TUESDAY, APRIL 30 AT 7:10AM | MORRISTOWN, NEW JERSEY
"Blake woke up a couple times in the early morning. Just talked to her again about twenty minutes ago."
"How is she?" Aaron asked. He, Penelope, and David were at the edge of the Starbucks café seating area.
"Eh. Her lucidity's in and out, and she needs to speak slowly—breathing is labored. She's in lots of pain so she's self-administering when needed. Like I said a few hours ago, she's gonna need a lot of recovery."
Penelope sighed.
"She said she felt like she'd been hit by a truck or an elephant."
"Ooh, none of the above. An equestrian sedan," Penelope quipped.
Aaron tilted his head at her, grateful that her wit was—for the moment—intact. It wouldn't last much longer. "Well we need to know what she knows," he said without flourish. "She may have seen one or both of the unsubs and if so we—we need what she knows before her memory decays. You good to go up, Garcia?"
"I am," Penelope answered, finishing up her croissant. "I need to give Alex all the love in the world before she's bogged down with this mess."
They got up, and David led them to Alex's room in the transitional care ward. She was awake, she was staring up at the ceiling, and her eyes were glistening.
"Alex." Penelope glowed.
Alex turned to them and smiled, blinking something out of her eyes. "Penelope," she breathed out.
"How are you feeling?" Penelope came upon her bedside and took her hand.
"I could be better," Alex answered honestly, and she breathed in again. "But seeing you definitely helps."
"Oh, you!" Penelope said, beaming. "So, I didn't have time to go anywhere fancy-schmancy, before I got here but I had a little time while I was at the airport and this, my lady, is—for—you."
From her bag, Penelope produced a hand-sized, soft plushy—an owl with glasses and a vest. She had also bought a boxful of envelopes, but she would keep that to herself.
"This is adorable," Alex said, elated at such a small but heartfelt gift. "This is very sweet of you, Penelope. And nice in the nicest of ways." While Penelope barked in laughter, Alex sighed, and her eyes slipped to Aaron whose expression didn't crack. She breathed. "You need to know what happened, Aaron."
Aaron gave the barest of nods. "I do."
Alex shook her head and breathed in deeply. "I've been sitting here, trying to remember everything."
"I'm—I'm going to wait outside and keep digging on Zachary Bridges," Penelope murmured.
Aaron gave Penelope a nod, then turned back to Alex. "Any detail, Alex, on what you remember."
"Who's Zachary Bridges?"
"In a moment, Alex." David took a seat near the bed, dragging the chair closer. Aaron did the same. "We're trying to piece it all together, and your end will help. Once you tell us what you remember, we can catch you up to where we are."
In doing so, they wouldn't be able to color her memory with any false narratives. It was why David had only told her that Spencer was abducted, but why he didn't mention that they theorized that there was more than one perpetrator.
"How's Spencer doing?" Alex looked pointedly at the two men.
David looked at Aaron uneasily. It seemed she forgot what he'd told her earlier, and it seemed like her memory of the event might need to be unearthed. She might not be entirely lucid or reliable.
David's brows puckered. "He's missing. Mentioned it to you earlier."
Alex closed her eyes and rested her head back, dragging out a breath. Inhaling, she then said in a soft sigh, "I was really hoping that that was a nightmare." She tightened her jaws and her reddening nose flared. "I won't be able to assist with finding him," Alex said in chagrin, voice breathy. "Took a look at my chart. I'm a bit of a mess."
"Don't think that far ahead," Aaron asserted. "You need to rest. We just need you to think back. Since we've gotten here in Jersey, have you noticed anyone at all following you?"
"No," she answered.
"Or you and Reid when the two of you were together?"
"Not at all, Aaron. You're asking me as if I should have noticed anything. What of the others?"
"Read the chart again, Alex," David cracked, expression steeled. Without mincing his words, he continued. "You were stabbed seven times. He didn't just leave it to you making it out of that accident or not. He wanted you dead, but he didn't want you to go gently or quickly."
The words sent a shiver throughout Alex's limbs. She understood. "There's something about me—"
"That triggered that type of rage, yeah," David finished for her.
"Spencer and I together. Mm . . . misplaced rage against his girlfriend or wife who's a brunette? I mean, there's an obvious age gap, though." She tilted her head. "Maybe even . . . a mother—if he saw us interacting enough times and we were . . . we were stalked. Spencer and I have worked together—a lot during this case. The unsub could have seen that as a familial relationship."
"Why wouldn't he have gone after women, then?" David posed.
Alex shrugged. "Perhaps it's just parental figures in general. Or an infidelity angle."
Considering Bridges' history, there was some credibility with the first. Of course, not everything fit perfectly, as they knew more detail than they were letting on. There were two unsubs, though, and they had to be careful. They were in an emotional state. They couldn't keep working on theories without having a fuller picture, twisting things to suit them.
"How would that explain the remorseful behavior, though?" Aaron asked.
Alex thought over it. "Well, we've already theorized that psychodynamically this unsub might be seeing himself in the victims."
"Mm."
She gave her head a small shake. "Okay. Series of events. We left the ME. Backed out, turned out the lot."
"Did you notice anyone following you? Anything suspicious?" Aaron asked.
She shook her head. "No." She looked up, continuing to recall her memory of the event. She then closed her eyes to visualize it all. "Spencer and I had a little convo—to go over theories. He mentioned that maybe the unsub was panicking—and going on a spree, like you'd theorized. But then—no, we thought, maybe because—of what Derek said, the unsub was either devolving—or taking a risk before going after—his real target, who would be special." Her eyes opened as her stomach rolled, and a look of despair crossed her face. "Oh god." Her hand tightened around the plush toy that Penelope had given her, and her other hand, peeking out a sling, tightened on her gown.
"No, no," David cajoled. "No looking too far ahead. What was the next thing that happened? Recall everything you said and did."
Alex breathed. "I thought there could be a third possibility—that of the unsub reaching out."
"That's when you called us," Aaron posited.
Alex nodded. "We started talking about the possibility—and then we spoke of Marion's body." Her hand reached up for no reason at all and flicked.
Aaron looked at David.
"Okay, and then—and we couldn't understand why—Marion wasn't important to the unsub, even though he was blond." Her hand flicked up again as she continued walking herself through the events. Again, the two agents looked at each other. "So we felt that it was something—about the victim's personality that drew the unsub's attention."
"Alex," David began.
"Mm?"
"What's this—this thing you're doin' here?" He mimicked her motion.
"Hmm?"
"What was bothering you, Alex?"
Alex waved the question off inconsequentially. "Oh. It was just—it was the driver behind me. With their high beams blasting. It irritated me. It was fine, though. They passed our car after a while. That was that."
"What color was the car?" David asked.
"What color?" Alex parroted. "Red. It was definitely red. Had a PA plate, too—if I remember correctly."
Aaron and David shared another look.
"What is it?" Alex huffed.
"Just trying to suss out as much detail from you for clarity," David said evasively. "Continue."
"You—Aaron, you asked about the person of interest—the one from The Cellar and I told you we hadn't heard about it. That was when the—the Pennsylvania car passed us. Then Spencer mentioned the eyes. A little after that, my tire pressure indicator turned—it turned on, so I pulled into the next street—to see about it."
