Thank you all for your patience! These next two updates are pivotal in pulling together much of the mystery of this whole investigation, so I had to double, triple, and quadruple check everything was accurate, would make sense, etc and found myself editing major parts of this (and adding more pages!).
As aforementioned, this is a very long chapter. It's been split into two parts, and the next has also been released simultaneously. Please enjoy the adventure and case aspects as things begin to come together.
.
.
.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 17–FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 2013
» Everyone needs to
head straight to the
tarmac and board the
jet by 830.
» Garcia too. Bring go
bags.
» Garcia, bring
whatever you need
to do your research
in the field.
Text messages had never been received with such exigency. As was directed, the team of agents were all climbing into the jet by or before half-past eight in the evening.
"What's going on, Aaron?" David asked the moment that he walked into the jet. Penelope and Derek climbed in behind him.
"Guys, if you would all take a seat and buckle up so we can take off, please," Aaron said.
"Take off?" Penelope bridled. "Wait, sir—where's JJ? Blake? I thought they were headed back earlier this morning since nothing came of the composite sketch?"
"They're still in Jersey, which is where we're headed."
"Still in Jersey?" she parroted, blinking.
"Yes. There was a huge break in the case, and we're all hands on deck at this point."
"Oh god." Penelope's hand pressed against her chest. "What's—oh, sir, please. I'm not ready. What's happened? Have . . ." She swallowed, her expression turned doleful, and she became teary-eyed. "Have they found him? You wouldn't do something like this to us, sir, please."
"Seats, please," Aaron restated with the wave of his hand. "Strauss is up to date on everything. We spoke earlier this evening regarding the developments in the case since Friday. And there have been many."
David tilted his head.
"This morning, a man named Marcus Delany came forward with vital information."
"On what? The car? The composite sketch?" Derek asked.
"On the unsubs," Aaron answered. "He's a material witness."
"Oh my god." Penelope's voice dropped in timbre as she breathed the words out. "Oh, my god."
"He lives in and is originally from Maine. Luke, Alex, and JJ all three went up there and had an interview with him and with his sister. All evidence is pointing to the unassailable truth that he was with our unsubs."
"What kinda evidence we talkin' about?" Derek asked.
Aaron looked at the three. "He was in captivity for about a month and a half, and he escaped an attempt on his life after the unsub removed a portion of his tongue and left him for dead."
Their eyebrows lifted.
"Marcus had caught the national broadcasts back in June and July, but he was unable to come forward at that time. Took some convincing from his sister. The elinguation was never made public, so we're operating on the premise that he's a viable material witness."
"What changes now, though," Derek started, "for us all to go up there?" His tongue was dry as he continued. "They have our profiles."
"They do," Aaron started, "but given the sexual nature of this crime, we'd dismissed the possibility that women were involved. Marcus' account disabuses us of this. They're a male and female dynamic."
"Oh my god."
"Damn."
David lowered his jowls. "It doesn't fit in about a hundred ways, and yet fits in another hundred."
"Right." Aaron nodded. "So we have to look at this with a different lens, revisit the profile, and understand that these unsubs have evolved since they had Marcus. We need as many hands on this as possible because we're ending this. On that note—"
The screens beeped, and in another moment, Alex and Jennifer were being conferenced from New Jersey.
"Guys, hey! Hello." Penelope perked.
"Hey," Jennifer said tiredly. "We just got back to the Sussex County Precinct. Luke's with Sheriff Reiner."
"My doves, you both look worse for wear," Penelope said.
With closed eyes, Alex sighed and shook her head. "Honestly overwhelmed by the new lead and the traveling," she admitted.
"I'll say," David perked up. "Tell us about this material witness you guys spoke to."
"Yeah, so Marcus—"
Penelope's phone began ringing, and she gasped. "Oh, sir! Guys, it's—" Penelope turned her screen to Aaron, Derek, and David. Aaron ticked his brows permissively, and so she picked up and put her phone on speaker. "Emily! Oh, oh! Hello—it's you!"
"It's me, Garcia," Emily answered on the other line. "I'm assuming you guys are in the air by now?"
Penelope's brows furled. "Uh, yes? How—did—you—" She gasped.
"Yeah, I was just calling to ask you if you'd be able to patch me in the conference with JJ and—Alex, was it?"
