Chapter 8: Trapped
"If I have seen further than others, it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants." - Sir Isaac Newton
~o~
"Hale?"
She had been working late again, creating a profile for an UnSub that was at work in Dallas. The BAU couldn't take every case so they worked on profiles to share with the local police. That was what they usually did on paperwork days, when the protocols were written or, in the case of Emily and Derek, when they were procrastinating the protocols. It was one of the perks of working late that Hotch would sometimes walk past her on his way home and stop for a quick chat. Sometimes, when she left before Hotch, she would go up to his office, handing in a protocol or showing him a profile she had worked on, and then, sometimes, she would stay for ten or fifteen minutes and they would just talk. Very rarely, they would leave at the same time and take the elevator to the garage, standing only one foot apart. Then, they were usually silent, though.
"Yes, sir?" she looked up. He wasn't wearing his coat yet. He wasn't leaving yet.
"Are you ready to testify against Bailiff next Wednesday?"
"Yes, of course. I just thought because it's a schizophrenia case, Reid would do it. He knows much more about it than me."
"You cracked Bailiff, though. And we both know that schizophrenia is not the main reason for his crimes. Bailiff was motivated by misogyny. His disorder compelled him to ritualise the murders but it was anger that prompted him."
"Of course. Well, if you think I should do it, I will."
"I'll accompany you, this time at least. I worked on the case too and should you decide that it's too much for you, I can take over."
Pippa didn't say that she had worked as a forensic psychologist for the Federal Court of New York for a year, giving testimony at least four times a week. That had nothing to do with the fact that Hotch was going to accompany her and that didn't mean at all that she wanted him to come with her, that she hoped that perhaps, they'd grab a quick lunch in the cafeteria. It was for purely professional reasons that she stayed silent: Firstly, this would be her first testimony as a part of the BAU and secondly, that comment might offend her superior agent which she wanted to avoid at all cost. Nothing fishy about it at all.
Hotch, on the other hand, had only offered to accompany her to support the most recent member of the team, to help her out should she face some kind of hurdle. Yes, perhaps he really didn't have the time to go about and hold his agents' hands at court but this was different. It was not at all about the time they would necessarily spend together preparing the testimony, going over the events in court, debriefing, perhaps over a late dinner and a glass of red wine that would definitely leave them sober enough to go home alone.
This was a complicated case and the public defender would probably plead insanity, given the psychologists' hesitant diagnosis of mild paranoid schizophrenia. That was unacceptable for several reasons, one of them being the obvious evasion of justice but also the growing stigmatisation of schizophrenia as a "murderer's disorder" that was especially concerning considering the nation-wide media coverage of the case. They had already found the perfect sexist moniker for Bailiff with "The Queen Bee Slayer", proving once again that it didn't matter what had really happened, it only mattered what sounded best. And of course, "Career Woman Killer" just sounded pathetic.
Hotch and Pippa met on Tuesday after work to go over the details of the testimony. There was no fancy dinner involved, not even a coffee at the cafeteria. They sat in the bullpen, at Pippa's and Spencer's desks.
"It would be best if you detailed why we think that Bailiff is still responsible for his actions. Why we think that his actions cannot be blamed on the disease." Hotch was studying the files.
Pippa nodded. "I will draw attention to his day job that required logical thinking and long periods of calmness. That the abductions were too well planned. I am planning on presenting the example of John Foster, the Tongue Twister. He was schizophrenic. It is of course difficult to present the diverse range of symptoms schizophrenics might suffer from. I don't want to create the impression that I do not recognize the effect of schizophrenia, that I do not take the diagnosis seriously."
"It is quite the opposite. We know that Bailiff uses the diagnosis as protection. We both know that these tests can be cheated."
"I will draw attention to the sheer misogyny of his crimes, his social environment. I heard female co-workers will also give testimony?"
"I advised the prosecutor to take that route."
They had thought alike.
"Is it a woman?" Pippa asked with a smile. That would work in their favour, too.
"Cece Hillenbrand."
"Okay. Well, then I will go over our profile once more and I guess I'll be fine tomorrow."
"I'll pick you up tomorrow at eight?"
