FRIDAY, APRIL 26, 7:00 AM CHANNEL 12 NEWS

Around New Jersey, around the clock. This is News12 New Jersey.

"Good morning, New Jersey. I'm Corinne Moore. It's seven in the morning and today is going to be another sunny day with some passing clouds at a high of 66 in the north, and a high of 69 in the south, more to come on the weather soon."

"Another lovely day, Corinne, how exciting. We come to you now with breaking news. Yesterday morning, Sussex County officials needed everyone's help with identifying the remains of a victim that was found in an undisclosed location. Details were not forthcoming at that time, with the exception that the victim is a male in his mid-twenties to fifties. However, it seems we have further development on this. Corinne?"

"Thank you, Kyle. Yes, according to varying reliable sources, we are now finding that, not one, but two victims' remains were found in Stokes State Forest, which is located in Sussex County, on Monday, just beyond the trails and paths. Additionally, due to the similar nature, both victims' deaths are being ruled as suspicious. There is federal presence assisting the Sussex County officials, which is highly indicative of foul play, and they're assisting with finding out who is responsible for these murders. It is confirmed that one victim is male, per yesterday's release of information. It is unknown, however, whether the other victim is also a male."

"This is rather grisly. We hope to be updating the public on this as soon as possible. As noted yesterday, Sussex County still needs the help of the public in identifying these two victims so as to bring their families closure."

"Once again, they'll be matching DNA to the remains found, so it will be helpful to have a personal item of the missing person: articles of clothing, hair brush, a blanket, or pillowcase are the types of items. If you have photographs or medical and or dental records, this will also assist in their search. Their tip line is 0."

—

"Do we know how this got out?" Aaron asked the sheriff. He and the rest of the team had to enter the building furtively through the back to avoid the press of reporters and local residents outside the front steps of the precinct. They had gone to the conference room; Aaron had gone straight to Sheriff Reiner's office.

The news had broken a little over an hour ago, and the ensuing chaos needed to be handled. The sheriff, hanging up the phone loudly, clenched his jaws in irritation. His officers and the receptionists were fielding dozens of calls of concerned residents in the township, throughout Sussex County, and much further beyond.

Those who lived closest to the forest were enraged that they weren't told that there was a madman leaving bodies in their backyard, as some had put it. According to his Public Information Officer and head of the media unit, various news outlets and newspapers were clamoring for more intel on the fascinating news from this morning. She was currently contacting News12 to see about the source of the information, and other officers under her watch were constantly telling other media contacts that there were no comments to be shared at this time.

"Honestly, Agent Hotchner, I don't know," Sheriff Reiner responded, voice gruff and red in the face.

Aaron put up his hand in a calming gesture, giving his head one firm shake from left to right. He wanted to allay the worries of this man instead of overwhelming him.

"We knew this was an eventuality, so thankfully we're not unprepared. I'm surprised we were able to hold off this long on any premature exposure."

Sheriff Reiner puffed out a breath and sat up more fully in his chair, a weight lifting off of him at the reassurance. He plopped his elbows on his desktop and folded his hands toward his face. "So, should we start calling outlets to come for a press conference?"

"Yes, that would be advisable so that we can have better control from here on out. I'd prefer to run point on that—if you don't mind?"

The sheriff gave a permissive flourish with his hand.

"Thanks. My team and I have a long and full day ahead of us; would you be able to inform the media that we'd like to have the conference at—" he checked his watch. "Nine fifteen?"

The Sheriff nodded. "Yes, I'll get our PI Officer on that right now."

"Great, thanks," Aaron said. "Afterwards, would you be able to gather your deputies within the next fifteen minutes? Per the developments last night, we'd like to apprise all of you of progress and give you all a working profile before we have the press conference."

"Sounds good, Agent Hotchner. I'll get everyone gathered."

Aaron gave the sheriff a nod, then walked toward the conference room where all his colleagues were waiting for him.

"Alright," he began. They all looked at him expectantly and awaited his next words. "Though the exposure was premature, this was relatively mild. We're going to give a profile to the deputies; afterwards, we're holding a press conference. In the meantime, we need to organize our findings so far to share with everyone here."

"Let's get to it," David declared.

—

With the necessary deputies all present, the behavioral analysis unit stood next to each other and stared out at the officers.

"Thanks for gathering together; we'll make this as quick as possible, but it's a lot to take in," Aaron began. "We're going to give you information about our unsub that as of now is a working profile based upon the current progress we have made. Some of this information is subject to change as more evidence continues to come to light. Sheriff Reiner has told you that Victim A has been identified as Noah Turner of New York, who went missing in early January.

"This makes many things apparent: first and foremost is that this offender has the facility to hold his victims captive for months at a time. This takes planning and diligence. This could be at his home or at another private property."

Many were taking notes.

"So, we'll want to look for those who may have second properties?" one of the deputies asked.

"Yes," Aaron answered. "You may also want to search through abandoned or foreclosed structures."

The team began speaking and answering questions in turn:

"The offender we're looking for is a white male, between the ages of 25 to 50 who likely owns an SUV, pick-up truck, utility vehicle or something similar. It's probably muted and unassuming. He's intelligent, neat, obsessively organized, and likely works a job where he has control of what he does in order to perfect his craft. The burial sites yield very little collective data, so he is fastidious. So far, there's no DNA evidence to be found."

"Did the guy clean the bodies?" another deputy asked.

"It looks to be the case. We may be looking for someone who likely buys an inordinate amount of cleaning material. We've also widened our search to include men that may also work in a capacity where they have access to cleaning materials, such as a janitor. This person is likely obsessive compulsive. Our unsub's obsession with cleanliness and order is so deeply ingrained that it would be reflected in his home, his vehicle, his workspace, and elsewhere in his life."

