Heated breath escapes from her mouth and breaks through the cold air. Her shivering arms instinctively wrap around her small torso. Everything appears slow and groggy. Like there was a plastic film over her surroundings preventing her from reacting. The blaring sirens of an approaching squad car barely resonated with her. The vehicle came to a full stop and an officer jumped out, gun drawn.
"Show me your hands!"
Her expression stays blank as she places the gun next to the lifeless body. She eases to a standing position, her hands by her side. Officer Rance's gun remains on the woman until his partner walks over. Instantly the other man notices the woman's appearance. Her hair was tangled, and dried blood caked under a painful gash resting below her eyebrow. Lewinski places a hand on the shouting officer. He forces him to lower his weapon and then steps closer towards the empty agent.
"Hey, you alright?" Her mouth stays a thin line. "I think we should call Maggie," he whispers to his partner.
"She'll kill us for not responding," Rance attempts to argue but he only receives a glare from his partner. "Fine, whatever, do whatever."
Lewinski reaches around his uniformed belt for his handcuffs then turns his attention back to Elle. "I'm going to put this on you," he nods towards the metallic object. "But we're gonna get you some help. Okay?" Without a response from her, he clanks the cuffs around her wrists.
It wasn't long before Detective Maggie Callahan was on scene. The heels of her boots clack against the asphalt as she stalks over to the still woman leaned against a squad car. Genuine concern is written on Callahan's face as she looks over Elle's noticeable injuries. She motions for Lewinski to remove the cuffs before asking the young cop to give them some privacy.
"I called SSA Hotchner and Gideon. They should be on their way," her voice was calm and soothing, but Elle just gave her a small nod. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"
Elle shrugs. "I came to talk with him in hopes of getting a confession. He attacked. I fired."
Callahan's face wrinkles at the explanation; unsure if she wants to pressure for more details. "Was that all that happened?"
"Yeah, that's all," Elle's gaze left the detective and went back to the door of the apartment.
The detective awkwardly made small taps of her pen against the palm of her hand. "That looks like a painful cut," she points to the injury with the pen cap. "Why don't we get you checked out?"
Elle's eyes drift back to the woman with an expressionless look. "Sure."
There was an uncomfortable quietness for a moment before they were alerted to a slam of a car door. On cue, Hotch and Gideon step away from their standard-issued SUV. Elle didn't move to greet them. She kept her head forward. Callahan crosses her arms in front of her as she walks up to the two agents.
"Can't let you speak to her until she's processed. Standard procedure."
Hotch's jaw remains clenched as he asks, "What happened?"
"She came to confront him to get a confession, and Lee attacked. It's cut and dry. Self defense," she says with assertiveness.
"Thank you," Gideon says. Callahan replies with a nod then dismisses herself to go back to the quiet agent.
The two men ogle Elle as the detective escorts her away from the scene. Through the commotion of forming crowds and chattering officers, they hear the woman mouth to Elle "Come on, Elle. Let's go." With a hand on her back, she guides the agent to a squad car. For the first time since their arrival, Gideon locks eyes with the woman. For a split second, he caught the fear etched on her face. Just as quickly as it appears, it morphs into a cold darkness. Callahan gestures for Lewinski and Rance to take off before following them in her vehicle.
Hotch ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "What just happened?"
Gideon looks over to him, his lips part slightly to say something but only replies with a shrug. He crouches down to the body below them, then lifts the cadaver bag to expose the corpse below. Their prime suspect lies face down in the concrete with a gaping hole in his chest. In less than a few hours, this guy went from walking out the station as a free man to being gunned down by a federal agent. Self-Defense? Gideon frowns at the million theories running through his head. The first thought that came to his mind was Moo Shu. It was a little under a year prior that the team was sitting around a circular table, and discussing the vigilante case while enjoying well-cooked Chinese. Gideon still remembers the words that came out of Elle's mouth: "You know how many rapists I saw walk during my sex-crimes days? None of the victims wanted to press charges. Or the juries would say that she was asking for it. It was enough to make you explode."