"Did any cars pass? Did anyone ask you if you two needed assistance?"
"Mm. No regarding anyone asking us if—if we needed assistance. From the time between when I called you to—to the time when roadside assistance arrived—a couple of cars did pass but"—Alex shook her head and made an indifferent expression—"after I called you back, Spencer and I became engaged in a non-work-related conversation."
Again, Aaron and David shared a look.
"You two keep looking at each other." Alex's eyebrows were raised in that irritated manner that she could affect with a smile. "It's quite obvious, so what aren't you telling me?"
"What happened next?" David asked.
She barked an incredulous laugh and winced. "No, I want you to tell me why—you keep looking at each other like that. The body says just as much as letters on a page or the spoken word."
David lowered his jowls. "Humor us. Keep going. Where was the roadside assistance?"
Alex sighed but rolled her eyes, leaning back against the pillow and slipped her eyes closed. "Behind us. They were parked behind us."
"And what happened next?" David asked.
"Spencer and I kept talking. I was facing him. I was bodily facing him. And then—and then he—oh." Alex's whole body flinched and then she shivered. Her breath sped. "He looked up. He saw something. He tried to call my attention to it. That's when—that's when I just saw the lights. And then the collision."
"Close your eyes, Alex. Just relax. What did you hear? What could you see?"
When she did, her cooled features were belied by the twitch of her brow and the reddening of her nose. "Footsteps. Spencer. He was leaning against—against the dashboard and I called to him—until I heard him open the door." Hands still at his lap. "Wait, no. No. Someone else opened the door to—to help him. He'd not moved."
Alex could see it all flashing in her mind. It was dark, but her mind kept flashing amber with every twitch of her brow as she rewatched the person reaching in to help Spencer out of the car.
"They took him out of the car to—to help him."
"What were you hearing?"
"I—I—wait, no. They weren't helping him. I could hear gasping—choking. Something hitting the side of the SUV. God, he wrenched Spencer out of the car to strangle him."
Aaron and David looked troubled. Aaron spoke. "If what you're saying is what happened, then the unsub had a need—right then and there in the presence of law enforcement, in that perilous moment where time necessitated that he make a quick getaway—to strangle Spencer. It was a compulsion."
"I feel faint," Alex suddenly declared with a quivering voice, wan, clenching her belly. "I-I feel—faint."
Aaron looked at her monitor, watching her heart rate elevate. "Should I call a nurse?" He was already standing.
Alex took heaving breaths but shook her head, reaching her hand to prevent Aaron from leaving or pressing the button. "No. No. Give me just a moment."
He sat back down, and the two waited on her.
In time, she continued. "I was—screaming for him to stop," Alex uttered, distressed, eyes glistening. She wasn't given to such-like bouts of agitation. "I couldn't—I couldn't move. I tried. I tried."
"It's okay, Alex. You were severely hurt. Don't blame yourself. Did you see anything distinctive about him? The man that attacked Spencer? He opened the door."
Alex shook her head. It was all still beyond a haze of murky water. "No. Everything was—just unfocused and dark. I could hear—Oh." Her voice quavered, her throat bobbed, and her jaws worked to swallow around her drying tongue.
David pressed a straw to her lips, and Alex drank.
"Thank you. He reached in the car again—and I thought he might—might go for me next. But he didn't ever touch me." Her eyebrows furled.
That wasn't right.
Thump. Thump.
"Wait, yes he did. I heard his footsteps—behind me and he pushed me back—before he punched me again and again." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Stabbed me? He stabbed me. That's all—that's all I can remember. Footsteps, and that's it."
"Did he not say anything to you?" Aaron asked.
Alex shook her head. "No." She thought on it. "Aaron. David."
"Hm?"
"Why didn't roadside assistance help us? Or was it him that—that called 911? Or did the unsub attack him?"
It was time. It was now time to tell her what they had gathered, and what Alex's recounting had additionally revealed.
"Alex," Aaron began, "We think—actually, we know—that the car that passed you before you had the flat was one of the unsubs."
There was no bed beneath her, just the weightlessness of her floating before crashing into her steering wheel. Her voice whispered out. "One of?"
"Roadside assistance didn't arrive on scene until about 9:45 last night."
'That was fast,' Spencer had murmured as he craned his neck, looking behind him. Her mind flared with the memory.
"What? Wait. No. We spoke around—"
"You called back at 9:23 last night, Alex, and afterwards I made a call for roadside assistance."
'That was fast,' Spencer's voice droned out again. 'Why aren't they doing anything?'
She let out a shaking groan. "Oh my god. So that wasn't—the car behind us was—another unsub?"
"Yes."
"Two!"
"We think the second car, the one parked behind you, was used to transport both Spencer and the damaged mustang after the staged accident. Can't know how. We also think the cones were set up before the crash in order to redirect traffic from going through the street. The two displaced the damaged car near a mechanic's garage not too far from where you were—"
"Oh, my god."
"—and from there we don't know what's become of Reid," Aaron finished.
"Two unsubs—oh my god. How did—was it the actual roadside assistance—that found me?"
"No, it was an off-duty EMT who had gone through the street just earlier and saw your car on the side of the road. He came back around about twenty minutes later and was suspicious about the traffic cones, so he drove into the street anyway. He saved your life. It was the perfect cover for the unsub; no one would pull into that street, as it wasn't residential, and drivers would have to take the long way around."
"Your hazard lights were also turned off, and the unsub got rid of your keys," David added. "If that EMT hadn't decided to just see about driving past the cones, you wouldn't be talking to us right now."
"Is that—is he Zachary Bridges?"
"Who, the EMT? No."
"Who the hell is Zachary Bridges?"
"We're unraveling that puzzle as time passes," Aaron answered. "Zachary Bridge's license plate, the Pennsylvania plate, was used on the vehicle that hit you, but that plate was registered to a completely different vehicle."
Alex's head was reeling. There was a team of people that had Spencer. They were both skilled, based on the coordinated attack. Now the car itself had more mystery wrapped around it?
"Apparently, Bridges is off the grid as of now and has been for almost a year. The car that hit you has had a thorough paint job, the VIN numbers have been scratched as far as we can tell, there was no conclusive DNA in the vehicle, and there were three different tire treads on the car."
"God. God," Alex murmured, splaying a hand against her chest. This was utter chaos.
"They misdirected us to a mechanic's shop by parking their mangled car there, much like how they misdirected us with the phone in Worthington State Forest," Aaron said in irritation.
"And they were—countless steps ahead of us," Alex murmured. "Marion was just a decoy to get to Spencer."
"That's what we're thinking," David agreed. "There's no other reasonable explanation."
Alex shook her head at the utter debacle this was turning out to be. They needed to save him. They needed to save Spencer. They owed him that much, after what happened with Maeve. He had trusted in them then and they had failed him. Now they had to find him. He was just starting to heal. They had to find him.
