoid of the mummified tissue. The arms were also mummified, and the legs below the adipocere and the feet were near skeletonized.

"That looks shattered," Alex whispered, pointing to the knee covered in mummified skin.

"Yes, it does," Dr Huxley agreed, voice hushed.

"Mm."

"Dr Bates' team will be here soon, and they'll be able to work on this victim. I'd wager there will be a lot to gather from his trunk area."

"The t-shirt and boxers were definitely white at one time, as was the linen sheet," Spencer observed. "So the unsub is consistent."

In the background, Dr Dale continued to annotate her findings into a recorder. The camera clicked away as the body was photographed. Thanking Dr Huxley, the two walked out of the examination room and headed to the bathrooms to wash their hands, then went to the SUV.

"The amount of violence shown on Victim A is staggering," Alex said as they drove off.

"Mm."

"Hopefully, the unsub is having a cooldown period and we find him during that time."

"Mm."

Spencer's stomach gurgled.

"Hungry?"

"A little, yeah."

It was a near irreverent switch in topic, as if the graveness of what they'd just seen and discussed inside the mortuary hadn't touched them.

They decided to go to a local café to pick up some snacks for the small conference room at the precinct, falling into a flurry of unvoiced conversation for the sake of conversation, and Spencer indulged in a large coffee with plenty of sugar, despite Alex's objections.