It rapidly turned into a one-sided conversation, with the BAU team doing the talking in turn:

"It might do to look at professions that would reflect the following type of mindset: artisans and craftsmen, workers in long hours of solitude. He has extraordinary patience and spends a great deal of his time meticulously planning the abduction or has at least done so in the past and has perfected his method. This will also be reflected in the captivity and in the means of death. Think perfectionists. This type of person likely doesn't have a criminal record, or possibly has a criminal record for a one-time offense, but for something such as a misdemeanor or third-degree felony that would likely be due to battery or assault. He flies under the radar."

"As far as his family life goes—if he has one—he is secretive and may have a separate location where he keeps his victims. A bunker that his family wouldn't know about, or has very strict rules about his family going into certain areas in his private workspace. He may be separated or divorced, or he is otherwise in an unhappy marriage. If he has children still living at home, they aren't young—mid-teens at the least—or he has no children at all. He has a violent disposition, but it probably only comes out when dealing with his victims; this might translate to being calm and collected in daily life."

"He's a secretive person and will likely never reach out to the media for attention, but he will try to furtively insert himself into the investigation in any way if he can. This may be displayed in a false, friendly disposition as he inserts himself, or he may linger in the background. His need for control is so strong that he will want to know its progress so as to determine what his next move will need to be. Or it might be because he wants to feel more intelligent than investigators."

"Regarding his personality, he may have a friendly character with a very violent switch, a person who goes from hot to cold quickly, but only if things do not go his way. This is another reason why we believe that he may be an artisan or craftsman or someone who has more control of his operations in daily life. This is the kind of man who people will be surprised to find out is a serial killer, but they'll think to themselves that there was always something just a little off about him."

"While we don't have a preliminary ME's report and sexual assault has not been determined yet, given some of the information we've gathered at our own viewing of Noah Turner, restraining and strangling his victims repeatedly are signs of power and sexual dominance. Yet, the nature of the burials points to remorse, so victims are just as important to him dead as they were alive. There may be an inner conflict or even a dissociative disorder connected to this since sexual sadists don't typically feel remorse. That may be manifest in the missing body parts. These body parts can be viewed as a memento, or a trophy. If there is indeed a sexual element in this, the post-mortem mutilation of Noah's hands may be an indication of a necromantic mutilation. This is the obtaining of a body part to be used for sexual gratification. It could be a manifestation of a type of paraphilia called partialism, which is a sexual interest with a focus on a specific part of the body excluding the genitals. As a reference, some famous examples of partialist serial killers are Jeffrey Dahmer, Dennis Nilsen, and Jerry Brudos.

"The remorse and obsessive need for control may reflect that our unsub was physically or sexually abused as a child and he's taking back that control now. Typically victims of abuse do not in turn become abusers themselves, but he may be among the 33% who turned out to resort to violence. So, the burial may be representative of the innocence he feels he lost as a youth to his own aggressor."

"He is fixated on cleanliness, and possibly an almost religious or pious purity which may reflect how he sees his own lost innocence. He's concerned for their health—the state of Noah's teeth and gums show that the unsub may care for his victim's overall health. He himself may be blond and projecting himself upon his victims, one of whom, Noah, was not blond but whose hair color was changed during his captivity. Removing the tongue and yet covering the victim's mouth antemortem may be symbolic of his own silence. Having grown up in an abusive environment, he likely had to suffer in silence, or he felt that his voice had never been heard, essentially not having one at all. In death, his victims became a surrogate to the child he always wanted to be—untouched, clean, pure—and perhaps cleaning them was indicative of washing away all that had been done to him."

"The other possibility, of course, could be that these victims represent someone important to him as well, pointing to a fantasy-based crime, as he changed Noah's appearance, so look through records of blond males who have died or moved away from this area within the last five to ten years who may have records of abuse to connect to our unsub. It's an extensive list, but in there we may find something."

"Due to his intense need for control, his apprehension needs to be dealt with delicately and carefully, as he may have a suicidal ideation and an endgame. He wants to control his life and, ultimately, the circumstances of his own death. If he has another victim in captivity already, this would be detrimental for them, as he likely won't want to just give up their location if they're at a separate place."

"The most important thing to take away from this is the location of his victims. We cannot stress enough how imperative it is that the following does not become public knowledge. This perpetrator knows this area well, so we have to consider the very real possibility that our unsub is someone who works or volunteers for Stokes State Forest or has done so in the past. That burial site means something important to him. We cannot let the public know that there is any suspicion with anyone who has been employed by the Stokes State Forest. This will breed paranoia and mistrust that will inevitably extend to all those in positions of authority."

David took in a deep breath. "So. You guys have any other questions for us?" he asked.

Among the small swell of people, a voice emerged. "Yeah, how the actual hell do we find this guy?"

A soft rumble of laughter ensued.

Sheriff Reiner stood upright from the desktop he was leaning on and squared his shoulders. "Who in the hell said that? Davis, was that you?" he asked in irritation. He would be damned if one of his deputies trivialized this case.

"No, no," David said patiently with the wave of a hand. "It's not a far-fetched question."

Derek spoke up. "In some cases it may take weeks, months, or even years to apprehend the unsub. If the third victim is any indication, our unsub's been operating for about a year and a half and we suspect much longer because he's built up to this signature and MO. With each passing victim he perfects his craft. At some point in the past, he screwed up to get to where he is now, though. Maybe there's a victim that managed to get away and survive. Someone definitely knows this man, and due to fear, possibly due to extreme trauma, they have not come forth about their dealings with him. This profile is really to help you narrow your suspect pool, increase surveillance, and hopefully make an eventual arrest."

Spencer, hands in pockets, spoke up, tone regretful. "What often helps, unfortunately, is fresh data that hasn't been degraded by so much time, especially now that you, and soon the public, have a clearer idea of who you're looking for. A day late may even be too late. A fresh abduction for example. People are now more aware of what's going on, so their cynicism is piqued and they're likely to be more observant of suspicious activities or of a person who falls into this category. We also mentioned that while the unsub won't have contact with the media, he'll try to insert himself in some way into the investigation, and it doesn't have to be in an overt manner.