HOCKESSIN, DELAWARE
Derek and Jennifer's drive had been quiet and tense. They each were broiling with emotions that they were unsure of revealing to each other yet. Jennifer was trying her best to keep hold of her control and her worry. To do so, she had to keep her mind completely and utterly focused on doing what she could to find their unsub. Unsubs. If she focused on that aspect, then she could, in part, divorce herself from the profound worry. As far as she was concerned, they were now dealing with a fifth abductee named Spencer Reid.
Derek, however, hadn't been able to sleep for those few hours because every time he closed his eyes, the visage of the man who had made his life hell for a handful of years—a man who had manipulated his vulnerability—materialized before him.
His case wasn't the same as Spencer's, and he knew Spencer would argue that the circumstances were vastly different. As a child, he was in a position where he couldn't give consent. Carl Buford, an upstanding member of society, had preyed on his situation, which was an imbalance of power, where he had everything to lose.
But with two unsubs, the method of subjugation would likely be near impossible for Spencer to escape. Could both be sexual sadists? Would he be raped by both? What acts might they force him to engage in? He couldn't—he couldn't wrap his mind around the possibility of what Spencer might suffer if they didn't find him soon enough.
He also couldn't face that he might never see him again and raged against the unfairness of it all. They'd been on the cusp of being able to address his trauma.
The drive was made speedy with flashing lights, and it took them less than two hours before they arrived at the disheveled home of the Millers. There was a wide expanse of patchy, overgrown grass and the house itself could go for landscape care and a new paint job or be re-shingled. It, alongside the other houses on this street, was an older home misplaced among the higher median homes that they'd passed before turning down this more isolated road.
After the two walked up the broken-brick steps, Derek rang the bell. Not even five seconds passed before he knocked. "FBI; we're looking for Dana Miller."
Jennifer tipped her head at the cars in the driveway; there were three lined one behind the next.
The door finally opened, and an ornery, imposing man with peppery white and black hair and a hooded gaze answered. "Whatever this is," he groused, "it's too damn early in the morning!" He was already starting to close the door.
Derek and Jennifer both pulled out their badges. "We're with the FBI, Mr Miller." Jennifer's tone was clipped. "We have an important matter to discuss with Dana. She lives at this address, correct?"
The man muttered something under his breath before speaking up. "Gimme a moment to get her." He closed the door. He hadn't even asked what they wanted with her.
Moments later, a mousy young brunette opened the door. She was haggard and skittish, blinking at them. "I'm Dana. You're FBI?" she asked.
"Yes. We have important matters to discuss with you regarding Zachary Bridges."
"Zach?" The timbre of her voice lowered, her lips straightened, her nose flared, and her eyes fluttered. "What does the FBI need to know about him?"
"Can we find somewhere private to speak?" Derek asked after giving a sweeping look to the street.
"Um, yeah, um." She led the two to the backyard and to a patio table to sit. She rubbed her hands along her crossed arms. "So. Zach? You wanted to talk to me about him? Why?"
"We're investigating the murder of several men found in New Jersey," Derek stated.
"Murder? New Jersey?" she parroted.
"Yes."
"And you—Zach has something to do with it?" Dana's eyebrows were puckering.
"We're here to find that out."
"I'm sorry, but . . . I haven't seen or heard from Zach for . . ." She swallowed. "For almost a year now." A shadow crossed her features and her jaws clenched.
"When specifically?" Jennifer asked.
"Back in August," Dana answered. Her face was reddening. "On a Friday?"
Derek got to it. "You two lived together for a few years. Were you dating?"
Her eyes fluttered and she nodded.
"Did he ever get angry with you? Hit you?"
Dana bridled, seeming offended. "Got upset, yeah," she answered. "But he never, ever hit me."
"Mm. What was he like in other ways?" Jennifer asked. "Was he a fastidious person?"
"A what?"
"Perfectionist. Controlling," Derek answered. "Maybe a little OCD."
She shook her head. "No. No, that wasn't Zach at all. He got upset sometimes, yeah, but he wasn't any of those other things. Rolled with punches usually."
Jennifer tilted her head.
"I mean, we'd argue sometimes, and he'd leave sometimes, but . . ."
"Did he ever speak to you about his parents? About his stepfather?"
Her face scrunched. "Yeah, literally no relationship to speak of. Never spoke about him more than necessary. Same with his mom, honestly. I mean"—her lashes fluttered with her blinking—"I know what they did—what his stepfather did to 'im. I know how they were."
"You said you'd argue sometimes. Tell us about the last time you saw him. Was it because of one of those arguments?"
"Um, yes and no," Dana admitted. "It wasn't that I last saw him—it was over the phone. Argued. Then he ended up hanging up on me. Pretty much told me he couldn't have the conversation and just—hung up. And that was it. That was the last time I heard from him. I thought maybe he finally had it with me. "
Jennifer's eyes swept over Dana more closely, falling on the bruises at the crook of her inner elbow.
"What were you arguing about?" Derek asked.
"It was about—" Dana crossed her arms, and one hand combed through her short hair uneasily as her knee bobbed. She sighed. "It was about Maddie, our daughter, and—"
"You two had a child together."
"Mm-hmm. She's nearly a year and a half now."
"Okay, so the argument was about her and . . . ?"
"My parents," Dana finished. "They kept wanting to move in with us in Pennsylvania a little after Maddie was born, and Zach didn't want anything to do with them."
"Why not?" Jennifer asked.
"Because they—because my dad, mostly—" She rubbed her arm and averted her gaze.
Understanding alighted Derek's features.
"When I was younger, my dad was a—he used to drink a bit." Dana swallowed again, and her eyes flitted to the house. "Lost his temper a lot."
"And he used to hit you," Derek supplied, voice lowered, softened.
Dana looked away, focusing her attention elsewhere. "Zach didn't wanna have anything to do with my dad, and my dad didn't want anything to do with Zach. I mean, my dad's okay now; we've—we've worked things out for a few years, but Zach just—he didn't want anything to do with him because he knew what my dad did to me when I was a kid. He didn't want that kind of person around Maddie. We fought about it because Zach was gonna be working in the new department at his job, and that would require him to travel more often. It was a few months after I'd had Maddie and I could've used the help."
"Is that what your arguments tended to be about? Your parents?"
"Yeah, usually about my dad. Whenever I talked about him, or told him that I was going to visit, Zach would get upset. If my parents ever came, Zach wouldn't stick around. He'd leave until he knew they were gone. He never told me where he'd go. I sometimes thought—I sometimes thought he was cheating on me. I caught him a few times . . . ending conversations quickly if I came into his work office." Dana looked away, shaking her head and knee bobbing. She laughed with no glint of mirth to alight her eyes. "That son of a bitch. Told me he'd never give up on me." Her eyes were brimful with tears, and she wiped at an errant one with the heel of her palm, lip quivering. "He told me he'd never do anything to hurt me, that he'd never cheat on me. And he did, the asshole. It was all lies. I just know it. I thought things got better when I got pregnant."
Jennifer's eyes slipped to Derek, gauging his reaction to this all, but then trained back to Dana. "Where was he when you argued? The last time you spoke to him?" she cottoned on.
"Over in Jersey. Morristown."
"What was he doing there?" Derek asked.