~o~
She was already waiting outside when he arrived, dead on eight o'clock. Recently, Pippa had stuck to conservative skirt suits and pencil dresses, always professional, never overly feminine or frilly, like on that first day. Today, however, her outfit was different. She wore stiletto heels, a very tight skirt suit with a low-cut suit jacket and a blouse underneath that she could have buttoned up a little further. Was that what she wanted to wear to court? Was that what she wanted to wear to be taken seriously? It was notoriously difficult for women anyway. Hotch knew that she was aware of it. And, a second later, he decided that he trusted her. She had a plan. Everything she did was precisely plan, every strand of hair was where she wanted it.
"Good morning, sir," she smiled. "Thank you for picking me up."
"No problem."
Now that she was so close to him, her scent hit him once again. It was a mixture of floral and oriental notes, sweet with an underlying heaviness. A mix of shampoo, perfume and skin. A mix he would recognise everywhere.
"Are you anxious?" he asked.
"No." Her voice was even, her hands folded. She really wasn't. Of course not. This had been her job once. Suddenly, he felt like an idiot for accompanying her. She probably thought he was micro-managing her.
"Thank you again for coming with me," she gave him a warm smile. "This is my first BAU testimony."
"No problem," he said again. Very original.
"I don't want you to think I'm controlling you," he said then, sticking to his trade. Work was a safe topic. "I am interested to see how you perform." Now he sounded like some old gym teacher. "I mean, I'm sure you'll do well."
What was wrong with him? He didn't say things like that. He wasn't sure she'd do well. It was reasonable to assume her performance would be acceptable. But she had problems with showing emotions, she had issues with authority figures and she was not known for sensitivity. There was a chance that she wouldn't do well at all so why was he saying that?
"If you only remember to be a little more...approachable."
She smiled. "Don't worry, you won't recognise me up there."
What was that supposed to mean?
"Excuse me?"
"Well, women are usually not taken as seriously as men, especially not in science-based disciplines. The public defender is a man, so is the defendant. So I have to balance out the odds."
"With overly feminine clothing?"
Did she blush?
"Yes. Among other things. Women are usually perceived as softer, more emotional, less rational than men. It's a stereotype, of course, but one that is deeply rooted in society. I have to take advantage of that. Women who are dressed in pant suits are seen as overly aggressive, as ambitious, too eager. Women who appear cold and rational are usually seen as less competent than their male counterparts. So, I'll just do what society thinks women do best."
"You will be emotional on the witness stand?" he asked, aghast. He should have taken more time to discuss the testimony.
"My best chance to convince the jury."
They had reached the court building and he stopped the car in the parking lot.
"Agent Hale, I don't think manipulating the jury is eligible."
"I won't manipulate anyone. I will just argue on a different level than the defender."
There wasn't much he could do now. Apart from…
"Let me take this case, Hale."
She looked wounded for a second, then her face was blank.
"If you consider it necessary, sir."
Hotch rubbed his eyes.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"It is a strategy we developed in New York to even the odds for female forensic psychologists. Just outweighing gender stereotypes. We made profound analyses back then to make sure that we would have the same chances at winning over the jury. The evidently straight, white male in his forties is the status quo for many. Things are thankfully changing but not quickly enough. So we had to come up with alternative solutions."
She was still calm although he had severely questioned her capability.
"I'm sorry. I trust you to make the right decisions."
She didn't say that it had seemed very different just a moment ago. She only nodded.
"I understand that this might seem unconventional, sir. I am following the guidelines we developed back then, I promise."
"Good."
The elevators were occupied so they took the stairs to the fourth story. The building was old anyway, they were probably just as quick that way. Hotch took his seat in the back row.
The trial was opened, the defender and prosecutor presented their cases. Finally, it was Hale's turn.
"Please state your full name."
"Philomena Margaret Isabeau Montmorency-Hale."
Perhaps she had been right. The jury wouldn't take her seriously enough.
"Quite a mouthful," the defender joked.
"And yet, I always struggle through till the end." She smiled. It was a sweet smile. He hadn't seen her smile like that ever before. It didn't suit her.
There were a few smiles in the jury. Perhaps she was right. He had never thought she could win this by being likeable but that seemed to be her strategy.
"You are a forensic psychologist, Miss Montmorency-Hale?"
"I am. And a member of the BAU." She didn't correct him. Miss and the double name worked in her favour here.