"So, if we do have a new victim, we draw upon that need by doing things like organizing a search party that locals can volunteer to help with. This may attract him enough to join in the search party, and from there we whittle down the volunteers by assessing their history. This was, in fact, how we were able to identify an unsub during a case a few years ago named Floyd Feylinn Ferell [1]. Ferell used the opportunity of the search party to not only inject himself, but also to abduct a new victim. We were able to apprehend him, and one of the things that nailed the coffin, so to speak, was that he signed up as a volunteer—not to go on the search, but to feed the volunteers."

Aaron said lastly, "We're going to obviously parse this down immensely in the press conference and change up ages in order to do our own narrowing, and only release specific need-to-know information to the public. There are people who, of course, will not be watching or listening, so please keep this information in mind if ever anyone comes forward with a tip on our unsub." He gave a brisk, dismissing nod. "Thank you."

—

Promptly fifteen minutes after nine, the team of profilers were standing in a straight line behind Aaron as he stood at the podium in front of the various reporters, cameramen, and photographers. Sheriff Reiner was standing on his left, and his chief deputy sheriff flanked Aaron's right.

Aaron began. "My name is Aaron Hotchner, and I represent the Federal Bureau of Investigations, which is assisting Sheriff Reiner of the Sussex County Precinct regarding the victims found in Stokes State Forest."

To this, he wanted to cringe. He and his team would have preferred that the location remained privileged, however it was already publicized earlier this morning. There was no longer a point in withholding that information. It would, however, alert their unsub, who was likely keeping up with the news to make sure that he was able to continue operating as usual.

"This morning, there was news of two bodies being found in Stokes State Forest. We want to verify this information as true, and we'd like to call upon the public to assist us in this case. Both victims are male. Based on our findings so far, we urge white males between the ages of twenty to forty to exercise extreme caution. While we have reason to believe that blond males are more at risk, this does not in any way preclude others from being targeted, so please remain vigilant."

This was information they wanted to also keep under their noses, but once the forest was named, their unsub would inevitably be on alert, so there was no more reason to withhold this specific information. It would be negligent on their part to withhold information that could now keep the public safe. "While we have the identity of one of the victims, we implore that you continue to call our tip line if your friend or loved one has gone missing in the last five years that meets these criteria.

"Additionally, the perpetrator we are searching for is dangerous and highly capable of overpowering a lone victim. Please be on the lookout for a white male between the age of 25 to 65 with a large build who likely owns an SUV, pickup truck, or utility vehicle. While that is a broad spectrum, we're looking for someone who's extremely meticulous, organized, intelligent, and is usually unassuming, but can be very opposing. He is your neighbor and someone you have worked alongside or known for years. He may have a very quiet manner, but with a very short fuse, a person who is temperamental, pedantic, possibly even belittling if he finds that things are not to his standards, or if there is a sudden change in what was to have been a regular routine. He may not always have been this way, but a recent stressor in the last five or so years, such as the death of or absence of a loved one or even of an abuser may have caused a dramatic shift in his personality. This is what he is like in daily life and is someone you know. If you see any suspicious activity, any person acting suspiciously, or if you suspect that a person you know meets these criteria, do not approach or confront him. Again, please call our tip line at 0. Thank you."

He began stepping away from the podium and the cameras flashed and various people protested at the tiny nibble of information, asking question after question.

Aaron turned back to the camera. "There will be no questions at this time."

The team went back inside and prepared for their assignments.

10:05 AM PORT JERVIS, NEW YORK

Derek and Jennifer walked the grey slate walkway of the comely house. Its owner kept the grass cut, the shrubbery along the walkway trimmed, and the paint on the mustard yellow house fresh. Surrounding the small porch were bushes of lush, healthy blue and purple hydrangeas.

In the driveway in front of the garage, there was a pollen-covered Subaru Forester that belonged to Noah Turner.

The owner of this picturesque home, Mrs Turner, emotionally compensated for the absence of her only living (deceased, rather) family, and it showed in the upkeep of her home. Neither Derek nor Jennifer could fathom how this would destroy her but hoped that she would now get a sense of closure.

Jennifer rang the bell once and waited for a response. When there was none, she leaned forward and gave a gentle rapping at the eggplant-colored door.

"Mrs Turner? My name is Jennifer; I'm from the FBI?"

Just then, a sedan pulled into the driveway, and Jennifer and Derek turned around quickly to face the driver, who would no doubt be confused to see two people at their doorstep. The driver door opened and out popped a small woman who they could logically surmise was Mrs Turner.

"Can I help you ?"

"Mrs Turner?" Derek took the couple of steps from the porch to walk towards her car and pocketed his sunglasses. He already had his badge pulled out.

Mrs Turner visibly tilted her body toward the inside of her car, fingers tightening atop the door in alarm and perturbation. "Yes? Who are you?"

Derek hesitated a little and, hearing Jennifer coming up behind him, tilted toward his teammate, queuing her with a near imperceptible nudge of his head to take the lead to ease this woman's nerves.

As Jennifer stepped next to Derek and pulled out her credentials, she began warmly, tilting her head, "Mrs Turner, my name is Jennifer Jareau, and this is Derek Morgan. We're with the FBI, and we need to speak with you regarding your son, Noah. Would we be able to go inside?"

Mrs Turner's face paled and her fingers tensed around the door again. Her voice came out small. "Noah? What could—hmm—what could the FBI have to do with—with him?"

"Ma'am, we think it might be best if we go inside and take a seat."

Mrs Turner uttered an Oh and held out her hand to create a barrier between them. She clung to the door of her car as if that were the only thing keeping her from collapsing. "Oh, pl—oh, no, no," she groaned, letting out a pained hum.