"You think she's hiding something," Hotch states.
Gideon breaks from his thoughts, looking up at the stern man. Throwing his hands in the air in defeat, he stands up without a word and walks back to the towering black car. Hotch let out a sigh. A year ago Hotch would've had Elle's back. William Lee had mentally and physically scared over nine women. Hotch's brows did the same scowl. He made himself speak with the working officers for witness statements. They told him of a neighbor who reported what he believed to be a firecracker going off. The officers, knowing the dangerous neighborhood, didn't respond. It took the same man to call the cops, after hearing another pop, before they decided to show up. Hotch gave a cold thank you to the group before walking away. This could've been avoided if they did their jobs. His ears burn red as a gust of wind brushes against them sending shivers through his body. He swore to himself for buying a thinly crafted suit jacket. . .
His eyes widen slightly. Hotch grabs the evidence board and carefully reads the list. But what he was looking for wasn't there. Neither did he remember it with Elle. He scans the area for where it could be. His eyes stop at Lee's apartment.
Hotch made his way through the crime scene personnel, politely excusing himself as he accidentally hit against a few shoulders. Until he reaches the ajar door of William Lee. He pushes against the frame and it slowly creaks open. His hands reach down as he begins fishing for his handkerchief. He finds it under a mess of lint and stray strings. He then uses the soft fabric to flick on the light, brightening the dark living space.
It was a quaint area. There were little to no personal effects besides the framed photograph of Lee and his mother that rests neatly on the accent table. Next to it is a clutter of his mother's medical bills. Pizza boxes and takeout are scattered on a nearby coffee table. Neatly stacked in a corner are various boxes labeled 'First Time Media'. He crouches down, popping off the cardboard lid. Inside were thousands of questionnaires. Once he opens them a handful of driver licenses fall from its paper. Each one carries a different zip code. From Indiana to Michigan—Hotch threw the files down in frustration.
All they needed to arrest Lee was in this apartment.
He pauses and takes a breath. Then continued his search.
Hidden in a crevice, there it was, the familiar leather jacket. He bends over and picks it up. He frisks its pockets and pulls out the phone and credentials of SSA Elle Greenaway. A swear escapes his lips. The phone was cracked. He shoves the device into his inner pocket, in the hope Garcia would be able to recover something. As he gets up with the hope of ending his search, that's when he notices it. The sprinkles of blood staining the carpet. Why was Elle's jacket in Lee's home? Why was blood inside the apartment but also in the parking lot? He pinches his temple at the forming headache.
He snatches his phone from his suit and flips it open to dial the tech-savvy blonde.
"Speak and be heard from the magical voice of your friendly neighborhood oracle!" a gleeful voice calls from the other end.
"Garcia," his serious tone flatten any joy that was in the technical analysts.
"Sorry, Sir. What do you need?"
He sighs, hating that he interrupted her joy. "I need you to recover everything you can from a cracked phone."
"Of course, Sir. Anything else?"
"I need you to keep this conversation between us."
There is a small pause before the analysts respond with, "Yes, Sir. Of course."
"Thank you, Garcia."
After ending the call, he places his phone back. Gripping the leather material in one hand; he uses his free hand to collect the cardboard box. Irritation radiates off him like a creeping fire as he stalks out the door. He walked up to one of the officers and hand off the square container.
"Make it your priority to get this taken care of," his voice was unnaturally steady which made the rookie nervously agree.
Hotch made his way back to the government-issue car. Opening the door he finds Gideon lost in his thoughts. Hotch places the clothing in the back seat then starts up the car. The sound of the engine revving brought the older man back to the present. He looks over to Hotch.
"Find anything useful?"
"I'm not sure."
Gideon reverts to his head as Hotch pulls off. He stares at the jacket in his rearview mirror. The one thing he was certain of was that this was not a simple self-defense case.