"Was there on business." Dana shook her head, her eyes scrunched, and she sucked in a breath. "You really think Zach's involved, though? With killing people? It's just—it's not him. At all."
"We're still investigating that," Derek answered evasively. "But there's evidence that led us directly to him."
Dana shook her head. "It's just—I can't see it. Zach would get upset, yeah, but he wouldn't—he wouldn't murder anyone. When he got angry, when he got upset, it wasn't violent. It was . . . hurt. And I hurt him so many times and he—he probably couldn't take it anymore."
Derek's eyes thinned. Her anger was transparent. What wasn't clear was the ruefulness.
"What does Zach do, Dana?" Derek asked. "For work? What's his job?"
"Oh, he's—he's an IT Coordinator. The company he works for expanded to a new office in Jersey, so he went there for the week to give training to new employees."
Derek blinked. "Was that the only time he travelled for business? Did he ever have to make long commutes? Or was he ever gone for days?"
"Yeah, sometimes. Every other week, he had to work for a couple of days in Newburgh, New York, so he'd just stay there."
Jennifer pulled out her phone, fingers gliding across the screen. What she saw made her heart hammer against her chest. She sucked in a breath and forced back the heat behind her eyes. "And he hasn't been in contact with you at all in nearly a year," she stated, pocketing her phone.
"No."
An IT who was off the grid. This was someone who knew his way around a computer. This was someone who could make themselves disappear, or completely take on a new identity.
Again, Derek and Jennifer shared a look between each other.
"Did Zachary ever do any camping or hiking in Jersey?" Derek asked. "Wasn't far off from the border, Stroudsburg."
Again, Dana shook her head. "No. Not that I ever knew of."
"Do you know if Zachary has or had any other properties?"
Dana shook her head, humming an Mm-mm in answer.
"He doesn't have any social media, does he?" Jennifer asked.
"No, that was me. Zach is really pretty private," Dana answered. "He hated when I put his pics online, so I did it, like, only once or twice."
"What about friends? Anyone who he was close with?"
"Yeah, no. At the end of the day, Zach was more of a loner."
Derek stepped in. "How'd you two meet?"
Dana's lip tilted, and her eyes glazed in the next moment. "We both attended the same free yoga class almost three years ago. First time for both of us. Hit it—" The shriek of a disgruntled child pierced the air, and Dana jumped. "Oh, that's Maddie—I—"
Jennifer straightened her lips and stood. "We can get going. Thank you, Dana. If we have any other questions, we'll let you know."
Derek leaned to his side and pulled out his wallet. Slipping his fingers in one of the pockets, he pulled out one of his business cards and held it to her. Again dropping the grit from his voice, he said in a near whisper, "If your dad ever forgets about that temper."
Dana blinked at him with watering eyes, and she gave a series of quick, subtle nods.
They saw themselves out.
—
When Derek and Jennifer sat inside their car, Jennifer unlocked her phone and immediately showed Derek what she saw moments earlier.
"This is the primary route to get to Newburgh from Stroudsburg where they used to live."
The most direct route followed the Delaware River and hit Route 84 mere miles before the northeast Pennsylvania border and the southwest New York border met. However, in using that main route, there were two points where someone could cross over from Pennsylvania into New Jersey and be near any of the forests that Derek mentioned to Dana.
"C'mon, Zach. You're making this a little too easy for us," Derek murmured.
"Mm-hmm. While Dana said he wasn't controlling, he was trying to control his environment and her relationship with her father."
"I'm thinkin' that the release of his stepfather from prison coupled with Dana's parents—specifically her abusive father—potentially moving in were his stressors."
"Right," Jennifer agreed in a drawl. "He would have been under the same roof as another abuser if Dana's parents had moved in, and he would have undoubtedly felt his control slip from him. And his child would have been under that same roof."
"Right. And—okay, but Dana was mercurial," Derek observed.
"Ah, so you felt that, too."
"Mm. She's right pissed with him, but you couldn't help but notice that she's overall hurt by Zach's abandonment."
"Yep. I got that same feeling. She was holding back. He may not have been physical with her—or who knows, maybe she lied about that—but he may have been verbally abusive to her."
"Yeah, no. He seems to have had a dominant personality. She came from an abusive household and went right into the arms of someone else who's abusive. Now look where Dana's at again. She continues that cycle of abuse because it's all she knows."
"And it looks like she's done some drugs, too. The marks didn't look fresh, though. Might remind Zachary of his own absent mother."
"They both just returned to the same things they were used to." Derek sighed. "There were some things that didn't fit, though—if everything she told us was the truth."
"Eh. It's how it works with profiles of dual unsubs. Once a second unsub is introduced, these things get a little warbly."
"Mm. And those CPS who've denied him his sister's guardianship—there's probably a reason why they saw him as unfit all this time."
Jennifer ticked her eyebrows in agreement, calling Aaron as they neared the highway. "Hotch," she started as soon as he picked up. "We've got a good lead with Bridges."
—
"Okay, riddle me this, though." Penelope's voice came through the speakerphone as Derek and Jennifer continued their drive back north. They were about halfway along. "Zachary didn't wipe himself off the grid. He fell off it. Past transactions, phone calls, bank statements . . . these all lapsed into inactivity. Derek, he'd put your whistle to shame, he's so clean. Except? At one point, he was also on prescribed antidepressants. And you know what that means, right?"
"He probably had a therapist, or a medical doctor prescribed them," Jennifer said on the other end of the line. "Given his past issues, it's not impossible."
"Exactly, and so I dug and I dug and I found who his therapist was. A Dr Hodges in Stroudsburg, PA, who he was seeing for about two and a half years from 2008 to 2011. But get this: the first couple of years of sessions, which he went to twice a week, were paid through his insurance, then that ran out in 2010"—her voice then pitched and sped up emphatically—"where records show that he was still paying out of pocket for weekly sessions. But!"
"Wait a sec." Jennifer put up a halting hand, as if Penelope could see her. "He continued therapy out of pocket? That's expensive."
"So he wanted to be therapized," Derek concluded. "That probably went down the drain with Dana's parents trying to move in. Twenty-ten and eleven were tough on him. Stepdad's released, mom dies, and he's being denied guardianship of his sister. Control was slipping away from him."
"Okay, yes, but that's where my but! comes in," Penelope rushed out. "He stopped being prescribed the antidepressants altogether about—five months? Into Dana's pregnancy, around September of twenty-eleven, and the visits also stopped to Dr Hodges."
"Huh."
"My thoughts exactly."
"So we need to speak to his therapist and see what he's willing to tell us beyond client-patient privilege." Derek sighed. "Address, Garcia."
SUSSEX COUNTY SHERIFF'S STATION
"What is it about these damn tires?" It was the third time in the last 45 minutes that David asked this aloud.
He was poring over the evidentiary photographs from the crash and from Marion's abduction site. The mustang that had crashed into Alex and Spencer was being examined closely by technicians and a reconstruction team—under all kinds of lights, being swabbed, and more.
Penelope—who was getting information from the lab technicians—was providing information in bits and pieces in forms of photography and analyses. Some things—like the tires of the SUV and the mustang—were yet to be processed with any quantifiable data or categorization—and were being sent as they were being loaded into the systems.