She knew; they didn't have to tell her. Jennifer rushed to her quickly and tried to hold her up before she actually did fall. Words of encouragement were said as she tried to remain upright.

It took little time for her to recover, and she straightened herself. As composed as she could possibly be, she apologized—it was as if her reaction had been inappropriate. She asked the two of them to come inside.

"Ma'am, do you want me to get your grocery bags for you?" Derek asked.

In a calm daze, she answered, "I—you don't need—I, um, thank you." She apologized again as her composure faltered when she fumbled with her key.

Jennifer took a quick peek at the interior and navigated Mrs Turner to her couch, and Derek settled her things on the counter-top in the nearby kitchen.

In silence she sat, staring at her mantle, on top of which was a picture that Jennifer surmised was about nine or ten years old—all of her immediate family was photographed together. Wringing her hands, her red-rimmed eyes became glassy with unshed tears, and she breathed out slow and deep, a single weighted breath, before shutting her eyes.

"Mrs Turner—"

"Did he suffer?" While Mrs Turner's eyebrows curled upward, her gaze never left that picture above the mantle. She tightened her lips, let out an aborted hum, and then shook her head in a rapid but small burst when she sensed their hesitation to answer the question. "No. Please don't answer that." She sucked in another breath. "Are you—are you sure it's my Noah?"

"When the missing report was filed by Noah's friends and you followed up, you gave us a medical record from when he'd fractured his arm years ago. It was a match," Jennifer answered.

Mrs Turner nodded, still looking at the photograph. "Um, how long has he been—no. No."

Jennifer scrunched her lips, not wishing to tell the grieving woman that her son, who had been missing for many months, was alive less than a week ago. It would crush her to know that he was alive until shortly, but it might turn her into fine dust to know that during the time he'd been in captivity, he'd been subjected to unspeakable abuses.

In concern, she asked, "Can I get you anything, Mrs Turner? Would you like me to grab you a—a glass of water?"

Mrs Turner was amenable to the suggestion, so Jennifer got up and went to the kitchen. She took a quick peek into the groceries and put the perishables in the refrigerator or freezer, then grabbed a glass that was on the drying rack and filled it with water from the water system. She grabbed a napkin on her way out of the kitchen, then handed the woman the glass of water.

"I hope you don't mind, ma'am, but I put some of your things in the refrigerator and freezer to keep them fresh."

Mrs Turner's hands shook as she accepted the glass, and she brought it to her lips to take a few sips.

Jennifer looked over at Derek and transferred a voiceless message to him.

After she pulled the glass away, she spoke. "How did you find him? Where was he?"

Derek was direct, but he was sympathetic. "Mrs Turner, Noah was found in Stokes State Forest in New Jersey a few days ago."

She let out a hum. "Why was he there?"

"We're unable to determine that for now, unfortunately. We'd like to ask you a few questions about Noah—if you don't mind." Derek was silently praising her for being able to keep herself together this much in the face of such distress. She'd already lost two people before Noah. In the face of such tragedy, some people collapsed inward like they were imploding, wailed and decried everything.

When she tried to answer but could only nod her head in response, they began the interview.

Oftentimes, people became overly defensive of their family members when asked invasive questions, but Mrs Turner answered them candidly, laying out the faults of her son, few though they were in Derek and Jennifer's eyes.

Noah was, overall, a low-risk victim. He was heavily involved in athletic sports and other hobbies, such as rock climbing and obstacle challenges. He never smoked, did drugs, or abused any other substances, but he was prone to getting loose from time to time on the weekends with his friends at various bars. He was both well-liked and admired by his peers, workmates, and neighbors, and made very few enemies— although, on the latter, he did square up with a few people on occasion because he had no tolerance for any kind of injustices.

He also had a predictable pattern during the week. He worked remotely twice a week and went into New York City three times a week. From work, he would come back to Port Jervis and arrive at the gym or an indoor extreme-sport facility either by himself, with his girlfriend, or with his friends; they were all into extreme fitness. He was typically home by quarter after nine. Quarter to ten if he'd decided to go to a bar before the gym depending on his mood. His weekends usually involved relaxing with his mother, doing indoor and outdoor chores or repairs, or would be with his girlfriend and or friends. On occasion he did a weekend getaway with either his mother, his girlfriend, or his friends; if not, he went to a bar or two.

When they were finished with the questions, Mrs Turner asked if she could be excused to use the bathroom for a moment. With Mrs Turner's permission, Derek and Jennifer went to his bedroom-office to get a clearer idea of his lifestyle. It had a minimalist aesthetic, and there was barely a speck of dust to be found. Things were neatly rolled or piled up on shelves or put away in file cabinets. In one corner was a drafting table with large sheets of vellum paper, a few strapped leather tubes to put in his artwork, and a few unfinished sketches.

"This kid got up at five to travel all the way to NYC for work," Derek started. "Least it wasn't daily."

"He probably didn't want to be too far away from his mother," Jennifer concluded, looking through his work desk. "He could have afforded the New York City lifestyle; he travels almost twelve hours a week in just those three days—sometimes sitting in traffic. That's a lot of time and dedication, as well as money, he could have saved. I think he wanted to stay close to his mother; decided to support her instead. Considerate."

He was neat and organized, but not obsessively so.

Derek looked at the items on the night table by his bed; it was made of cement with a live-edge walnut drawer. "This kid had good taste, man. Makin' me wanna go and remodel one of the places I'm renovatin'," he said with a chuckle. He looked at the only two items on the night table; he looked up at the walls and noted a couple of minimalist posters and a large, gorgeous contemporary figurative expressionist painting. These were by his bed. "Has an appreciation for the arts and design," he murmured, pointing at the painting. "Seems like he cherishes these things specifically."