"Yes—Alex—and yes, one second, Emily." Penelope scrambled with her laptop, and in moments, Emily's face was popping up on the screen.
"There's that beautiful face!" David said.
"How's my girl?" Derek asked.
"I'm assuming you're both talking about me, since Garcia's right next to you," Emily quipped, winking.
Penelope barked in laughter.
"I'm good though, guys. And—honestly?" She shook her head, and her expression fell from the light smile to something far more somber. "I really am sorry. I know what's been going on with Reid and I've just been breaking my back cracking a human trafficking ring on my end, and it's been absolutely endless."
"Eh." David waved his hand in dismissal. "That ain't no crime. But. Is that the interior of a jet that I see behind you, or are my old eyes failing me?"
"Not failing you, Rossi, no." Emily turned to take in the background her old colleague was referring to. "I'm currently over the Atlantic Ocean and am scheduled to land in the Morristown Airport at"—she looked at her watch—"ten, Eastern Standard."
"You're"—Penelope leaned toward Aaron—"Sir, is she joining—Emily, are you joining us?"
"I've been texting and calling Hotch and JJ back and forth today. You finally have me at your disposal for a few weeks to come, yes."
"Oh my god. Thank the stars and hallelu!" Penelope threw her eyes heavenward. "We've needed you."
"I know. Again, I'm sorry."
"The intention is to stop these two at this point," Aaron said, bringing the attention back to where it needed to be. "We can't let this continue. I want us to watch the witness statement that Marcus gave and dissect it. We'll be landing in another 45 minutes—almost concurrent with Prentiss. Let's take some time to rest and we'll head to Sussex together."
"I'll see you all soon, then," Emily asserted. "In the meantime, I'll continue familiarizing myself with the case."
NEW JERSEY
The hubbub of the precinct bullpen was interrupted with the entrance of four FBI agents and the Chief of Interpol's London Office, all who walked through with aplomb. Sheriff Reiner was already in the conference room along with Luke, Jennifer, and Alex.
After reunions and introductions, Luke stood before them all. "Alright, so here's where we stand. We currently have multiple Jersey precincts working on checking on break-in records from early July of 2010."
"Break-ins? For?" Penelope asked.
"When Marcus escaped from his captivity," Alex began, "he broke into another home. We don't know how near or far it may have been from where he was being kept. The best we have is that it may be in a more suburban area."
"He also stole some jewelry from the same home," Jennifer continued, "in case he didn't steal enough cash. He was going to use them to pawn. It helps narrow things down if there was a record of a break-in with stolen cash and jewelry."
"We have any idea where he might have been in Jersey or . . ." Derek drawled.
"None." Luke shook his head. He pointed to a New Jersey rail map. "Because he didn't indicate that he boarded another train to get to New York Penn Station, we're sorta theorizing that he could've taken any of these trains that take a straight shot to Penn station. Lines from Montclair-Boonton, Morristown, Gladstone, Northeast Corridor, or the North Jersey Coast Line."
"That besides, Marcus was thru-hiking before his ordeal," Alex added. "He was used to walking hours a day for months. Given his injuries and his blood-loss, I wouldn't hold out the hope that he got too far from the unsub's residence or even the residence of where he broke in, but he was running on shock most of the time, and there are accounts of gravely injured people walking miles before succumbing to their injuries or before being found by others." She then shrugged her shoulder. "I'm entertaining any possible scenario."
Jennifer nodded. "M'yeah. He said that he followed the tracks until he found a station. We can't know how long that was. He also said that he fell asleep near the station when he finally got there and was up by sunset. Also don't know how short or long that was."
At this, Luke perked. "But given that he escaped by nightfall in the middle of the summer, we have to give somewhere abouts an eight- to ten-hour window for all of this to happen."
"Can I say what we're all probably thinking?" Emily asked. "Reid would have calculated all of this in seconds."
"Damn yeah he would," Derek agreed.
"But I can start seeing if I can find any archived footage of Marcus getting to a station, boarding any trains, or arriving at New York Penn Station," Penelope offered. "I can see if there are existing logs of exact train arrival times, delays, any of that, and from there I might be able to approximate what train Marcus took."
"Okay. Damn," Luke said in wonder, impressed.
"I'm gonna get started on that, then," Penelope asserted, pointing to the small corner of the conference room where she was set up.
"Good," Aaron said after her. "In the meantime, let's watch the interview."
