Wilhelmina Maddox
They arrived at Quantico, getting their visitor badges, and were led through tunnels of white painted walls and glossy waxed floors. The sound of their shoes squeaking filled the silence. Will studied the short man in uniform, his swagger similar to how Perez and Strahm held themselves.
Kerry elbowed Will to look over at a group of youths in matching sweats, fresh Academy students who held a grimness rarely seen on a person so young. Everywhere they went, there was an intensity that screamed, 'We take ourselves very seriously'.
The brass sign announcing 'Behavioral Sciences' with Dan Erickson and Peter Strahm's names proudly listed below. Passing the surprisingly modern furnishings and the distinct smell of air freshener gave Will a window into the world of their old colleagues. They went through a common waiting area and finally reached Peter Strahm's office.
"Looks like the federal government pays better," Kerry quipped as she looked at the degrees and credentials framed on the walls. Rich mahogany desks and navy blue carpet with walls of academic texts gave her the feeling of being in a library. She half expected a librarian to be seated at the desk, to hush her partner for her loud remark.
Instead, Peter Strahm rose from his seat, reading glasses on the tip of his nose. "Allison. Will. How was the trip?" He shook Kerry's hand first before turning to Will's, giving her only the minimal amount of eye contact necessary to be polite before turning his attention back to Kerry.
Confusion with a thick dose of relief coated her insides and she felt herself slacken as she took a seat across the desk. The cushions were surprisingly plush and after hours of taxi rides and flying coach, she could have happily curled up and napped in its softness.
"It's going to be rough, bouncing back and forth every week."
Strahm shook his head. "Exhausting, I know. We appreciate the MPD's willingness to spare two of their best detectives. We're happy for all the help we can get." He had his pen in hand, playing with it in between his fingers and clicking the cap. Will noted the shadows under his eyes and the lines that had deepend on his face since she had last seen him. He looked exhausted. Angry, even. She knew he was a serious guy, always with a look that felt deep with troubled thoughts and a dark outlook.
But now, there was an almost furious edge to him, like a pot about to boil over.
"So," Will decided to dive right in. "You have a profile on this guy?"
Strahm finally smiled at her, softening just a touch. "Male. Caucasian. Mid-thirties. Has a negative relationship with a young, attractive woman, early to mid twenties. Various appearances and professions. We are still trying to figure out what makes him decide to target his victims. They were found with their hearts removed. We're assuming a romantic gesture is represented in the act. In addition, traces of bioluminescent algae on their remains, neck down. The algae is only found in Australia or tropical fish aquariums, though they are very hard to maintain. We scoped every major aquarium but the algae needs to be cultured and do not survive in controlled environments for longer than a week." Strahm opened a drawer and took out a thick folder, dropping it within the womens' reach.
"How about algae culture suppliers?" Will and Kerry shared the folder, craning their heads together to take in as much detail simultaneously.
"What color?" Kerry asked, looking up. "The algae, what color does it glow?"
"Blue."
"Any mythology referencing blue glowing water?"
"Not that we've seen. We've scoured religious references to blue water, beautiful maidens, anything. So far, we haven't found anything worth exploring."
Kerry wrinkled her eyebrow. "This case seems to have some flair. You always get the creative types?"
"Unfortunately. They're not as straightforward as the flavor you get up north."
"And the victims. Besides gender and age, any other commonalities?"
"That's the thing. Most come from various socioeconomic groups. Most have not even lived in the same state. Two runaways. Four college students. Three stay-at-home-mothers. We even had a corporate executive who normally frequents Wall Street. One was also from Russia, here on a work visa. Two Jane Does that haven't been identified yet. And then there was the most recent victim." Strahm returned to a seething scowl. "Alicia Reynolds. Her remains were placed as a stage spectacle for one of the running senators of Virginia. He was hosting a campaign event, and once the curtains were drawn, she was revealed. She had been strung up on the rafters of the venue." The pictures were there, showing the woman nude and pulled apart by her limbs high on the stage of what looked like a theater hall. Her yellow hair braided was around her head, carefully, her face clearly made up to emphasize her features.
"I'm no psychologist, but she seems to be presented in a way that looks like the suspect cares for her. He's presenting her to look her best."
Strahm squinted, his mouth thin. "Your interpretation may be more aligned with what he believes. But it's clear she's an object to him. A prop to further his agenda. Why else was she nude with her rib cage exposed? Her heart, missing. This indicates the desire to humiliate."