"Hmm," Jennifer hummed. She was looking at his desk. There was a picture of his father with a bass hanging from a fishing line, another of him and his twin sister from years ago with their arms slung over each other's shoulders making humorous faces, another of his mother and father in cocktail attire, and one of whom JJ could assume was his fiancée, a petite young woman with sepia-rich skin, darker freckles, large, dark eyes, and even larger, curly hair.

She held up the picture for Derek to see. "Cute," she said to him admirably.

"Isn't she?" Mrs Turner's voice drifted in from the doorway, surprising the two agents. "They met in his third year in college," she continued fondly. Jennifer turned her body to her fully, giving the woman an encouraging smile. "She's a very talented multidisciplinary artist—made that hand figurine there on the night table, as well as that painting above his bed."

Derek pointed to the painting with raised eyebrows, impressed, and Mrs Turner nodded in affirmation, a gentle smile on her face.

"He—Noah disappeared just days before she announced that she was pregnant." She paused, her face turning red as sucked in another breath, hand on her chest. "The stress has been causing her complications, and I don't know how I—oh." She paused, covering her mouth. When she spoke again, it was nothing more than a gravely whisper, as if someone had just taken all her breath from her and she couldn't fill her lungs to full capacity. "I just don't know how I'm going to—to tell her that her child will never know his or her fath—oh, god."

She shook her hands, and before she could stop them, tears were pouring from her eyes in steady streams, and she brought both hands to her face, cupping them over her mouth and nose in a wheezing gasp. She apologized before excusing herself again.

Derek and Jennifer shared a solemn look. This was one of the least favorite parts of their jobs. Though dealing with dead victims drove them to mete out justice, it was the suffering friends and families left behind that sobered them.

They both offered to stay until someone would come by for her, friends or a family member or Noah's fiancée. Mrs Turner reassured them that they needn't stay. When she asked them if she would at least be able to see Noah's body, they told her that she could, but assured her that it would be best to remember him as he was when he was alive, and she broke down in tears. She then told them that she didn't need help making arrangements—'I'm already very familiar with the process.'—and so they left after informing her of where she could go to claim his body once the investigation was closed, or once enough investigative information was obtained.

It was just as well, for they had to visit the gyms and indoor extreme fitness facilities he went to regularly, take his route to work in New York City, and go to his job. It would all take a few hours.

10:17 AM ROUTE 84 REST AREA

When Penelope contacted the precinct that had filed the missing report for Noah, the primary deputy who took their information and interviewed them informed her that he would be able to meet Aaron and David at the rest area where Noah had been abducted.

He was parked at the little station house at the end of the strip of the rest area, sitting in his patrol car, looking over the file and waiting for the two agents to arrive. They'd already called him earlier to inform him that they were going to be late.

Their car pulled up and parked by his, and the two stepped out moments later. Aaron extended a hand. "Deputy Johnson? I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner; this is SSA David Rossi. We apologize again; we had to hold an emergency press conference."

"It's no problem at all," the deputy said after shaking both of their hands.

"We noticed there's a weigh station over there," David said, kicking his chin forward to indicate the area he was referring to. "It looks closed."

"Yeah, um, yes, sirs. It's closed often; and trust me when I say that my complaints about that have not been met favorably."

Aaron tilted his head. "Am I correct in assuming that it was also closed the morning of Noah's abduction?"

"Yes, it was," the deputy answered, shame coloring his face. "If it had been open, there would have been troops on duty and Mr Turner might not have been abducted."

"Mm. Yes, the increased police presence would have dissuaded his abductor from making a brave move as he did that night."

"So he got lucky," David said.

Aaron's head swiveled as he took in the grounds of this area. It was large and pleasant. He saw a sign that indicated that the area was subject to surveillance and pointed. "Did you recover footage of that evening?"

The deputy sighed and shook his head in irritation. "They've not been operating for over half a year. We just keep the sign up."

David glanced at the deputy askance and then at Aaron. "Why do I get the feeling that this rest area has many violations from the Department of Transportation?"

The deputy gave a humorless chuckle, kicking his foot to the ground. "You're not wrong at all."

"Let's take a walk around. Given the right circumstances, which the unsub was presented with—under the cover of darkness, lack of police presence, and non-working surveillance—this area was a perfect breeding ground for a late night or early morning abduction," Aaron suggested.

The three walked around the grounds, which had a field of grass, picnic tables, and was deeply surrounded by trees. The deputy showed them where the men were parked. They then went inside the men's bathroom and looked around.

"The door can be locked from the inside," David observed as he turned around, pointing at the door. He pulled it open full swing and it closed again soundlessly. "Quiet. Wouldn't hear someone come in, save for the footsteps." He looked at the layout of the bathroom. There were three urinals nearer the entrance, two stalls at the end, and a high window against the wall that faced the back, forested area of the building. There was no light switch, but there was a ceiling fan with the light that illuminated the bathroom, and from there a pull cord. It was above one of the stalls. Assumably this light was just always left on.

"Hm." Aaron looked at both stalls.

"Was the door locked, Deputy Johnson? Did you and your response team have to break your way in?"

"I—no, we didn't," the deputy said.

"What about this window?" Aaron pointed to the window at the end of the room. It was half the height of a standard window, and the sill was positioned a little less than eight feet off the ground. Not difficult for someone to be dropped from, or even to come in through if they were fit and or tall or just had a stool. Again, they were looking at someone with considerable strength. "Was it open or closed when you arrived?"

"Ah." The deputy rifled through the evidence photos. After a moment, he replied, "It was wide open, sir."

"Is it normally?" Aaron asked.

"Well, it's normally just cracked. I—I think. I don't know, honestly. It's not something we really pay attention to. Maybe the janitor opens it all the way after he cleans it to air out the bathroom?"

"Was the bathroom cleaned that day?" David asked pensively.

"What are you guys thinkin'? Point of entry or something?"