"Ugh, lord no, this won't do," Penelope murmured, standing. "I'm going to see if I can sequester myself somewhere else in this precinct. I don't want to hear any of this."
—
'She was just—she said she just wanted to look at my injuries and make sure I was okay.'
"Can you pause it?" Emily asked, to which Jennifer did. "So these unsubs—this man and woman—have clearly gone after a few victims who have high-risk behavior. Marcus' hadn't been."
"What are you thinkin'?" David asked.
"That there was something need-based about how she targeted Marcus. And I say targeted lightly, since I'm only at the beginning of watching all this."
"Mm."
"You can continue."
And so it did for just a minute or so before there was another interruption.
'Did she have you sit in the front or in the back?'
'The front.'
"Okay, so." Derek knocked his fist on his chin before pointing at the screen. "So this chick . . . she wasn't trying to conceal Marcus."
"Which—if she had —might've indicated malicious intent," Alex tacked on. "Instead, it seemed she wasn't worried about obscuring him from public eyes."
"And if that's the case, then she hadn't intentionally hunted Marcus," Aaron added. "She had genuinely sought to assist him."
It continued in this manner, with them often pausing to let out some observations.
'Hey, Marcus, you're in a safe space with us here.'
'Marcus? Hey . . . you're in a safe space.'
"Notice how he's more aversive to Luke's voice," David pointed out.
"Oh yeah, no." Luke nodded. "I noticed after some time and had decided to keep my mouth shut after a while."
"Mm."
'The grey Mustang. It was in the garage. That I can remember.'
"So timeline-wise and if we can find Marcus' account credible, this car traveled from Dover to wherever Marcus was kept between early November and May."
"Honestly willin' to bet that the person who stole it might be another victim," Derek murmured before kicking his head at Jennifer, who unpaused the video.
'You said that you were afraid that the police would think that you had sex for drugs. Were you drugged while you were there? Are you aware of how often this might have happened? Or what it might have been? Or who drugged you?'
Aaron sighed. "Marcus' account—his testimony—may not hold up well. We catch our unsubs and things go to trial, then anything Marcus says as a former drug user calls into question his character on the defense's side. They'll try to project that he was a willing participant."
Alex hummed in agreement. "Mm. At the end of the day, I don't think that Marcus is fully reliable as a witness. But. I think it's important that we watch all of this."
As Marcus found difficulty drawing nearer the recounting of his rape, it was difficult for most of the viewers not to conflate this victim with that of Spencer instead.
'You're a damn coward. Normal people don't do the kinda shit you're doing to me or your wife. Real guys don't do this shit.'
Emily shook her head. "The male unsub felt his masculinity challenged by Marcus—by a person who has no power or control in his situation. And he was called out for abusing his own wife."
'After that, he left me alone for days, and the woman—she helped me. Took care of me.'
"That's . . . that's the third time he's said that," Derek pointed out. "That she took care of him."
"Mm. You noticed that," Jennifer observed.
"The guy's eyes glaze over whenever he says it, yeah," Derek responded. "And he almost sounds like he's questioning it."
"Hold on to that thought," Alex said, tipping her head at him. "And keep watching."
They watched as Marcus repeated the words his rapist said verbatim in a softened voice.
"They'd be about your size, too," David repeated. "He and Marcus are adult men, and Marcus is a good five-nine? Five-ten?"
Derek cleared his throat. "Those weren't the unsub's own words, then. He was reciting them. Something someone might've said to him. Most likely when he was a kid."
"And the person who said it to him served in Vietnam," David murmured. Wrinkling his nose, he continued, "And did some pretty heinous stuff while he was there."
"Not only did he give Marcus beer and drug him, but he'd drunk as well before raping him," Jennifer stated.
Derek sat back in his seat, rubbing his knuckles on his chin.
Aaron, who threw a glance at Derek, looked out at the rest of the group. "So our unsub was sexually abused, as we posited."
David hummed in agreement.
They continued the video.
"Damn," Derek murmured. "That's—that's the seventh time now. That he says that she took care of him."
"Mm-hmm," Alex hummed in agreement. "I think suggestibility was introduced to Marcus—possibly when he was drugged and likely by the woman. I'm not sure if her intent was malicious, to perhaps ease the captivity, or if this plays into one aspect of the obsessive compulsion. Or if there's something else there. She also might have the medical background, since she did the taking care."