If she wasn't getting forensic information from the many teams she was linked to and sharing it with the team, then she was looking more into Zach Bridges; if she wasn't doing that, she was looking at surveillance from the previous night at all angles, from as many surrounding streets as possible, including surveillance from the mechanic's shop.
The deputies that were at the precinct were digging into the other files of potential suspects. That work didn't stop, especially since there were two unsubs, and since the crimes were spread over three forests, which had generated even more suspects for them to look through.
Aaron was working with the PI officer to liaise with media outlets and inform them that there would soon be a press conference about Marion Knowles to the public; they needed to be apprised of where the case stood. Throughout the day, the public would have proper updates. However, Aaron had to also take care to maintain Spencer's privacy. The public couldn't know yet that there was another abductee. They especially couldn't know that the abductee was a federal agent. He had worked hard to keep Spencer's name out of the public eye when his subordinate had been abducted by Tobias Hankel. It wouldn't do for the public to find out that this was Spencer's second time being abducted (although, this time, he wasn't a victim of opportunity, but had been carefully selected).
This left David stuck looking at all the damned photos. Marion's Infinity was all processed, and David was comparing it against the SUV and the Mustang, willing something to stand out. He needed to see the pattern here.
His eyes were crossing. There was some type of pattern in all of this, to the cones for diverting traffic, the flat tires. And it was the tire. The damn ti—
He could slap himself. It was in front of his face this whole time. He thought he'd been looking at the same photo in different angles and light. It wasn't. Different crime scene photos.
He stood up, grabbed a few of the pictures and walked out of the conference room rushing over to Aaron. "Aaron."
Aaron straightened and turned his back to the PI officer. "What is it?"
"The tires, Aaron."
He wouldn't waste time trying to make Aaron guess at this, like Spencer would. Spencer liked to guide people to conclusions. This wasn't his way. "This tire on the Mustang." He held the two pictures up for comparison. "These weren't taken at the same crime scene, Aaron."
Aaron sucked in a breath, and his brows furrowed as he came to the realization. "It matches the three tires on Marion's car."
"They took his damn tire and used it on the mustang. These sons of bitches are playing games."
"Do you think these other tire treads are from vehicles of other victims?"
"Hell if I know," David answered. "But they're consistent, so maybe."
"We need to get everything we know on all three treads," Aaron declared. "And immediately. The brand, any serial identification, what cars have these treads on their tires . . . Call the lab technicians and make this their priority. Also, if Marion was changing the tire, there was a reason for it. Maybe his missing tire will yield some type of additional evidence."
"I'll get on it," David said. "What are your thoughts, though, on how this fits in with Noah?"
Aaron averted his eyes for a moment as his brooding gaze fell to the floor. He gave his head a solid shake. "I can't say. Javier didn't mention that he had any issues with his car."
"No," David agreed, "he didn't."
"And the situation was different with Noah; he was with three other people," Aaron suggested.
"But the kid was with Blake."
"How an unsub—how a team of unsubs approach their method of abduction when they're presented with two people versus four people can vary."
—
At half after ten o'clock, the results of the facial reconstruction of Victim B was sent to Sheriff Reiner and Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia's inbox.
The likeness of the reconstructions was never perfect. The reconstructionist didn't know the victim's preferred hairstyles, or the thickness of the brows, scarring couldn't be properly conveyed. Those closest to the victims often stated how close of a resemblance to an extended family member these likenesses were. Not the very person, but a familiar echo.
"Oh my god," Penelope gasped. "Oh my god, Agent Rossi, sir." Her hands flapped in front of her chest.
David got up from where he was sitting and went to Penelope. "What is it, Garcia?"
"The facial reconstruction just came for Victim B, sir, and it's him—"
"This is no damn good." David murmured.
Penelope had seen it less than twelve hours ago—in a license picture—and had been seeing other variations of that face in the following hours in a juvenile mugshot, in medical photos, in another mugshot post-juvie.
Aaron was already crossing the threshold into the conference room. Sheriff Reiner had shown him what they were also seeing. "We need to revisit everything," he hissed, unable to quell his exasperation. He already had his phone out and was contacting Jennifer.
—
Derek's vehicle peeled onto the side of the road—tires screeching—as soon as Jennifer told Aaron that he was on speaker and the unit chief's voice had come through with the direct message.
"Bridges is what?" Derek roared into the phone.
"Bridges is Victim B," Aaron repeated.
Jennifer's heart plummeted into a crevasse at hearing the words, and the despair was near-instantaneous. Her head fell back against the headrest, her eyes went heavenward, and things blurred before her vision.
Everything—everything—that Dana had told them had to now be looked at through a different filter.
"We need to talk to Dana again," Jennifer said, eyes still closed, voice dry and thready.
"Hey. You okay?" Derek whispered as he braced a steady hand on Jennifer's arm.
Jennifer nodded, unable to prevent the tear that slipped past her closed lids. Her eyes fluttered at the sensation of her cool water bottle touching her fingertips. She blinked and looked down to see that Derek was holding it out to her. Taking the bottle, she drank thirstily.
"What's going on?" Penelope's voice wavered from the speakerphone.
"Nothin', we're good," Derek lied.
"Baby Jay?" Penelope asked, disbelieving.
"I'm here, Garcia."
Derek shifted the gear into drive, began moving forward, flicked the lights on, and got back on the highway as cars yielded for them. "We're heading back to Dana's," he announced.
"Good," Aaron responded. "See if she happens to have anything of his so we can definitively link him physically to the remains of Victim B. In the meantime, Dave uncovered that one of the three different tires on the Mustang has the same tread as Marion's Infinity. It was his missing tire."
Jennifer pulsed out a breath and gave a nod.
"We're looking into it," David said.
"He was buying something for Maddie," Jennifer whispered, blinking something out of her eyes.
"What?" Aaron asked.
"Garcia, you said early this morning . . ." Jennifer continued, "that his last bank card activity was in Morristown at a baby boutique."
"Oh god, I did. Oh god. Oh god—I judged him."
"Baby girl, Garcia," Derek started in warning. "We were following an obvious lead. Don't feel bad."
"Please, stay focused," Aaron reminded them.
"This wasn't a lead. The unsubs wanted to give us Bridges," David bit out. "They've got the confidence that we won't get them. This was calculated. Reid was their target, yes, but this was a game to show us just how damned smart they are."
"Or they gave him to us because they knew he'd be found eventually," Derek countered. "We've found their burial site and they know this. If we didn't find Zach via DNA, then we'd find him based on facial reconstruction because someone would inevitably recognize him. This was someone who would be missed in some capacity or another. And let's be real. There are other victims out there aside from the ones we've found. He's got more. The mustang's gotta belong to someone, and they might've done this so we stop diggin'."
"Same with Marion," Jennifer added. "He was a lure, yeah, but they didn't torture him. They barely touched him. They didn't prolong his suffering. They could've done all that, but they cleaned him, they even put him in white, wrapped him in the bedsheets. He didn't earn that bestowal from them. He was returned to us to be found quickly."