"Entry, maybe, but more importantly the exit," Aaron answered. "The unsub could have gone out that window after dropping Noah through it, and his friends wouldn't have seen him."

"Oh, damn. I hadn't thought of that at all."

"We'll pursue this line of questioning when we talk with Noah's friends."

"So do you think the unsub had been to this rest stop before; you think he knew this area?"

David smirked. "Now you're asking the right question and thinking like a behavioral analyst. We'll make one out of you yet."

Deputy Johnson had to hide his gush with the dip of his head.

"It's definitely possible," David said by way of answering the question. "If he's a truck driver, he could be a person who travels up and down route 84 often. The likelihood, though, is still that he's a New Jersey native; his familiarity of the area where Noah's body was found is pretty deep-seated. Also makes it easy for a trucker—if the unsub's a trucker—to transport a body when, you know, the weigh station isn't operating."

Deputy Johnson scratched his sideburn guiltily. "So do you think Noah was a victim of opportunity?"

"He could have been. But the more we find out about Noah's life, the easier it may be for us to determine that and figure out what happened that early morning, and what may have led to it."

"Did CSU uncover anything?" Aaron asked. He walked toward the door, where he could see a clipboard hanging. It was the cleaning log delineating the janitor's signature, date, time, and checkmarks against specific things that were cleaned.

"Very little, sir," the man answered. "Absolutely no fingerprints."

"Is this a set schedule?"

"More or less, sir."

The same signature was on each log on this page so far.

"Is this the same janitor that was here back in January."

"Yes, it is."

The log didn't go back as far as January, only to the beginning of this month, but through his cursory glance, Aaron was able to gather that the janitor, if he kept to his schedule, cleaned every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday around twelve in the morning. Noah went missing early Sunday morning, so the bathroom was due for cleaning the next day.

Aaron's suspicion was pricked. "Let me see those evidence pictures?" He reached out his hand to take them from the deputy, flipped through them, and then paused. He found what he was looking for. "Dave, look at these pictures."

David neared him and took some pictures in his hands, looking through them.

"What do you see here, Dave?"

"Huh. It's what you don't see."

"What is it?" the deputy asked, craning his neck to see what they were seeing. Or not seeing, rather.

Aaron gave the deputy a grave look. "This bathroom looks like it's in pretty clean condition. I don't think that's typical of a rest area that needs to be cleaned three times a week."

Deputy Johnson looked like he was gobsmacked. "We hadn't noticed any of these things when we were interviewing Mr Turner's friends."

"Was the janitor interviewed?"

"Yes, sir, but because he was staff, and not due to the state of the bathroom. He had a solid alibi."

"Anyone can put a sign on the bathroom door indicating that it's closed for cleaning and any incoming person, none the wiser, would accept it for what it is and move on. This door could stay locked for hours."

"Oh my God," the deputy murmured. "But there wasn't a sign on the door."

"Of course not." David's expression conveyed his weariness at having to spell out the obvious. "This unsub is meticulous," David said. "Your victim is probably knocked out and tied up in your truck or vehicle at this point. Come back in through the same window—it's not too impossible—clean up any evidence, go back out through the window. Again, a physically fit unsub. Go to the door from the outside and just rip off the sign."

"It's a dangerous game, especially considering there were three other people in the car with Noah."

"Then maybe he was stalked instead of being a victim of opportunity. The unsub knows most of them are drunk out of their minds, maybe even can see into the car and notice them all asleep, and knows he has time to make the clean getaway. No pun intended. "

Aaron's lip quirked for the fraction of a moment at the addendum.

"I see what you did there, sir," said Johnson with a smile.

"He took the time to make sure that he left no evidence behind. Everyone questions a scene of a struggle, but who would question a clean scene? It's a forensic countermeasure, yes, but at the same time, the cleaning is all ritual and need-based. Alex said that the ME told her and Reid that she wouldn't be surprised if Noah had been kept in very sterile conditions. Noah's burial site was clean, and so was he. This bathroom was clearly cleaned as well. A person who's not only familiar with this stop, but who is so used to cleaning, would be in and out in no time."

"I'm going to move that we upgrade our surveillance system," the deputy said in irritation. "This is ridiculous. Some things could've been caught on tape."

David didn't say anything but tightened his lips and raised his eyebrows, holding in the Ya think? he wanted to let out.

"So how do you get a hundred-sixty pound man out of a high window?" Aaron intoned, looking at the window and taking a step toward it.

"Easy. You're the unsub, and you're meticulous. So, you're not unprepared, and you've got tools with you. Knock him out, then hoist him out. He had to have used rope, Hotch."

"Mm," Aaron agreed. "Not as a fireman's carry, though; it's too high. So I"—he walked closer to the window—"I tie the rope around his torso under the armpits, making a slip knot that tightens as it's pulled, I climb out with the end of the rope in my hand, and I just heave him out once I get to the other side. If that's the case—" Aaron went to the windowsill, reached up, and felt alongside the edge of the wooden surface. His eyebrow twitched and he tilted his head downward in affirmation.

"And?" David urged, knowing what Aaron would say.

"Rope indentation where it dragged across with the weight of the body."

"Son of a bitch," the deputy hissed.

The three then walked out and went around the side to look at the architecture of the small building.

Deputy Johnson's phone rang, and he excused himself for a moment.

"This was a definitely blind spot, both for drivers and truckers on the other side," David observed, looking at the window from the outside. He looked to the line of parking spots.

There were four wheel-chair accessible spots, each of them nearly doubled by their gore areas. Javier, the designated driver, had originally parked directly to the left of the furthest wheel-chair accessible parking spot. From where David and Aaron were standing, the building's architecture made it difficult for them to be able to see Noah being lugged out the back window. The unsub simply had to park on the other side of the building, where the truckers would park, and carry Noah away on that side.

"I think we've seen all we need to see here," Aaron said as the deputy returned.