"Do we think she was in on this," Emily began, "or that she got wrapped up in something that she hadn't intended to? Marcus believes that she was doing all of this against her will—that she might have been coerced into this."
"Well it's classic," Jennifer responded. "Where the wife or girlfriend of the perpetrator is coerced into heinous acts because they themselves are being abused or controlled by their spouse."
"Well, yeah," Emily agreed. "Definitely classic when it comes to some serial killer couples. But including Spencer, we have nine male victims at this point. I don't think I've ever heard of a case where a man-and-woman serial killer couple targets men in their twenties and thirties. It's virtually unheard of. Women—yes. Young girls—yes. Even young boys, too. But adult men?"
Aaron hummed. "Right, so we're missing something here. Perhaps that fantasy that they were trying to go for that we'd theorized on months ago. And we have to get a better sense of the timeline for these victims. Clearly Marcus is one of the first few, or all the others were modeled after him for some reason. Rope was used to keep him captive. But Marion and Noah had abrasions indicative of leather restraints. As we theorized, our unsubs have learned and bettered their methods of subjugation."
"The sexual aspects of Marcus' rape," Derek began, "he's the only one who's account we can take into consideration. We know empirically that Noah was raped, and there's evidence to say the same for Zachary. But now we know for sure that his unsub has issues with impotence. Of the times that he raped Marcus, he never ejaculated."
"And he neither allowed Marcus to touch him, nor did he commit or force Marcus to become involved in any of the typical sexually degrading acts that sexual sadists enact on their victims," Aaron added. "And the balance of probability is that the male unsub's the one who stabbed Victims D and E and that he couldn't sexually perform with these two, just like we'd theorized back in June."
"So what's all this adding up to?" Luke asked.
David sighed. "That we had a budding rapist and sadist on our hands."
"And that Marcus might have tipped the scales," Derek murmured. "Not only had what Marcus said triggered the unsub, but then the act of rape itself triggered something transgressive in him, too."
"Shit," Luke mumbled.
They continued with the video.
"Can we say with any assurance that the woman wasn't involved in the attempt on Marcus' life when his tongue was cut off?" one asked.
"It wasn't ever clarified," Jennifer replied. "And I wish I'd asked him."
"She might have been forced to participate, though," Alex suggested. "It might be why Marcus heard her crying when he escaped. But, again, I find it difficult to fully trust Marcus' account. It was spotty at best."
"I find the way she took care of him strange," Emily began. "Firstly, removing that visual element was intrinsic for these two. Marcus never saw his captors. Even when he was in the so-called safety of just the woman—when she bathed him and her husband went off somewhere else—the blindfold mustn't have been removed. This woman might be submissive with her husband, but the truth is that there was a bit of control there for her, too, to have bathed her victim."
"Unless she's in some way delusional?" David wondered.
Emily wrinkled her nose. "Eh. I dunno. And also . . ." She shook her head. "There's also something else."
"What is it?" Derek asked.
"Hotch said it before—the unsub didn't allow Marcus to touch him."
"What are you thinking?"
She shook her head again. "I don't—I don't know. Something's there but . . . I can't see it."
"Either way," Aaron started, "the dynamic seems to be a dominant-submissive one after all. Marcus says that she spoke of disciplining when it seems he might have spoken out of turn. And we're getting the sense that speech may have triggered violence. The woman may have been projecting onto Marcus what was said to her by her own spouse. These kinds of submissive women—they have their own deep-rooted traumas and fall into a cycle of abuse. So from the sounds of it, this woman may have been under her spouse's abusive rulership and might be suffering from the battered wife syndrome or be trauma bonded to her husband."
"Which would make so much sense, now, with the remorseful burials," David said. "There's still about a hundred things that's led to how the more recent victims are buried, the ritualistic cleaning of Noah and Marion, the white sheets and clothes—all of it—but the likelihood is that the woman ritualized these as she was made to participate in the disposal act. These things might've helped her to cope as she grew attached to the men that she was forced to take care of."
"So it might be her that we appeal to, then," Emily said.
Aaron shook his head. "Yes, but I think publicizing that there's a female partner might be too premature at this point. What we need to do is continue gathering evidence, look into the break-in angle, and publicize that there's a dark SUV or truck involved with this."
"I can work with PI and get on that," Jennifer said.