"Behavioural Analysis Unit. Could you explain what exactly behaviour analysis is, Miss?"
She smiled again. "Well, it is quite straight forward." Of course it wasn't. "We analyse the behaviour of criminals and are thereby capable of identifying them, even predicting their behaviour."
"So you knew that someone would commit eleven homcides?"
"I am a behavioural analysist, sir, not a prophetess. At some point, once we had identified the unknown subject's modus operandi, we could predict that he would continue to murder women in that very same way."
"And how did you link my client to these murders?"
"We created a profile. I already elaborated on that earlier, when Miss Hillenbrand questioned me. And when our technical analyst spotted a car that was parked close to the abduction site, the profile matched the car owner."
"So, it's a bit like pairs?" the defender asked, grinning.
"As you seem to have trouble understanding behaviour analysis, let me explain it to you with an example," she offered warmly. The defender made a face but he had to allow her to continue. Hotch found himself smiling.
"Imagine your car was stolen. I assume it is a silver sports car with red leather seats, a Philadelphia Eagles bumper sticker and a rosary dangling from the rearview mirror?"
"I – yes." He swallowed. Hotch wondered how she had arrived at this detailed description.
"So if you know found a silver sports car in the garage of a well-known car thief, complete with red leather seats, a Philadelphia Eagles bumper sticker and the remains of a rosary dangling from the rearview mirror, it would be reasonable to assume that it is your car and has been stolen by said car thief, correct?"
"Yes." The defender had caught himself.
"So, this is how behaviour analysis works. We create a profile relying on psychological research and studies. In this case, we were looking for a man who showed signs of severe misogyny, who had problems with female co-workers, his sister, especially, however, his female supervisor. A man who had no meaningful relationships with women, who worked in a low-recognition desk job, a man who had enough time to lurk in the shadows, waiting to abduct a drunk and defenseless woman, torture her physically and psychologically and then kill her."
"That is not extremely detailed. You claim this profile led you to my client?"
Again, Hale smiled. "Surveillance tapes led us to your client, sir. There are no doubt many men who fit the profile. Because, sir, this is not pairs. The profile fit, he has no alibi, he was in the perimeter, and he told us where Samantha Lloyd and eleven other, even more unfortunate women had been held and tortured. Even if you question the accuracy of behaviour analysis, there is little reason to doubt the guilt of your client."
"You say it is reasonable to question the accuracy of behaviour analysis, Miss?" The defender followed up, apparently thinking he had finally found a way to attack.
"Not at all. As I said, the accuracy of our profile was proven by the evidence against Mr Bailiff. There are those who doubt profiling and claim it is guesswork. I like to compare it to stage magic: It looks as if the magician takes a bunny from an empty hat. Just because I don't know how he did it, I still don't believe that objects magically appear. I think there's a strategy that I just don't know."
"So, your profile is a bunny?"
Pippa giggled. "Is that a serious question, sir?"
"Withdrawn," The defender admitted. Then he changed his strategy.
"You still seem very young, miss. You cannot have much experience yet."
Again, Pippa gave him a smile. "Well, I just chose my calling early."
There was a certain sharpness in her words, no doubt addressed at the grey-haired defender. The irony wasn't lost on the jury.
Pippa had managed to turn the jury against him. Hotch was surprised how approachable she seemed now, how genuine, how open.
"Could you explain once again why my client would fit your profile?"
"Of course. I understand it is quite a lot to take in. Mr Bailiff has an unsuccessful career in real estate as a white-collar worker who only very rarely closed deals. His elder sister is a successful lawyer, his mother was a university lecturer. Mr Bailiff's mediocre work performance caused him to be overlooked for a promotion. Instead the much more successful Anthea Downing became his superior. All victims bear a physical resemblance to her and were highly successful in their jobs before they met their untimely end in such a cruel and dehumanising manner. Mr Bailiff has a preference for extreme BDSM porn, he used to spend a lot of money on prostitutes. This stopped after the first murder was comitted."
"Circumstantial," the defender said. "As circumstantial as the surveillance tape. My client had parked his car there and taken a walk."