"I'll meet you at the station, then," Deputy Johnson said. "The guys just arrived there."

—

Interviewing Noah Turner's friends had been just as difficult as it was when Derek and Jennifer spoke with Noah's mother. The common denominator amongst the three of them, though, was their guilt. The three men had been called from their homes or day's activities to have the interviews with Aaron and David at the precinct in Middletown, less than a five minutes' drive from the rest area.

They gave it another ten minutes before questioning them. During that time, Penelope briefly informed Aaron and David of the three men they'd be interviewing soon.

All three of them were just as strait-laced as Noah, holding stable, well-paying jobs. They liked to let loose on the weekend, which was no crime at all. They, just like Noah, were moderately active on social media. One was in a relationship with his girlfriend of two years, none of them was married, and they stuck to a tighter knit group of friends. They liked playing sports, going to the gym, and doing various extreme indoor and outdoor activities, and on occasion traveling on the weekends.

Javier Ortiz, Noah's best friend for nearly twenty years, was distraught with the news of his friend's death. He was tearful as David sat across from him; Aaron watched him through the one-way mirror for any tells that he was hiding something.

"Hi Javier. I'm David Rossi from the FBI. I'm sorry we had to ask you to come over."

Javier didn't answer David; he couldn't even look at him.

"Can you walk me through what you guys did that night?"

Javier sighed, nose clogged up as he spoke. "I explained this to the officer that night already," he said in exasperation.

He and his friends had fully cooperated with the police that evening and for days afterwards. They'd organized search parties, they'd put up missing flyers, they'd done all they could to find their friend, and he was dead in the end anyway. What good would it do to go through that again? Now he should be mourning with his friends and with a woman who was like a second mother to him and another who had become like a sister to him.

"Sometimes our subconscious picks up details that our conscious minds aren't even aware of," David said. "Considering that you all drank, you might be surprised about how much more you do remember now. And no detail will be unimportant."

Javier's eyes shone again, distressed with the mention of his inebriation. He conceded. "Um, there's this restaurant we like in East Pennsylvania called Ale Garden, maybe half an hour from the NJ border. We got there around seven on Saturday night, then crossed into Jersey around 8:30 to hit up the other places in Jersey before heading back to Port Jervis."

"So, you went from Ale Garden in Pennsylvania to—" David cut himself off, looking down at the report, and didn't say the next name, prompting Javier to fill in the blanks.

"Cigmasters' Brewery, in New Jersey. We were there for about an hour before heading to Kalmar Restaurant and Brew Pub." He paused. "Listen, Agent Rossi, I was the designated driver, so I had a drink in Pennsylvania, then like two in Kal's, but that was it."

"Firstly, how much you drank is not what's in question, Mr Ortiz. Remember, you had enough to drink to lower your inhibitions, and you three should be glad that you weren't arrested that night when they found an open bottle of beer in the backseat of your car. What we want to know is what you four did as a group and where you were so that we can understand the person that took your friend."

"Oh, god," Javier said, his face reddening as he nodded. "I'm sorry it's just—I feel like this is my fault. Maybe, if I hadn't had anything to drink at all, Noah would've been fine and—"

"Mr Ortiz."

Javier babbled over him nonsensically, overcome with guilt. "I don't normally drink at all when I'm the designated driver. Like, I'm really good about that kinda stuff, but—"

"Javier, please," David asserted.

"He wanted me to be his best man," Javier blurted. "We were best friends since I was eight. He wanted me to be his best man, you get me?"

David pinched his lips together, shoulders loosening as a wave of sympathy washed through him. "Javier, you did have a few drinks too many," he said softly, and the man wilted. "But you were celebrating. I get it, and I'm not holding it against you. What happened to Noah was not your fault. It was the fault of the person who took him. What he went through was not your doing. There is someone who committed this crime against Noah, and we will make sure that he's found and punished to the full extent of the law. That I can guarantee you. But I need your cooperation, and I need you to tell us everything that happened that evening."

"Shit," Javier whispered quietly, covering his face with his hand. "Shit."

"Are we okay to continue, or do you need a few minutes?" Even as David was asking the question, Javier man was already wiping his hand down his reddened face and taking a deep breath through his clogged nostrils, nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah—we can continue," he said.

"Okay. Take a deep breath."

Javier did.

"And when you're ready just continue. As much detail as you can remember. Nothing is too small. Did anyone talk to you guys while you were at any of the pubs? Where were you sitting at each of them? Did you notice anyone following you, or staring at you? Sometimes we subconsciously pick up on these actions without realizing it. Our brains are programmed to feel when something isn't right."

Javier gave an in depth recounting of that evening. David, in turn, asked him questions throughout.

"Was anyone sitting alone?"

"Were you by a window?"

"What did you talk about?"

"Um." Javier paused in thought. "Mostly about sports. We were trying to plan out the next challenge we'd be doing together and deciding when we'd all be able to do it. We left 'cause me and Nate were . . . "

"You were?"

"We were gettin' bad vibes from our server, and we couldn't switch her out—they were short-staffed, and she was new. And some of the patrons were also givin' us bad vibes, too."

"How so?"

"Some people, you know, don't like seeing people that look different , you feel me? It was just after re-election and the inauguration."

"Ah." David sighed, shaking his head. "I got you, kid. So it wasn't directed at Noah, it was directed at you." He didn't think that this crime was racially motivated.

"Yeah."

"Got you. Continue."

The questions resumed while Javier continued in his recounting as he moved onto the next place.

"When there was some of that flirting going around at Cigmasters', did men get jealous? Upset with you? Was Noah involved with the flirting?"

"Not really, no. Noah and Sonja didn't mess around with other people, so Noah was just makin' conversation, but he wasn't interested in them. Honestly, it was just Nate and me trying to really score anything."

"You didn't get the sense that anyone was watching you, following you?"