"Are we fine to pick back up on all of this in the morning, Agent Alvez?" Aaron asked, looking at his watch.
"It works for me," Luke answered. "Information is still trickling in on all ends."
—
But in the following days, the investigation unfurled in ways they hadn't expected.
There were many records of break-ins around the dates of Marcus' escape, but very few led to what they suspected was his involvement. At a reasonable hour, the agents split ground and went to interview the most viable households.
They looked into female SUV and truck owners. They looked into women buying loads of cleaning products, and the list was large. They looked into lists of women who filed battery charges, but thought, more appropriately, that it would be best to look into hospital records. The woman might not be assertive enough to file a report, but she might have made hospital or clinic visits. It was a lot to wade through—given all of the other parameters they had to work with for the male perpetrator—but they looked for any overlap.
They looked into men whose relatives served in the Vietnam War—fathers, uncles, cousins—and where there might be existing records of family abuse, knowing well that some of those records were analog. In doing this searching, they made comparisons to their findings from months ago.
Jennifer was in front of the cameras again by the late morning, updating the public that a dark-colored SUV or truck may be involved with the abductions. Per Aaron, there was no announcement that they were looking for a male and female couple. This was proprietary information; if it got out, it might lead to a pre-mature murder if the current victim—if Spencer—was still alive. Once again, the picture of the newest composite sketch and a photograph of the facial reconstructions of Victim C and E was shared with the public, as well as the two mustangs.
False and fake tips came in, and these were followed through rigorously.
The broadcast was played over and over in the following hours and days, and the internet teemed with theories and comments ranging from how inept the FBI was to how evasive and skilled the perpetrators were to how the perpetrators must feel things closing in on them.
The last was worrisome, for the agents feared that the unsubs might be feeling the pressure and do something drastic—if they still had a victim.
LATE MONDAY
Late Monday afternoon, Cece was buying a coffee and a late lunch at her local café. While she waited, she peeled her eyes away from her phone and looked at the morning news report. She personally hated looking at the news, and found it too depressing, given the lowered morality standards, breeches of justice enacted by those sworn to uphold the law, and other negativity. She avoided it at all turns wherever she could.
"Thanks for that weather update, Patricia. Onto our next subject: the FBI continues to seek the assistance of the public, again asking for the help of New Jersey and beyond. The Linen Assassin investigation has additional evidence to share with the public, and they've raised the reward from $15,000 to $20,000 for any information."
Ah, yes. Interest in that investigation continued to brew over in Sussex County. She knew about it, of course, and the only reason she perked her ears from time to time was because it involved Stokes State Forest. She was familiar with the area, as was her husband and her son. They used to go there often. While it was surely sad, it wouldn't truly concern her. Her son didn't fit victimology, and he was off somewhere or another doing good for people.
"As you know, there was additional information on Friday evening, with yet another composite sketch of someone related to the case. Now they're adding that there is a third vehicle that might be involved. Let's take a look at the broadcast from yesterday."
Cece's eyes flitted up at the television, and there was a younger, blonde woman named Jennifer Jareau of the FBI on the screen, giving details about the case, mentioning the vehicles, and mentioning that there would be a monetary reward for anyone who could procure information about these things. And then she showed the composite sketch from Friday.
Cece started. "Oh my god."
"Ma'am, here's your coffee."
"Please, please—could you please turn up the volume?"
The volume ticked up, and Cece's eyes widened as the description was shared about the person in the composite sketch.
"—currently a person of interest and we believe this man is connected to this investigation. Again, according to witnesses, he's in his mid to late twenties, stands at about five foot ten, has light auburn hair, blue eyes, has a notable scar on his face, coarse facial hair, and he speaks with a noticeable impediment."
"Oh my god. Oh god." Cece's hands flew over her mouth, breathing heavily as the FBI agent went on.
"—last seen in a five-mile area of Dover, New Jersey."
Cece swallowed as her hands flew down to her back pocket, and she pulled out her phone, calling her husband.
"Brad, Brad—oh my god, Brad," she began as soon as her husband picked up.
"Cece, what is it?"
"Connor. Brad, it's Connor. On the news, Brad. On the news! It's Connor!"
"Ma'am, your coffee and sandwich are done?"
"What're you talking about, Cece? Calm down."
Cece grabbed her things, giving the barista a nod of thanks before exiting the cafe and rushing to the parking lot.