"He was refuse," David argued. "And it doesn't explain the violence of the car crash."
"Mm. Localized to Alex's side," Jennifer continued. "The stabbing was of Alex. They wanted to obliterate her."
"These unsubs—they don't care about women," Derek concluded. "It's about the men. One of them is focused on this. One of them sympathizes with men because he sees himself in them in some way. He saw it in Noah and Reid, two brunettes; and he saw it in Zach and Victim C, two blondes. And of these two separate groups of people, there is one common denominator that we still can't make heads or tails of: how they attract one or both of the unsubs."
"Where does the violence fit in, then? And the second unsub?" Jennifer asked.
"Well maybe it does have to do with that religious aspect. Adultery is a sin," David answered.
"Alex proposed that one of the unsubs could warp her and Reid's relationship as infidelity," Aaron cottoned on. "There's an age disparity, but even that could be a thing for the violent unsub."
"Instead of taking the rage out on the one who was adulterous, you take out the rage on the one who ruined the sanctity of your relationship," Derek reasoned.
"This is still a lot of guesswork. It's a lot of reaching." Jennifer shook her head. "We need answers. How do these two work together? How did they find each other? One is hurt, and the other is angry. What's their relationship with each other and how do we find them?"
"Sometimes the stars just align in the right way for these people, like they're soulmates or somethin'," Derek sighed out. "They have implicit trust in each other, so how they met, it's like a courtship, and these've bonded them and cemented their relationship with each other. They're ultimately in love with each other and just feed off each other's growing violence. There's a symbiosis shared between the two, and the idea of sharing something transgressive, too. I don't think one is any less dominant than the other. Just two sides of the same coin."
Jennifer sighed.
"I do hate this, you know," Penelope's voice peeped in.
Jennifer shook her head again, caught in an endless cycle of recalling the things Dana had told her that were now making sense. When she shifted her view, Zachary was shone in a different light. "Dana suspected he was cheating on her," she murmured. "The secretive calls. The going away for hours at a time. She didn't mention anything about his therapist. Maybe she didn't know about him."
Penelope spoke up after some clacking. "Oh, Dana, baby girl. He wasn't cheating on you. The phone number that Zachary tended to call at odd hours? It was to a prepaid phone. Checked its transaction history and it was bought with a credit card belonging to our very own Charles F Hodges."
Derek sighed. "His old therapist."
"Yeah."
Derek shook his head. "Dr Hodges probably uses it for non-work-hour phone calls between more emotionally dependent people so they don't have his personal phone number."
Jennifer gazed out the window. "Penelope, what was his battery charge for? The one after he left juvie and went to prison for over two years."
"At the time of the event, he . . . he stabbed another man in the groin in a bus. Upon arraignment, he didn't give a reason for it, but through later witness accounts, it was found that the stabbing victim had been harassing a woman on that bus."
"Right, yep," Jennifer murmured, shaking her head. "He's a protector whose aim is to defend. The timing of his attack on his stepfather just before his half-sister was born is no coincidence. He was protecting her. Depression isn't typically associated with violence unless a person has symptoms of other psychoses. He was probably misdiagnosed as having ODD when he was in juvie. So he wasn't just avoiding Dana's parents and difficult conversations, he was avoiding emotional triggers. He'd only been trying to reorder his life after all he'd experienced."
An hour later, they were back in front of the same front door, and where they had been so self-assured before, they tentatively asked Dana if they could step inside and have a seat. They were regretful to have to deliver the terrible news again to a family member suffering the loss of someone they had once loved, and clearly never stopped loving, for Dana had collapsed in tears and was inconsolable for many minutes.
Jennifer and Derek had been warm and compassionate but unaffected emotionally with Mrs Turner, Noah Turner's mother. This time, they both knew Dana's pain.
—
Finding out the truth of what happened to Zachary Bridges had weathered Dana's disposition. Vital information that she hadn't shared with them before, veiled beneath a shroud of vexation and hurt, came to light.
"Zach had just started up working in the offices again after he'd worked home for six months after Maddie was born," Dana said, her nose stuffy and red, her eyes glistening, and the skin upon her face blotchy. She was cradling her sleeping daughter in her arms, and there was a sodden napkin bunched in her hands. "He—he wanted to be close to her after she was born."
Jennifer placed her hand on Dana's knee. Dana, in turn, plucked a picture out of a memory box.
"I started looking through these after you two left earlier," Dana said in a feathery voice. "I was so pissed. I was gonna throw 'em away or somethin'."
She handed Jennifer the picture. It was of Zachary, holding little Maddie while stretched out upon an Adirondack. His expression was soft, and he wasn't even looking into the camera. His reddened, glistening eyes were trained on the infant he held. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and the infant wasn't wearing any clothes save for a blanket and probably a diaper. It was skin-to-skin contact between him and his daughter, an intimate form of physical affection used to foster close bonds with both parent and newborn infant.
Jennifer's vision blurred. "You said that he was working in Morristown because he was training new employees for the week?" she asked by way of distracting herself.
Dana nodded.
"What time did he call you, Dana?" Derek asked. "Do you remember?"
"Not exactly, no," Dana answered after sniffling nasally. "It was later in the evening. Everyone at the office, the bosses and the trainees and Zach—they'd gone to a restaurant at the end of the day to celebrate or whatever; the managers paid for everyone. So it was—it was maybe"—she shrugged her shoulders gently—"it was some time after eight? He was calling to tell me that he'd be a little late 'cause he had a flat and he needed to change it."
Both Derek and Jennifer's hearts stuttered.
"What?" Derek asked.
"What?" Dana parroted in worry.
"He had a flat tire," Derek repeated.
"Yeah, he said he'd pulled over on the side of the road to change it. He hadn't even hit the highway yet. That was when we started talking about my parents. That was when—when he hung up on me and—and—and—" One of Dana's hands shook as she brought it up to her scrunched face, bunching the tissue under her nose as she tried to breathe in guttural breaths, her throat spasming and aborted sounds emitting from her. "I—thought—he ran away—from us—from everything," Dana admitted tearfully between hiccups.
"We have reason to believe that the persons who took Zach had him for weeks or even—even months before he died."
Her lips turned to her daughter's crown, kissing her hair and rocking. "I thought—" She sobbed. "I was so angry at him. When his job called a few days later to see if everything was okay, I just told them to figure it out. I thought he didn't want to have anything to do with us anymore. So I didn't . . . I didn't go to the police or anything."
"Dana," Jennifer began, tightening her hand on the other's knee. "He loved you and Maddie very much. He wanted to protect you both; that's why he felt so strongly about your father. He wanted to provide for you both. You know why I'm so confident in his love for you?" When Dana hunched and shook her head as if she didn't want to hear the answer, Jennifer's brows puckered. "He . . . he went to a baby boutique the day he went missing. I think that proves that even when he was away from you, he was thinking about his family. He was thinking about his little girl."
"Oh god!" Dana sobbed, arms tightening around her daughter, clenching her eyes shut.
It wasn't easy. Dana had been holding on to nearly a year of anger and hurt, only to find that it had been misplaced.