"And yet, he took the time to groom her. And even her restraints aren't cheap. Looks like satin or silk rope. You mentioned he's got issues with whoever he's projecting onto his victims? Maybe it's not just hatred - no - rage. They aren't beaten. They're not disfigured outside of the practical removal of the organ."
"He left the others out to be eaten by the buzzards."
"Were they displayed similarly?"
"No. Most were discarded, like trash."
"So what makes Alicia different?" Kerry interjected, reaching over to take a headshot of the victim, where her lips were gently rouged and her cheeks caressed with blush.
"The killer needed her to make a statement. To publicly display his work. We are currently investigating any connection the senator has with Alicia or any potential link to a motivation."
"Who's the politician?"
"Larry McGill, Democrat. Been using immigration and student debt for his campaign. He's down fifteen points since the uncovering of the victim, as it was being broadcast live statewide. Now, it's about to break nationwide. It's the reason I was able to get you two here," Strahm looked at each woman, grim. "We're desperate and need him caught sooner than later."
"We're on it."
The door knocked and Lindsey Perez entered, lighting up at the sight of Allison. "About time you two got here." She, too, sported dark patches of weariness under her eyes, looking as if she hadn't had a rich meal or a goodnight's sleep in weeks. "Any trouble getting here?"
"None. Fret not. Back up's here." Kerry got to her feet, hand at her hip. "So what's the plan?"
Mark Hoffman
"So yeah, got promoted to Head Chef," Angie had been swirling her glass of wine with feverish focus, the golden liquid having coated the inside of the goblet several layers over. "That Umbrella Health event went well. Jill's been great, she even gave me a bonus for all the work. I think I'll have enough saved to open my own restaurant in the next two years. But I want to wait for Peter to get back from deployment." He knew she was far from the bundle of joy she was pretending to be. He knew from the way she wouldn't look him directly in the face as she spoke. She would look at his ear or at the top of his head.
She hadn't been putting on makeup lately. And when she returned in the same pair of sweats he'd seen her wear just the other day, with a bottle of wine within reach, he knew she wasn't in a good place.
"I haven't been paying attention, Ange," he felt as if his ankles were being grabbed and pulled into the ground, the gravity of guilt crushing. He reached and took the wine glass from her, noting her flinch from his grasp, before collapsing into his hug. She was sobbing into his chest, her tears warm and damp as they soaked into his shirt.
Fuck. He had been so caught up in his own shit that he neglected the one person he promised he never would. "It's going to be alright."
"I just miss him. I haven't gotten a phone call or letter in weeks. I don't know if he's alive. If he's okay."
A lump had formed in his throat. He wanted to fix this. But he had no direct link to the military. And Peter was overseas in a warzone. He went through the list of people in his network. Some were veterans, sure. He could ask them if there was anything they could do. Hell, wasn't there some sort of support base for people like Ange? Spouses that could get a hold of someone that could at least verify that he was all right?
He needed to at least distract her. "Ange. When was the last time we went to the movies?"
She sniffled, her shoulders slowing in their violent shrugging. "I don't remember."
"Let's go. I hear there's this movie on dinosaurs that's pretty realistic. I've been meaning to see it."
She was wiping her eyes. "Dinosaurs?" She hiccuped and let out a small laugh. "Yeah. Okay. Sure, anything if it means getting out of this apartment."
He took her to see the film, keeping Angelina in the corner of his eye while he considered what he needed to do to help ease her fears. Once the opening credits began and the theater dimmed into darkness, did he allow his attention to break from his exclusive focus upon her. She was engrossed in the film, like a deer in the headlights. The music was larger than life and whenever he peaked a glance at his sister, it was clear she was enraptured in the story.
He thought it was an okay movie, if not a bit dull at the beginning.
It wasn't until the giant tyrannosaurus rex went on its killing spree, was he so invested. He was amazed at how realistic it all looked. The giant lizard roaring and tearing apart anyone in its path was a beautiful sight.
Angelina thought otherwise, covering her eyes and burying her face into his shoulder. He laughed at this, returning to memories of her squealing in terror whenever they snuck horror movies back in their childhood home, while their parents slept oblivious.
It was like they were kids again.
After the movies, Angelina had been noticeably lighter. "I've got a terrible sweet tooth right now," she turned to him, hair spinning around her as she twirled hyperly.
"Want me to make you something?"
She laughed. "Yeah, your famous chocolate cake."
He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"God, no," she pretended to be horrified. "I remember how you always tried to bake sweets to cheer me up and they always ended up being both overcooked and raw at the same time. It's actually what got me into cooking, so we wouldn't starve to death or get food poisoning."