"Eleven women were tortured, raped and murdered. Young mothers with happy marriages and promising careers. Young women who had every reason to be proud of themselves, young women who had a brilliant future to look forward to. These women were deprived of their lives, their dreams, their potential. Children grow up without their mothers." Her voice had become passionate. She was manipulating the jury. Yet, there was no one but Hotch who knew her, no one else who could tell.
"Objection," the defender said but Pippa had already corrected herself. "I know this is not strictly relevant. But we talk about cases here, about profiles and victims. These victims aren't faceless casualties. They had lives and families. We created a profile and your client fit this profile perfectly. We have surveillance tapes that show your client was in the perimeter. And your client told us where Samantha Lloyd was hidden. You might call this circumstantial but to take up your earlier metaphor: When you pick up two matching cards, it's a pair."
The defender looked at her, calculating.
"Your profile also said that the killer has paranoid schizophrenia." He wasn't giving up quickly.
"It was something we considered, yes. Although the ulterior motive is clearly misogyny."
"Yet, these murders were highly ritualised. Isn't that what a paranoid schizophrenic killer would be inclined to do?"
"You have studied behaviour analysis," she smiled, "and you're right, that is possible."
"It is therefore possible that Mr Bailiff committed the murders due to his illness."
"No. Schizophrenia might have played a minor role but disappointment and hatred of women were the killer's main motives. The Tongue Twister of San Franciso was highly chaotic, panicking. Fear and delusion were evident from the murders. He was a stereotypical schizophrenic killer: highly disorganised, probably hallucinating or suffering from delusions. A schizophrenic serial killer wouldn't be able to work on a regular day job like Mr Bailiff. He wouldn't be able to lead a life as structured as Mr Bailiff's. He wouldn't be able to follow the exact procedure: Keeping the victims for three days, raping and torturing them without killing them, and then murdering them precisely on the third day of imprisonment. This kind of organisation speaks of hatred, a meticulously planned revenge on the woman that surpassed the killer and that he cannot target. These women became victims because the killer couldn't attack the true subject of his hatred. A schizophrenic killer wouldn't be able to exert this kind of control. Driven by hallucinations, paranoia or delusions, he would kill on a whim. If you want, we can have a look at the victims again. The wounds are strategic, placed so that the women stay alive but feel intense pain. The women were raped with a condom. The women were all murdered in the exact same way: A silencing throat cut. I do my best to forget these pictures, truly, but if you think it necessary..."
The photos were bad because they illustrated exactly what Hale had just detailed. The defender gave her an angry look but then he sat down.
"No further questions."
As Hale walked back to her seat, Hotch could see the triumphant smile. She really had done well.
~o~
The jury found James Bailiff guilty of second and third degree murder. He would go to prison and then on to death row. And although Pippa was striclty against capital punishment, she couldn't pity Bailiff all that much.
Hotch and Pippa entered the elevator together, only the two of them. The trial had ended some fifteen minutes earlier but they had been talking to Cece for quite some time.
Now that they were alone, however, there was an awkward silence. A canyon would have fitted between them, both pressed to opposing sides of the elevator. It had been a long day, Pippa thought, and all she wanted was to go home and be alone. Thinking about Hotch, thinking about what had happened between them a month ago, thinking about the awkwardness that had followed, she didn't want to deal with any of that now.
Only a few stories now, anyway.
"Good work," Hotch said. He had to, especially after he had doubted her earlier.
"Thank you, sir," Pippa said.
The numbers climbed down slowly, as if they were taunting them.
Then, all of a sudden, the lights went out. The elevator stopped.
"Black Out?" Pippa asked. This was DC. There were no black outs here, at least not usually. The building was old, of course, but the elevator probably well-maintained, the court really couldn't afford this kind of malfunction when a defendant was brought in.
"No idea," Hotch said, now much closer. "Can you see the emergency button?"
She couldn't but she was already rummaging for her phone...there it was. She turned on the light.
"There it is," Hotch said and pressed the button. Nothing happened.
"Something's not right here," Pippa said.
Three stories above them, a prisoner escaped through a previously electronically locked door. This prisoner had previously claimed to be schizophrenic. Someone had offered him freedom in return for a little favour: five murders, reminiscent of a paranoid's killings: leaving salt behind as a good luck charm, carving runes into the bodies. The BAU takes the case immediately, no one notices Hotch and Pippa in the elevator for the moment, nothing works, everyone is mad. No mobile reception.