"Can you answer just a couple more questions for us?" Jennifer asked gently.
Dana hadn't opened her eyes, but she nodded.
"Had Zachary mentioned if there was anything that made him feel uneasy while he was in Morristown?" Derek asked.
"No."
"Had he mentioned anyone following him? Anyone giving him undue attention?"
"No, no, not at all."
"When he had been at the side of the road, had he mentioned if anyone stopped to ask if he needed help?"
Dana shook her head, eyes open again and fixed upon nothing as she continued rocking in gentle movements, hand rubbing her daughter's back.
"Did he go to any bars or anywhere for dinner that you know of the previous nights? Did he have some kind of routine?"
She shook her head again, her stuffed nose squeaking from her deep inhalation. "No, Zach didn't drink or do drugs at all 'cause of his mom. The only routine was a café he'd gone to the first morning he started working. Got something from the breakfast menu, and the next night he told me he went there again to try something new on the menu and that he wanted to go again the next day to try something else. So I guess—yeah—some type of pattern . . ."
"Do you have anything of Zachary's that we can take in for more conclusive evidence?"
Dana thought on it before reluctantly reaching into the box. "I left most of his stuff at our house when I was moving. Left it for the landlord to do whatever he wanted to do with it," she admitted, rifling through the box. "But, um." She pulled out a brown paper bag. "I have this?" She handed it to Jennifer hesitantly. "It was, um"—she swallowed—"it was his favorite t-shirt. I got it for him." She shook her head, looking down. Her eyes glazed again. "I, um . . . I hadn't cleaned it after he left. It still smelled like him."
Jennifer took the bag with great care, thanking Dana quietly. "I promise, we'll get this back to you as soon as we can." Later, she and Derek would drop it off at the Morris County Forensic Lab before continuing up to the Sussex County Sheriff's Station.
Dana nodded.
"Do you know of anyone who might have been angry with Zachary? Who might have wanted to hurt him? Workmates? Other family?"
"No. No. He was just . . . he minded his business and didn't bother anyone."
Jennifer tilted her head, holding in a sigh.
"Thank you, Dana, for your assistance. You've been extremely helpful." Derek stood, and Jennifer followed. "I'm very sorry about Zachary."
"Can I ask you a question?" Dana was still unable to look at Derek and Jennifer, but the words drifted in their direction.
"Yes, please; anything," Jennifer answered, bending down in front of Dana and placing a hand on her knee again.
Dana's eyes didn't fix upon her but were sightless. "I spent . . . I spent all these months hoping he was suffering for what he did to me and Maddie every time I thought about him." A tear slipped from her eye.
Jennifer wanted to pull away, knowing what Dana was going to ask.
"I spent all that time"—Dana's face contorted into an agonized but bitter expression—"hoping that he was suffering even though I knew—"
Dana's eyes finally slipped to Jennifer's. Jennifer kept her watering gaze steady upon Dana.
"Even though I knew what his stepfather had done to him." Guilt was manifest on her face. "And even though I knew how his mother made him feel. He hadn't deserved that. So did he—"
Jennifer's eyes glistened and her throat began to thicken.
"Did Zach—did he suffer before he died?"
Jennifer tilted her head compassionately but couldn't answer, and it was enough for Dana to draw out a pained hum as she dropped her cheek on her daughter's head and rocked again. Jennifer stood and placed both of her hands on Dana's crown to console her. She turned her blinking gaze to Derek, who himself could barely keep his expression cool, whose jaws were clenched and his eyes stormy under brooding brows.
"Just remember that he loved you both very much," Jennifer whispered, soothing Dana with the slow brush of her hand.
—
And as it was, as the hours were passing throughout the day, another detail came to light: after establishing that Marion's missing tire was one of the ones used on the Mustang, which they found was a GT 500 model from 2008 or 2009, they found that another one of the tire treads on the mustang matched the tires of Zachary's Mazda.
The two matching tires had their DOT serial number shaven clean off. At the least, through the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, or ViCAP, the treads were entered into the system to correlate and match with possible future cases—if the unsubs were to do the same thing with another car as they had done with the Mustang. Those tires would immediately be flagged and attached to this case.
The forensics technicians revealed that there was a piercing in Marion and Zachary's tires that had been sealed in both cases. The same, however, wasn't the case for the other two tires. It could be that the unsubs had worked up to this particular modus operandi or had other methods of subjugating their previous victims. Nonetheless, Penelope went on the search for missing people with vehicles that had these matching tires.
It was absolutely clear, now, that the unsubs used the flat tires as a way to force their victims into a situation where they were helpless and would likely have isolated themselves. It was an undeniable pattern. The team wasn't sure how the unsubs facilitated this, but each victim so far had been away from their vehicles for a duration before they were forced to deal with a flat tire.
"I found Zachary's car," Penelope sighed out, weaving her hand through her hair. "Just found the paper-trail for it being picked up in late August. Abandoned, one tire missing, no license plate, missing registry and insurance info."
"Where was it found?" Sheriff Reiner asked.
Her sagging shoulders sagged further, and her voice was but a whisper. "It was found at the overlook—the same one where Marion's body was found."
David blinked and wrinkled his nose. "So the unsubs took his car and held onto it for almost a month," David concluded. "Probably waited it out to see if he was declared as a missing person or not. Was a huge risk."
Aaron sighed. "Local PD doesn't make a big to-do about an abandoned vehicle. They check to see if it's reported stolen. If not, they tag it, wait it out, and if it's not claimed, they just get it towed to an impound lot. After that, besides filling in some paperwork, and sending out a letter in the mail with the impounding information, it's hardly their problem. This was a simple, uncomplicated understanding of how these things work."
"Yeah, the towing company picked it up, it sat in the impound lot, and was destroyed at the end of the year along with the rest of the other long-time unclaimed cars."
"For Pete's sake," Sheriff Reiner bit out. "Dana and Zachary lived together. Didn't she get the letter? Wouldn't that've made her suspicious?"
And so they called her.
"I wouldn't know," Dana gasped out in a small voice over the phone. "He used a PO Box because he didn't want his stepdad to find him, and I just used our mailbox, so I never got his mail."
Suffice it to say, the unsubs had his keys and whatever possessions he had on him when he was abducted. They could have easily intercepted the mail at his PO Box. The trouble was that they weren't too far from Pennsylvania, so the unsub could live Jersey-side or in Pennsylvania. It also proved that they might have watched his home even after he was abducted.
These unsubs had a lot of gall and confidence, especially to go after an agent. Whether it was one or both, there was something that didn't click with them; there was something that blinded them to the possibility of failure and capture. Either Spencer fit into the victimology perfectly—a piece of the puzzle that they still couldn't figure out—or the temptation of going after so dangerous a game was too irresistible for them to pass up.
Penelope added a new search field to see where Zachary and Noah and even Marion's lives may have crossed paths.
Their offender profiles, which had been colored by what they thought was Zachary's involvement, had to be revisited again. They took Alex's observations regarding infidelity into consideration, as well as her attack. If she was stabbed so many times, and if Marion Knowles was also stabbed, this might point to one of them being impotent or at least having trouble with his virility.