"That . . . that Linen Assassin Stokes State Slayer thing the FBI's been further north for. The sketch of the person they think is involved. That's Connor."
—
"Agent Alvez." A deputy walked into the conference room, where Penelope, Derek, Luke, and Alex sat, going through various folders. "We just got a call on the tip line—someone who claims to know the person in the composite sketch. They claim it's their son."
Everyone got to action.
Cece and Bradley Gaines, the people claiming to be the parents, were in the precinct within two hours. As directed, they also brought in personal items of their son that they were sure had his DNA—an old toothbrush, and a keepsake baby tooth.
The BAU was covering all bases after what happened with Zachary Bridges.
Before they even started the interview, the parents gave the evidence to the officers, who were going to drive down with lights flashing to get these things to the needed facility for expedited DNA results.
As soon as Luke saw the couple, suspicion pricked him. Derek's expression belied the same suspicion when he, too, walked into the room. "Mr and Mrs Gaines," Luke began, sitting in front of the couple. "Thanks for being able to assist us with this investigation."
Cece looked ill and was unable to stop shaking. Her husband, Bradley, had his arm around his wife. "Listen. I don't know how Connor can be involved with any of this," she said as she pulled out her phone. She showed them a picture of her son, whose semblance to the man in the composite sketch—minus the scar, the hair length, and the facial hair—was uncanny.
"Connor's a good person," Bradley continued. "We know he's not involved with this."
"When's the last time that you were in communication with your son?"
"We talked back in June—on his birthday."
"Where does he live?"
Cece shook her head. "Because of the nature of his work, his only permanent address is ours—he otherwise is given lodging at hotels through his company."
"What does he do for work?"
"He's an interpreter for highly sensitive cases dealing with trauma patients. He travels throughout the states, into Canada, Puerto Rico, the Caribbean Islands, and southeast Asia."
"Does he travel often?"
"Oh, exclusively."
"You mentioned that you last spoke to Connor back in June, ma'am?" Derek asked, to which Cece nodded. "Can you describe his demeanor to us?"
"Oh." Cece shook her head. "Oh, no. It was—we texted."
"On his birthday?"
"It wasn't abnormal," Cece responded. "For the past few years, he's been so busy. I mean, we used to Skype a lot and have video calls, but the last time we had a video call, he told us that he was out of the country and that a new project might be coming up. If things went well, he'd try to visit us in a couple of weeks and discuss some important things with us. If not, then he might be gone for months, or however long it might take for the project to come to a close."
Bradley nodded. "Radio silence for about two months after that, and from then on, he's only ever texted us. Told us the traveling was making it hard to get a good connection or that he was just busy with work."
"And you don't know the nature of where his projects would take him?" Derek asked.
"No. It wasn't until after the projects that he was ever able to tell us at least where he had gone because they were often sensitive and had strict NDA clauses."
"How long since this has been going on, these texts instead of the video calls?"
Cece shifted in her seat, and her eyes drew away for a moment as her eyebrows ticked up. She cleared her throat.
"It's, um, been a few years."
Derek sat back. "A few years. When's the last time he visited you?"
To this, Cece sighed again. "He travels a lot, Agent Morgan. He's not visited us in years. We'd hoped that we'd be able to see him back in '09, but"—she shrugged—"the work." And then she flashed a brief smile. "He started working before he'd even graduated college."
"Are you three estranged?"
Cece furrowed her brows, features contorting like she'd eaten something distasteful. "No. Not at all. We just don't interfere with his life, not anymore, at least. We know that we can't video call him at risk of disturbing him during his work, which is unpredictable, so we just always wait on him."
"Was there violence in the household growing up?"
Cece's expression was of confusion and barely concealed offense. "What?" she gasped out. "No! Absolutely not."
"Five, six months . . ." Derek lowered his jowls. "You gotta admit. That's a long time to go without talking to a parent if things are okay between you guys. I'm sure you agree. Not visiting home for all those years—that isn't normal, either."
"No, agent, it isn't, but I promise you—he was invaluable to his company and utilized at all opportunities."
"Did he ever have a violent temperament?"
Bradley's face, too, contorted. "No!"
"Did he have a predilection for stealing?"
Cece tilted her head at the two agents and then steeled her expression. "What are you implying?"
"Did Connor have any particular vices? Drugs? Alcohol?"