"Do you have cell service?" Hotch asked.
"None. You?"
Hotch took out his phone. "No."
This wasn't just a blackout. This was a trap.
"You should turn off the light," Hotch said. "Save the battery for…"
An emergency. Well, then what was this? But Pippa did turn the flashlight off. She didn't like being in the dark, not when it was like this: Total blackness, walls all around her.
"Are you okay?" Hotch asked.
"Yes," Pippa lied.
Then she felt Hotch's hand on her shoulder. "They'll notice that this elevator is stuck soon enough. We only have to wait."
"They should have noticed already. The emergency button should be working. We should have cell service," Pippa said. Panic was rising in her chest and she did her best to fight it.
"Why haven't they noticed yet? What is happening outside that they don't notice that the elevators don't work, that they don't care we might be stuck in here."
"It's fine," Hotch said. "The elevator has vents. We won't suffocate in here. I have a bottle of water in my bag. We will be fine." He squeezed her arm slightly, nothing that went beyond a reassuring gesture.
"It's Bailiff. He escaped. Whoever cut the power, they set Bailiff free and now everyone's panicking."
"A theory, Hale," Hotch said, although he believed the very same thing, "We need to keep an open mind."
"Gory." Pippa said. "He hasn't left us anything since Barnes. That was, what, two months ago? Three almost. I was wondering when we'd hear from him next."
"Again, a theory. You are panicking, Hale. You have blinders on. There's no need to be afraid."
"Only we're trapped in the dark in an approximately 15 sqft large elevator hanging by a few cords that can be easily cut. How many basement floors does this building have?"
"Three." Hotch replied.
"That's quite a tumble down," Pippa said, "If whoever cut the power also cuts the cords –"
"Pippa," He was no longer holding on to her upper arm. Instead he stood in front of her, grabbed her elbows. "Listen to me. You're panicking. What is it? The height? The dark? Claustrophobia?"
"I just feel trapped," she admitted.
"Take a deep breath," Hotch said, "And listen to me now. Gory has a power complex. You have worked on his profile in your free time, I saw it on your computer. You know what he wants. Tell me."
"Fear."
"He doesn't want us dead. He wants us afraid. He wants us cut off from everyone else. He has decided to trap us in here. You are scared of something here, so am I."
"Okay," Pippa replied. She didn't ask what Hotch was afraid of. Suddenly, something else came to her mind.
"What if that's not all he wants?"
"What do you mean?"
"With Bailiff on the run, who would he target first?"
"You." Hotch said and inhaled deeply. "This is protective custody."
"Gory wants us cut off and scared but he wants us unharmed."
That was a daring theory, of course, but it did make sense. He wanted his playthings. He would protect them from other, lesser beasts.
"We work the case, ok?" Hotch asked and let go of her arms. Perhaps she should panic a bit more.
"Yeah. Ok." Pippa slowly slid down the wall until she sat on the floor. Her legs were no longer shaky but she could think best if she relaxed.
Hotch sat down next to her, she felt.
"What do we know about Gory?" he asked in the dark, as if this was just the jet and they were just bouncing ideas off each other.
"He is most likely a narcissist. Well-off but not well-known. Educated, well-mannered. He finds his daylight life shallow and boring but hides it well. He moves effortlessly among high society, people find him congenial, entertaining, suave. He is a well-versed self-publicist and popular in his social circle. This positive feedback from his daylight activities allows him to become a serial killer by proxy at night: He has the ego, the opportunity, the ambition to leave a mark on society. He kills by proxy because it is power that turns him on rather than death. He wants the attention, he needs the feeling that all of that happened because he wanted it. He likes playing with us because he has branded the team his near-equal, because he appreciates our work. He is,in a way, a profiler, too, which suggests that he has studied the subject, though not professionally."
"I agree," Hotch said. "He is a narcissistic sociopath who has been average all his life until he rose through society. His wealth is inherited rather than self-made or he wouldn't despise society as much. He longs for a more basic, a more animalistic life. He is unmarried and has no living relatives of note. He is a loner despite his frequent interactions with high society because deep down, he feels he doesn't belong, because deep down, he thinks he's different, better."
"Which is why he acted when I joined the BAU. I was his trigger. He relates to me." That was an entirely unwelcome thought.