Still, this left the question of how Noah's abduction fit in, for his was an aberration from an obvious pattern of abduction methods. Javier hadn't mentioned having a flat tire, but now this was a line of questioning that the unit needed to pursue, and pursue they did. They called him:
"Hello?"
"Hi, Javier Ortiz?"
"Yeah, who is this?"
"Javier, I'm Agent Jennifer Jareau; I'm calling from the Federal Bureau of Investigations. You spoke with Agent Rossi last week."
"Right. Yeah?"
"In the light of additional evidence, we had just a couple of follow-up questions we wanted to ask you. Do you have a couple of minutes?"
"Yeah, yeah, I do."
"This might sound strange, Javier, but on the night that Noah went missing, did you get a flat tire?"
"Mm—definitely not."
"You're sure? Not in the days following either?"
"No, I'm positive."
"And there was no sign of the tire being punctured?"
"No, Agent. I got my car detailed a couple of weeks before—before that night. Got all my tires replaced and everything. And whenever I get my car detailed, I always pay extra for a mechanic to use a sealant on my tires."
"A sealant?"
"Yeah. If anything punctures my tires, it automatically seals so that I can avoid a flat. It would take a lot for the puncture not to seal up, like it being slashed or something."
"Hold on for one moment."
"Sure."
"Javier, this is Agent Hotchner. We met last week."
"Yeah, yes, sir, I remember."
"Agent Jareau has informed me that you detailed your car a couple of weeks before Noah went missing, correct? Have you changed your tires since you got them detailed?"
"No, I'm actually gonna go next weekend to get my summer tires switched in."
"I'm going to have to ask you, Javier, to hold off on that appointment. We have reason to believe that there may be evidentiary material on one of your tires."
"What?"
"Wherever you are currently, we need to know immediately. We'll have a police escort for you and will also provide you with a temporary vehicle to use while technicians can examine your tires."
In addition to this line of questioning, Aaron asked Javier if he knew if Noah might be gay, bi, or anything in between. At this point, they had to exhaust all possibilities. No, Javier told him. Noah would have told him—he didn't stand for any injustices, and he was open about these things.
—
Dealing with Marion Knowles' family hadn't been easy. They confirmed that Marion was gay and then asked if this might be involved in his murder and if he had been raped before he was killed. Their relief that he hadn't been was eclipsed by their growing frustration and their demand for answers:
"Why the hell was so much time wasted looking for him in the woods?" Mr Knowles asked.
His wife, face pressed into his chest, pulled away. In distress, she added, "Shouldn't you people have been knocking on doors and finding my son?"
"Why haven't you guys caught his murderers yet?" Justin, Marion's younger brother, asked.
"We're sorry," Aaron stated, taking the brunt of their questions, muscles slacking so that he could send a modicum of compassion their way. "We're trying everything and exhausting all avenues to find Marion's murder. I assure you, we will bring them to justice."
It wasn't enough. Nothing could ever buy back or relieve the burden of Marion's murder. Justice would be a salve to cover over the ache—an ache that Aaron knew all too well.
—
Mere hours later revealed that there was nothing—nothing at all—to connect Zachary Bridges to Noah Turner or even Marion Knowles. Their paths never crossed. They never went to the same establishments even on different days.
At half after nine in the evening, the lack of sleep was affecting all the agents. They were frayed at the edges, and there was still far too much information for them to process. Eating throughout the day had been sporadic, as had been taking a short moment of respite. Jennifer had found some time in the early evening to call her husband and speak to him and her son.
Spencer Reid was officially missing for 24 hours.
The media—still in the dark about it as far as the team knew—was crazed with Marion's murder, and as more details were trickling out to them through official means based on the public nature of Marion's disposal, they were now dubbing his murderer as The Linen Assassin in some circles, and the Stokes State Slayerin others. Those working the case shouldn't be surprised if copycats came out of the woodwork at this point, disguising their murders as the work of another killer in order to throw off investigators. There were specific details that weren't publicized, so naturally they would be able to weed out the true from the fake.
If Marion's case was anything to go by, which they didn't, Spencer was dead. But they operated on the premise that these unsubs wanted Spencer. If anyone asked any of them individually if it would be better that Spencer were killed and didn't have to suffer for months as Noah and as Zachary likely had, or if they wanted him to be able to hold on until they found him despite what he might have suffered by the time of his rescue, none would be able to say which they preferred. It was a difficult situation, no questions asked, and no answer was easy.
Aaron directed everyone that they must return to the hotel to get rest, and that they should plan to return to the precinct by eight. They did so, defeated.
—
According to his bank card activity, Zachary Bridges had taken out $300 cash from his bank on Sunday, August 5, 2012, and had likely used that cash throughout the workweek for food while he was in Morristown, for he had only made two purchases that week with his card. The first was at a jewelry store on Wednesday evening, where he made a large purchase of $3900, and the second was at a baby boutique on Friday, August 10 at 5:42 pm. He attended a work-related dinner, left, and—according to his phone records—called his girlfriend afterwards at 8:17 pm to tell her that he had a flat tire and would be coming home late.
Dana Miller and Zachary Bridges argued about their daughter and her father, and he ended the conversation abruptly.
Unknown to everyone that was now aware of his abduction, Zachary paced near his car, tearful, roiling and trying to remain calm. He then began dialing the number of his old therapist but was interrupted by a kind man who offered to help him with his car, but gave no help at all.
Into the night Zachary Bridges had disappeared, and it was the last he had been seen alive.
THURSDAY, MAY 2 | SUSSEX COUNTY SHERIFF'S STATION
As it turned out, Frederick Byron Collins had, indeed, called his lawyer. The representative was in the precinct within half an hour and spent nearly forty-five minutes with her client. The agents were in the conference room, tense, thinking only of their missing colleague. Penelope had called Alex to inform her about all that was happening.
Finally, Sheriff Reiner called them back to the interrogation hall and to the observation room, where the lawyer was waiting.
"Agents and Sheriff Reiner," she began. "My client wants to cut a deal with you by providing you with valuable information. While I truly feel for you that one of your agents has been abducted, there is one thing I need you to understand and can guarantee: Mr Collins did not commit the crimes you are accusing him of, and there will be a lawsuit for wrongful defamation if you continue to pursue this line of questioning with him. And we'll also start with what you did wrong, agents. You didn't clearly state to my client during his arrest what his offense was for when asked at the outset."
Aaron threw Derek a disgruntled expression, brows furrowed and jaw tensing. They could not botch this up. He had given Erin his word. And Spencer's life was on the line.
Derek tightened his jaw, the fiery look in his eyes defiant.
"In light of what my client has revealed to me, though, we will move not to press charges for that negligent oversight if you agree to our terms. What's more, I'm issuing a cessation on the current search of his property in relevance to your case."
This was wrong. This wasn't at all what they wanted to hear, or what they needed to hear.
Jennifer's hand splayed on her chest, nearly gripping at her neck, and Derek's head slowly kicked back in irritation.
"My client is guilty of an offense and is willing to discuss it with you. Agents Hotchner and Morgan, I think you'll want to come in to speak with him and hear what he has to say."