"No. But honestly, I can't even tell you where we'd been sitting."

"I can't even tell you where we'd been sitting."

And the questions continued until the group arrived at the final location before heading back to New York.

"As you were driving, did you notice anyone following you?"

"No," Javier said with the shake of his head. "No, we didn't. At least I didn't."

"You guys made a very distinct path. Had you been to any of these places before?"

"Well, sorta, about a half a year earlier," Javier admitted. "But not to the same exact places, just the same towns. We liked hitting up the same towns 'cause we knew how to get around them, but we usually tried different pubs and bars each time. We'd done it another couple times. But we never went to the same place twice."

"Okay. Continue, and please give as thorough an accounting as possible after you left The Cellar."

"Um, we stayed there the longest, about two hours. There was a basketball game on. We just talked and ate," Javier said. "We stayed 'til a little after midnight, so by the time we headed back home, it was around twelve-thirty. Took . . . Route 206 to 565 to 23 onto 84 to get Terry and Nate home. They passed out in the back. So we got onto 84 and a few minutes later Noah said he wasn't feeling good and wanted me to pull over on the side of the highway."

"You didn't?

"I saw a sign for a rest stop about three more miles away, so I told him to wait. I figured he'd be able to wash it down at the rest stop. When I got there, I dropped him off at the front then parked."

"None of you guys went in there with him?"

"Terry and Nate were still out. I didn't think he needed help or anything, he's been drunk plenty of times before, so I . . . so I dozed off. When I woke up, it was 'cause I kept hearing Terry's phone vibrating in the back. When I realized that I fell asleep, I checked the time and saw that Noah had been in there for, like, half an hour. So I went to check in on him, but I—I couldn't 'cause the door—"

"Was locked?" It wasn't a leading question; Javier was, in fact, leading to that point.

Javier tilted his head. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess," David said without further flourish. "So how did you guys get inside, then?" he asked. He wouldn't supply any other words; both he and Aaron wanted the telling of the series of events to progress naturally.

"Well, I went around the side and I saw that the window was open, so I jumped up."

"You jumped up?" David asked.

"Well, yeah. It's a little high, but me and the guys, we work out, so I was able to heave myself in, no problem."

"Hm."

"So when I got in there, I checked for Noah and he wasn't inside, so I unlocked the door and woke the guys up and told them that Noah wasn't in the bathroom."

"Did you see anything significant when you opened the door, or when you went back to the bathroom?" David asked.

"What?" Javier questioned.

"Did you see anything that didn't seem right?" David elaborated.

"I . . . can't remember. I don't think so," he answered.

David glanced at the two-way window, raising his brows knowingly at the person on the other side.

"And what happened next?"

"Well, we started lookin' for Noah. We even went in the women's bathroom in case he was too hammered to realize he went in the wrong one. Couldn't find him, so we started looking through the woods. I mean, the window was wide open. I dunno, maybe he went through it or something and he was so wasted that nothing surprised us. We even thought that maybe he'd run out on the highway, so we got back in the car and drove up 84 and exited to come back down before circling back. We didn't see him walking around or—like, we were checking to see if he'd gotten it. When we couldn't find him at all, that's when we called the cops."

"Had you noticed any other cars there?"

"Well, yeah, there were a few cars there—it's a rest area, so there were like two eighteen-wheelers, and a couple other vans and cars, but I wasn't paying attention to them or anything. Can't tell you the colors or makes or anything. And I'd fallen asleep anyway, so . . ."

"Okay," David said. "One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Humor me. When you first actually got in the bathroom, those first few seconds, that first minute after you landed inside, describe using all your senses exactly what happened." Not leading, just exploring.

Javier was shaking his head, looking at the tabletop with a look of consternation. He closed his eyes as he tried to think back on that moment as he looked at the lighted window of the bathroom.

He had called Noah's name, asked him if he was okay, called him again and again. When he didn't get a response, he took a few steps back, twiddling his fingers with his thumbs. Hopping up and down to loosen his limbs, he then took a few quick bouncing steps before bounding up, grasping the edge of the window ledge, the rubbery toes of his sneakers catching onto the wooden paneling. He pulled his full body weight up before kicking up his left leg over the ledge then easing himself in. He dropped in and slipped immediately.

"Um, when I landed on the floor, I—I slipped. My right foot went completely out, and I caught myself on my other knee and braced my hands on the floor. They almost slipped, too, 'cause—'cause the floor was wet," he said.

"Wet?"

"Yeah. Yeah wet. And the smell."

"Bad?"

"No, like—lots of cleaner. Like just fresh and clean. But not heavy stuff."

"What did you see?" David asked.

"The light was on and it was clean. Spotless. I went to the stalls and I didn't smell vomit or anything, and Noah wasn't there. I went to the door and after I realized it was locked, I unlocked it and went back to my car to get Nate and Terry."

"That's good. You did good, kid." David stood slowly, bracing his hands on the tabletop. "That's it, then." He sighed. "I'm . . . sorry about Noah. You two seemed very close."

With a deep, loud, and tearful inhale, he kept his eyes averted from David as he said with a thickened, strained voice, "He was my brother." The words ended with silent cries as he was overcome with grief.

David gave Javier a single rap on the shoulder, then walked out, giving him time to gather himself. He approached Aaron, who walked out of the observation room.

"The unsub took the time to clean that bathroom."

Aaron, looking troubled, agreed. "Mm-hmm."

Interviewing the other two friends later would reveal that their stories were quite the same although they remembered significantly less details. Even though it could be said that these three men had over three months to come up with a perfect lie, it was easy to see that none of them committed this crime.

They would later meet with Mrs Turner at her home, along with and Sonja, where they would all come together to mourn the loss of their last living family member, their dear friend, and their partner.

In reference to the footnote [1] in this chapter, you can find additional information on my tumblr.