Rope Enough

by Brandgwen

Disclaimer: Profiler is the property of NBC and Sander/Moses. The Magnificent Seven is the property of Watson/Densham and CBS. The ATF universe belongs to Mog. I'm not making any money, I'm not worth suing.

Author's Note: This is an ATF/Profiler cross-over, inspired by the challenge put forward by Michelle Naylor. Background is gleaned from a number of ATF fics, in particular "How DID He Get That Car?", by Mog and "Your True Family", by Ruby. Thanks to to everyone who helped me with the background information.

Something Here to Find

It had not been difficult for Nathan to get permission to stay in the biochemistry building after hours. There had been an immunology practical class late that afternoon and no one wanted to clean up after it. Nate really didn't mind this kind of work. While he was happy with the career he had chosen, there were still times he thought of what might have been, so he enjoyed the opportunity to play scientist.

By the time Chris and Buck entered the lab, everything had been cleaned, straightened and readied for the next day. Nathan sat on one of the bench stools, waiting. He really wasn't sure what Chris wanted to do. There was no way they could find the gun traffickers that night - he had no leads, whatsoever.

"Hey, Nate, is it okay to come in?" Wilmington looked around the lab, as if expecting something to jump up and give him a terrible disease, any second.

"Just try not to lick anything and you should be fine," Nate knew his delivery was deadpan, but he was surprised as Buck apparently took the warning to heart.

"Hey, Nate, any luck?" Chris, on the other hand, walked into the lab as if he owned it.

"Nope, nothing. How's Ezra doin'?"

"Okay. Apparently he's not as homicidal as we first thought."

Jackson chuckled. "Always good to know. So, he'll be back, tomorrow?"

"Should be, but this whole operation is becoming a bit drawn out. We should have been back in Denver last week."

"I know. So what do we do?"

"Ezra found the 'phone numbers of a few of our gun runners hidden in one of the history lecturer's offices. Booker, heard of him?" Nate shook his head, "Well, we're going to go through the offices, here, and see if there's a connection."

"You're sure its one of the staff? It could have been a student."

Larabee nodded. "True, but we have to start somewhere. This waiting around for evidence is not working."

Nathan doubted the comment was intended as a reprimand, but took it as such, anyway. Larabee was right, they had been at this case too long. If there was something here to find, they would find it, if it took all night.

Grace took a few deep breaths, before explaining her find. She had been running around for an hour, now, and knew she would have to collect herself, to make herself understood. Carefully, she placed the textbook she had been carrying on the newly vacated desk and flicked to a dog-eared page.

With a huge grin, Grace announced, "The transverse ligament of the atlas was snapped!"

Blank stares greeted her, but the pathologist had expected this. She directed their attention to the textbook. "Alright, the first two vertebrae, closest to the skull, are very specialised. The first one, called the atlas, is the one that holds up the skull. It has a central hole, or foramen, so it's shaped like a ring. The second vertebra, the axis, has a lump, called the dens, which sticks up into the centre of the atlas. This way, the joint between the atlas and the axis can pivot, allowing us to shake our heads. The transverse ligament of the atlas goes across the foramen of the atlas, holding the dens in place."

By this time, John and Vin had stopped following. Bailey stood, watching, hoping that Sam would explain it to him, later. JD was enthralled. "So the transverse ligament was snapped? What's so strange about that? I've been reading autopsy reports on people executed by hanging all night. Nine out of ten of them said the ligament was snapped."

"Right, because that's what's supposed to happen. The ligament snaps and the joint dislocates, forcing the dens back into the spinal cord, resulting in death. However, regardless of what the reports say, its actually pretty rare. What usually happens is the whole dens snaps off. It results in pretty much the same injury, so no one worries about it."

"Except the killer," Sam was beginning to see where Grace was going, "the killer wanted the execution to be perfect. Completely by the book. Could it have been a chance thing?"

"I considered that, but then I reviewed the autopsies on the previous victims. The first actually died of strangulation - the fall had been insufficient to break the neck. Had he not already been unconscious, he would have had a very hard time of it. The second had complete dissociation of the bones - his fall had been too far. The third was your usual hanging, with the breaking of the dens. This one was perfect."

"So, he's getting better."

"I'd say he's got it. What's more, while each of the victims were of different height and build, they were all of a similar weight. The length of rope would have been the same for each," Grace noticed more questioning glances being thrown her way. "A certain amount of force is required to effectively break a person's neck. In a hanging, this force is produced by the subject's acceleration toward the ground. The length of rope needed to produce this force depends on the weight of the subject."

"The killer has been trying to work out how much is enough rope, for a given weight. He's practising, getting ready for the real murder. Would he know that he got it right?"

"Maybe. Its possible that he could tell by palpating the back of the neck."

"If he knows that he can do the perfect hanging, there might not have as much time before the next one as we thought."

"We had been counting on a few weeks," back to a topic he was familiar with, Bailey re-entered the conversation.

"I doubt he'll be able to wait that long. He's gone to so much trouble, already."

Something Grace had said nagged at JD's mind. "Um, when I was looking in the database, I found a record of a guy who didn't fall far enough. He strangled to death."

"How long ago," Sam's interest piqued.

"Over twenty years."

"That sort of thing could represent the initial trauma. Imagine your father, or brother was tried and convicted of some terrible crime. Then, as if that weren't enough, the execution goes wrong. Such a horror, placed on the background of an already emotional time..."

Bailey turned to the young ATF agent, "Do you think you could find some information on close relations, all that?"

"Done. He had two brothers, one currently in prison for manslaughter, and a son."

"Okay, Dunne, you get back to the computer and follow them up."

JD scooted off toward the computer room, newly inspired. Not only had he been of use in the investigation, he had been ahead of the FBI's game and Malone had referred to him as "Dunne", rather than "Kid". Not bad, considering he wasn't even officially on the case.

"We should look at the son, first. The younger the killer was at time, the more likely he would be to sustain permanent emotional damage," Sam's mind ticked over. A child who had witnesses his father's disgrace might still want to save him from it. Alternatively, he might be so embittered by the experience that any compassion he felt is overshadowed by hatred. But this child - man, now - seemed to be looking for neither an opportunity for redemption nor revenge. He wanted closure. He sought the resolution he had been robbed of, because of the botched execution. To that end, what would he be looking for, now?

The quietly spoken ATF looked up from his own musing. "So, if this guy is gonna try and kill his father, again, shouldn't we find out what his father looked like? I mean, the next victim would look like that, right?"