"Hale –" Hotch started and she noticed that they were back on a last name basis.
"No, Hotch, you know it's true. He's been watching you for years, maybe a decade, but only now has he acted. It has empowered him. He feels he's on equal footing now."
He didn't object.
"If I had never joined –"
"That is nonsense and you know it. At some point, he would have acted. Emily is from a wealthy, politically ambitious family, too. Had you not come along, with growing knowledge and greater ego, he would have made the same decisions. If you truly believe yourself to be responsible for this, you need to check whether it is concern or ego that makes you think so."
Pippa swallowed at these harsh words. Yet, he was right. She had felt so guilty but that had been wrong. Gory was guilty, not her.
"Gory would have contacted us," Hotch continued, "His growing self-esteem comes from something else."
"He has committed crimes by proxy before." Why had she not seen this?
"And now, he feels he's ready for the large scale crimes: Serial killing."
"But why keep us here? I understand he wants us to be scared but this is not a life-threatening situation, he is not showing us our failures – Oh." Pippa stopped. "He knows."
"I have suspected it for some time. I think this is proof that he really knows everything about us." Hotch's voice was even but the darkness heightened her senses and she noticed the anger, hidden by self-control.
"What if he tells the director?"
"He wouldn't. What does he want?" Hotch asked, again, feeling like a 6th grade high school teacher.
"Fear," Pippa said, again, feeling like a schoolgirl. "And we won't be scared anymore if he fulfils the unspoken threat. So, what? He keeps us here because I'm scared of being trapped and you're scared of losing control and on top of that, we both have to face our professional failure?"
"I think that is spot on."
"He doesn't think the team will not manage without us but he wants us to think so. He leaves us in the dark quite literally because he wants us to feel powerless."
"You also have a calming influence on Reid."
"I don't."
"Reid feels more understood when you're there. You are both too rational, out of touch with your surroundings, you both tend to be reclusive." Aaron, you are so charming.
"And Reid has to hunt down a serial killer that claims to have paranoid schizophrenia." Pippa's heart went out to Spencer. Hopefully, he was holding up alright.
"No doubt the crimes will match the profile of a schizophrenic."
"And you're not there to pull the team together, to coordinate, to lead."
"They will be fine," Hotch said but he wondered whether the team would manage on their own. Not that he questioned their abilities, not at all. But this was a chaotic situation and those that defied chaos the most were trapped in an elevator. Morgan will be in charge. Rossi was brilliant but unpredictable, Reid would be hard-pressed anyway due to the nature of the case, JJ needed their dynamic to function properly and Prentiss would feel the need to overcompensate, would work twice as hard and effectively get done half the work. Hotch had to trust them now. They knew each other's weaknesses. They would take care of each other.
Meanwhile, he and Hale had to worry about getting out of here. But how? The emergency button wasn't working, there was no cell service. No one had heard Hale's shouting, apparently, so they were probably isolated too. Perhaps he could help Hale out of the emergency exit in the ceiling but where would they take it from there? The elevator shaft was just as dark and he had no idea where they were. Perhaps she would be able to find a door but perhaps she would trip and fall in the dark and she had been right: Three stories was quite a tumble, especially with walls to each side one could bump into. No, they were safest in here. That much Gory had foreseen. He has been a step, no, five steps ahead all the time.
"We need to figure out who Gory is and what he will do next," he said grimly.
"Bailiff will do his bidding and then Gory will kill him."
"We need to get out of here. We need to tell the others it was Gory. They might not have connected the dots yet, they have much less evidence than we do."
"Can you help me through the emergency exit? I'll try to open the outer elevator doors, perhaps I can crawl through." Pippa took off her high heels and kicked them into the corner. Then she turned on the flashlight again.
Hotch prepared to give her a leg-up. This was exactly what Gory had wanted, he thought, although Pippa couldn't know it. Her so close to him, her hands on his shoulders, then his hands around her legs, trying to stabilise her.
Gory knew about his guilty conscience, his divided feelings for Haley and her. He had her smell in his nose ever since they had entered the elevator together. Hotch still didn't know whether it was shampoo or perfume, he just knew that nothing was allowed to smell this good.
"You got it?"