Bradly began pulling away from his wife as his shoulders squared. "Whoa, whoa, what—"
"How dare you. How dare you." Cece went rigid. "Agent Alvez, Agent Morgan. Of all the people to be asking me"— she had a flat hand pointed at herself—"this question." Her irritation was understandable. "There wasn't a time when I didn't have to remind my son of the dangers the world posed to him because of people who didn't like who or what he is, just for simply existing. You both should know a thing or two about that. I've taught my son the dangers of potential false accusations that would be hurled at him based on stereotypes. And this is what's all happening right now." She shook her head. "I won't stand for it."
"Mr and Mrs Gaines, this has nothing to do with race or creed or anything," Luke reasoned in an unwavering tone, "The last time your son was seen, he was in an area that's known for drug distribution and selling, just a few miles from here."
"What?" her voice gasped out. "When?"
"In the fall of 2009, ma'am."
Cece shook her head. "No. He was . . . no. He wasn't even in the country."
"A little off hand, Mrs Gaines," Derek started, "But is Connor familiar with Stokes State Forest at all?"
Cece's lashes fluttered and just as she was bumbling to speak, her husband put out his hand, stopping her. "I don't at all like what you're implying, agents." Bradley spoke, irate. "Our son isn't involved in this crime."
Derek, who noticed all of this, started. "We ask if your son had an inclination to steal," he began, "because evidence from this very investigation is showing that Connor is linked to a vehicle that was stolen in the fall 2009. Your son was last seen with that car in that area known for drug distribution and selling."
"What? Oh my g—what? No."
"We're simply following the evidence, and we're just trying to gain insight into who your son was and make the connections," Derek finished. "If anything, we want to know how we can rule out his involvement with something nefarious, but the reality is that he's involved."
"You're doing a shitty job of ruling him out," Cece hissed. "He isn't involved." With a note of finality, she shook her head again and stood up. "No. This is libel. Let me tell you a few things about my son, agents. Connor is a good man. And he's never let anything in his life deter him from doing and being his best. Not anything. My son is no thief, and he does not—do—drugs."
On that, Cece was wrong, but neither Derek nor Luke would argue with her. They were keeping their mouths shut and allowing her emotional state to reveal more about Connor than she might if she had a clearer head.
No one wanted to get down to the matter of this case more than they and the families involved. No one wanted to know more than they how Connor fit into this.
"He helps people—because he wants them to have every chance at healing and success, because he knows what it's like to be looked down upon, not just because of his race but also because he has what people consider a disadvantage, which he does not have."
At this point, Bradley also stood, and he took his wife's hand to help keep her calm. "Babe. Cece."
But she went on: "He had to work three times as hard his whole life to be where he is, wherever that may be at the moment , and I won't take you maligning my son in this way."
"Cece. Stop," was Bradley's command. "Let's . . . just stop." He turned to Derek and Luke. "We'll be contacting our lawyer if Connor's name is at all connected to these crimes. We're done here."
—
"You caught all of that?" Luke peeked into the observation room.
Alex was standing with her arms crossed, head tilted, lips pursed, and eyes squinting.
"The gears in your head are movin', Blake."
"You know—what Cece said," Alex began, as she walked from the observation room and stepped toward the conference room, where Penelope was doing a background check on Connor Gaines. "There's just this itch . . . in my brain."
"What kind of itch?" Luke asked.
"Aberdeen said that the person that had the Mustang—if he and Connor are the same—had a speech impediment, right?"
"Yeah?" Luke answered.
"And that he was really heavy on the eye contact."
"Yeah." Luke nodded. "Yeah, I remember that. What about it?"
"Let's say that we're dealing with the same person. He didn't talk much. Cece says that Connor's an interpreter for trauma patients? That he's heavily utilized, he had to fight against people judging him for what they would consider a disadvantage. Had to work three times as hard. I know that working doubly as hard might be referring to the colloquially known black tax. But three times as hard? What slims a person's margin even more than their race?"
"What're you thinking, Blake?" Derek asked.
"Cece also mentioned that they often had video calls. She mentions texting, and she mentions video calls." Alex tilted her head in the other direction. "Call me crazy, but when I put all of these factors together, I think that Connor's deaf or hard of hearing, and that when he was dealing with Aberdeen, he might have been relying on lip-reading, which accounts for the heavy eye-contact. It's learned behavior for some deaf or hard-of-hearing people."