"They weren't that bad. I remember you'd eat them without complaint."
"Actually, I secretly threw them out when you weren't looking. To not hurt your feelings." The sun had long set and the air had gone cool. It seemed autumn was approaching quickly, her breath steaming out as she spoke.
"Well now, that breaks my heart," he pretended to be hurt, clutching his chest and pouting.
She stopped and gave his arm a squeeze. "The fact that you made them was the important thing. Regardless of undercooked centers and burnt edges. You've always been a good brother to me. I hope you know that."
He felt warm and emotional. He avoided her eyes and suppressed the tightness in his throat. "You've been a good sister, Ange."
"Okay, let's not get all sappy here." She pointed a few blocks over. "I know this amazing late night cafe that serves the best chocolate mousse. My treat."
Peter Strahm
He knew that Will and Hoffman had begun dating. Lindsey had told him in passing before she arrived, the message sent by Kerry who had made the call to let him know in advance, to spare any awkward rejections.
The case took precedence. Strahm fully understood and was grateful for the heads up.
Despite maintaining his professionalism, he couldn't help but wonder incredulously.
After everything with Rosello, how the hell did Will decide to commit to a man who had compromised his ideals and had blood on his hands?
It wasn't any of his business and he knew this.
He had left the city without so much as a farewell. He had been the one to initiate distance, the growing affection he had developed during their therapy sessions something he knew he needed to stop before it continued.
Yet here they were, back on a case together, and she still made his heart pick up the pace with a simple glance.
Truthfully, he had felt ashamed of himself for how he had not argued against letting her go on that sting operation as the bait.
He remembered the night, sharp and sore like a wound that had gotten infected and was slow to heal.
"I dare you to deck Will. Like you mean it."
All he did was stand there, in the undercover van while the live feed brought him to the scene. He had heard everything. Every word. Every punch.
And she was now fucking the man that hit her.
The forensic psychologist in him had concluded Will had some underlying attraction to men who invoked pain. Her history with her ex-husband and with Mark Hoffman justified this theory. But he also considered how this catered to his own ego.
He wasn't the problem. It was Will's warped desires. Yeah, wouldn't that be convenient?
Even he thought that was a farfetched and outlandish conclusion.
He objectively knew that was from his own bias of not wanting to consider another reason she had run into her partner's arms. Such as a personal shortcoming she deemed incompatible. To distance himself from the possibility, he had taken clear clinical treatment of their relationship, keeping it as sterile as he knew he should.
It was the professional thing to do. It followed protocol.
Mark Hoffman was notorious for not giving a damn about protocol, not if there was something he wanted.
And that had given him the advantage when courting Will.
Strahm had unrealistic expectations of her, assuming she would have no romantic thoughts of the man she worked with. But he had hoped that she would at least not act upon it.
He had been wrong.
He didn't want to ruin the friendliness between them, though.
"Strahm," Lindsey raised an eyebrow at him. "There's fingerprints."
That was new.
He approached, careening around forensics who were like birds around a feeder, the flash and chirp of the cameras sounding off.
The latest murder had only happened a day after Will and Allison arrived.
He was beginning to lose his patience. This guy was getting more brazen with every kill.
This one looked young, thin. Her hair was still damp, as if he had been in a rush when he was performing his ritual. Her lips were almost blue, her eyes milky white.
"There's also some unknown sediment under her nails," the coroner lifted one of her hands. "I need a bag over here."
Allison was shining a flashlight over the walls, taking in every detail of the vinyl records store. "There hasn't been consistency in the disposal of the remains. Any clues as to why here?"
Will was squatting by the body. "Musician, maybe? She has a tattoo of a treble clef on her ankle."
Strahm turned and went to her. There, in bold black ink was that music symbol. His mind went back to the other victims. Alicia, what was her relationship with politics? There had been nothing hinting of such in the background check. Kimberly and a tobacco farm? Besides an uncle that smoked, there had been no reason to suspect a link. This was the first victim with any strong indication of an intentional connection to the scene where they had been dumped.
"Hey! We got something you'll want to see!"
Strahm turned to one of the photographers who was staring at the bottom of the stairs, camera clutched to their chest, their face looking green.
"What is it?"
And then he saw it.
A box, stained in blood, "Pete," hastily scribbled on the wrinkled cardboard.
He narrowed his eyes. "Get a bomb squad in here. Everyone back away."