"Yeah," she groaned, and the exit door was open. He tried to push her through but there was really no way to help her without touching her decidedly unprofessionally. Quite unelegantly, she pulled herself up, feet dangling in the air.
"I think I can reach it," she said and her feet disappeared from his view. There was a flash of light above the elevator.
"The door's just out of reach." She took into account their height difference but decided even Hotch wouldn't be able to reach the door. "For both of us."
"That means the lower door must be directly in front of the elevator car now."
And therefore, it was out of reach, too, for the inner doors wouldn't open. It was supposed to be a safety measure, to prevent people from falling, but now, safety blocked their only way out.
"I'm coming back, uh, could you –" She was still holding her phone and he saw her in the dim light, slowly lowering herself through the exit.
"Don't worry, I'll catch you."
He didn't though. He had gotten hold of her legs but then the light went out, he lost his balance and fell.
"Ouch," Pippa had landed half on top of him, thankfully.
"Are you okay?" she asked into the dark, her fingers fumbling all over him.
"Uh, are you looking for something?" This had the potential to become just another awkward encounter.
"Um, yes, I think I lost my phone. Sorry, I –"
Her fingers had stopped their search.
He felt something hard next to him on the elevator floor.
"It's here, I think."
She turned on the flashlight again. Her hair was a mess, her suit skirt had ridden up and if he wasn't mistaken, the fabric was torn.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
"No, something broke my fall." There was an embarrassed smile on her face. "I hope I didn't hurt you."
Maybe bruised a few ribs. "Not at all."
"So there's really no way out of here, huh?"
They should have known. "We've only been here for an hour," he said after a quick glance at his watch, "They'll notice we're missing soon enough. We just have to wait."
It didn't sit right with him to spend these precious hours in an elevator but there was really nothing that could be done.
"Well," she leant against the wall. "What do you think, how is it going outside?"
"They already have his profile," Hotch said. "They will only have to alter it. Every police vehicle is on the lookout for him. There's no place to hide."
"That's what we always say, isn't it? But there are an awful lot of places to hide for the likes of them. Somehow."
"Bailiff isn't exceptionally intelligent."
"But Gory is. They'll catch him when Gory is done with him. It was like that last time."
Last time. Hotch closed his eyes, which had no effect in the dark, of course. He had sent Hale to Barnes, he had fancied himself clever but he had been outmaneuvered by Gory. For the last time, he had sworn back then, only to find himself trapped in an elevator with Hale, of all people.
"Maybe. But with every time he murders, he reveals a little more of himself."
"Never enough for a profile," Hale said. She was right. This bastard was clever. And he knew their MO better than they knew his. Perhaps that was the key? Behave unpredictably?
He was tired of resisting anyway.
"I'm sorry I sent you to Barnes," he said to Hale and shuffled over to her until her shoulder touched his. If she found it strange, she didn't say anything.
"Don't be," she said of course, "It was clever."
"Not as clever as I thought it'd be," he admitted.
"That must have been a first," she teased. He smiled.
"You're very bold in the dark."
"And I think I broke some of your ribs, so I stand a good chance in combat," she babbled on, somehow no longer quite so desperate to get out. She moved her foot so that their thighs touched.
"Only bruised," he said, hoarsely, "So don't get your hopes up."
"Well, I like an ambitious goal." Her voice was a little too high but it wasn't her fault. His hand lay on his thigh, the tips of his fingers brushing against her leg. There was no way this was accidental.
"So I have to live in fear of a physical attack from now on?"
She felt his warm breath on her cheek. He had turned his head to face her. And if she did the same, their lips would be mere inches apart. Of course, she did.
"Day and night," she whispered. And then she felt him coming closer, felt his hand on her knee, put her hand on what she supposed was his shoulder. In the darkness, her skin was twice as sensitive. She felt heat radiating from his skin, prickling on her cold face, felt his nose nudging against her cheek ever so lightly and then, she opened her lips slightly, ready to meet his –
"Hotch?! Pippa?! Are you in there?"
Suddenly, the lightbeam of a flashlight flickered over them and they jumped apart as if they had been caught in the act. Emily had apparently managed to wrench open the elevator doors, at least a little. Or perhaps it had been Morgan? A narrow band of light entered through the gap.
"Ouch," Pippa had bumped her head against the hard metal wall in an effort to get away from Hotch as quickly as possible. How very subtle. "Yes, we're in here."
"Are you okay?" Hotch asked her, never-minding Prentiss, and once again, she felt his fingers on her arms.
"Yeah."
"We're gonna get you out of there." That was Derek.
They both sounded normal. So they hadn't seen anything. Well, nothing had happened, after all. Innocent touches and not so innocent intentions.
~o~
Soon enough, they really were free.
"Oh God, what happened to you?" Emily looked at her. She did look a little deranged. There were ladders in her tights and a little dried blood on her knee, her skirt was torn up to her thigh and her blouse and jacket were crinkled.
"Yeah, turns out this isn't the best outfit for elevator climbing."
Hotch didn't look much better, thankfully. Although there was something about him in a rumpled suit with a slightly too loose tie and mussed hair. He looked as if he had spent some special five minutes in the broom closet with her. Only that it had been three hours in an elevator and they hadn't even gotten to the special part yet. Which, of course, was good. That would have complicated things further. And complications were unwelcome. Unless…
No. They had a case. At least she supposed they did.
"Bailiff's still on the run," Emily explained as they hurried down the stairs. "He's killed three people so far. Disorganised. Ritualised."
"Following the standard for paranoid serial killers, I assume?" Hotch said bitterly.
"To a T," Derek replied. "We were worried he'd gotten you, too, at first, but then Reid figured out that this is Gory's second proxy. That he'd want you out of the way because you were too involved in the case. So we came looking for you."
"Great. Where has Bailiff been spotted last?"
"Mall," Emily explained as they stepped outside. "Morgan and I are heading over now."
"We can come along," Pippa said but Hotch shook his head. "We'll get back to the office. We know the profile best. We work from there. And you're really not ready for field work."
"My gun is in your car."
"You know that's not what I meant," Hotch said with a half-smile. "Keep me posted," he said to Emily then he walked over to his car and Pippa had no choice but to follow him, a little sulkily.
"I have one question, though," Hotch said as he steered the car back to the BAU. "How did you know what kind of car the defender was driving?"
"I saw him arrive," Pippa grinned.
"You didn't know what he looked like, though."
"He drove about 40 miles per hour in the parking lot, took two spots, carried an expensive briefcase that was evidently very light, and had a pen in his brestpocket. Defenders like to use pens to gesticulate to give their gestures more weight, they usually dress to impress and I already knew Baldwin would be an unlikeable person because you evidently don't like him."
"You profiled me?" he asked but he was smitten. His estimation of a character seemed to be important to her. His opinion mattered. Of course it does, you're her supervisor.
"You said that I had to prepare well. You said that the defender was a terrier. I really didn't need to profile you." she smiled.
~o~
Emily and Derek drove to the mall where Bailiff had been spotted.
"They were kind of weird," Emily said suddenly.
"And they looked as if they'd been at it." Derek joked.
Emily laughed. "Never. They could lay naked in the same bed and nothing would happen. They are professionalism personified. But they really did look terrible."
"They both faced their greatest fear today," Derek shrugged.
"Not being in control. Yeah, and it really wore them out, huh?" Emily secured the velcro fasteners of her bulletproof vest.
"I mean Pippa's skirt. Hotch's hair. I know this isn't funny –" Derek said and Emily interrupted him, giggling: "But it kinda is. A little bit. Because nothing happened."
"Yeah, absolutely nothing, bet on it," Derek grinned and parked the car in front of the mall. When they left the car, there was no word on their co-workers' disshevelled appearance anymore. They were back to business.
The team managed to arrest Bailiff in a public park an hour later not far from the mall shortly before he could murder his fourth victim.
"James Bailiff," Reid said, "You're under arrest." He stepped behind Bailiff and fastened the handcuffs around his scrawny wrists.
But Bailiff only smiled. "Victory belongs to the most persevering."
And before Reid could even respond, he felt a spray of blood on his face and Bailiff collapsed, dead.
"Search the surrounding houses!" Rossi called, "The sniper can be far."
But although they found the window he had used, there was nothing left but a single bullet casing.
"CSU will find nothing." Reid said. "But he gave us a clue. Victory belongs to the most persevering. Napoleon said that."
"And what does that mean?" Emily asked.
"I don't know yet. But I'll find out."