Luke considered it. "That's not far off at all, actually."
"Miss Owl, you are one very smart cookie," Penelope gasped out, looking at some of the results of her searching. "Connor Gaines' driver's license indicates that he's deaf. And his license application form indicates profound hearing loss in one ear, and severe hearing loss in the other."
Alex shook her head, affecting that smile that she would give when frustrated. "It's Sign language."
"What about it?" Luke asked. "I know Sign language and I'm not seein' what you're—"
"I think Sign language is what ties this all together." She then pointed to one of the boards with the autopsy and burial-site photos of all the murdered victims. Her hand circled. "Think about it—Spencer thought in the early stages of all of this that this had to do with sensory deprivation. The hands, the tongue, the eyes, and the cotton in Noah's ears—these can be seen as the senses, yes, but these all have to do with speech and communication in the visual sense verses auditory listening. It was right in front of us this whole time. Marcus' speech resulted in violence. The woman told him that it was nice when he didn't speak. She would know when he needed something—perhaps because she would rely on intuition or body language. His teeth were removed—twice—when he said something off-color."
"Oh my god," Derek murmured.
"The unidentified Victim F . . . his head was completely missing," Alex proposed. "We thought it might be a forensic countermeasure because of something identifiable, like a burr hole or something surgical."
"Yeah."
"So what if he was deaf too? What if the identifiable thing was a cochlear implant? This doesn't just slim the victim pool. These implants have serial numbers, and they would give us the exact victim."
"Oh my god," Penelope gasped. "Guys. Alex, if you're right, this is big. Huge."
"But how is this connected to Noah, or to Zachary? Or even Agent Reid?" Luke asked. "Nothing in their records indicates that they're deaf?"
Derek swallowed, and a hint of hurt flashed on his face. "So maybe it doesn't have to do with being deaf," he suggested. "Maybe knowing and speaking Sign was good enough to attract the unsubs. And maybe this is the missing piece from victimology that we hadn't made the connection to months ago."
"I take it you would like me to cross search missing males who are blond, deaf, and who have cochlear implants," Penelope said.
"That would be a perfect place to start," Alex responded. "In the meantime, I think we need to speak to Mrs Turner, Dana Bridges, and the Knowles family. I'll check with Trisha to confirm if Marcus knows any ASL."
—
Penelope delved into a deep well of people country-wide who met the parameter she was searching for, and the results were coming up dry. Yes, there were some missing, but the ages didn't quite fit, with some being far too young, and some being too old.
However, the Sign language theory quickly gained traction. Mrs Turner was called. After having a brief conversation with Derek, she confirmed that Noah knew Sign language to a proficient but not fluent level because Sonja had genetic progressive hearing loss, although she was verbal. He had learned over the years of their dating. Mrs Turner was also sure to let Derek and the rest of the team know that she and Sonja were grateful for the gifts that they had received.
Derek was livid—not with anyone, but rather with himself. "It was in front of my face, man," he said to Luke, his voice gritting out.
"What was?"
"That figurine on Noah's bedside table." Derek shook his head. "That painting hanging above his bed. I couldn't forget what they looked like if I wanted to. Both works of art were of hands, and Sonja made them. I didn't suspect anything."
"Hey, don't do this to yourself, man. You didn't know," Luke said.
Dana Bridges answered her call as well, and she was able to confirm with Alex that both she and Zachary had been learning Sign language because Chelsea, his half-sister, had been born deaf due to her mother's alcoholism and drug habits. It was one of the reasons he'd been denied early on in his attempts to adopt her—because he didn't know it at all before.
Like the screws in the tires, these new understandings about the victims shone a significant light on the investigation, and they felt that they cracked something wide open. Knowing Sign language—whether they were deaf or not, whether they were proficient or not—was what connected these victims to each other. The team didn't know when the point of unsub-to-victim contact was, but this was all they needed to know.
Derek called Marion's family and confirmed that Marion didn't know Sign language, which was to be expected since he was a pawn in a much larger scheme. Trisha confirmed that Marcus also didn't know Sign Language.
Of all the things that wounded them most, it was knowing that Spencer had been targeted by this unsub couple because he was becoming more accustomed to expressing himself with Sign language due to his trauma.
"Marcus fits here somewhere, though," Alex murmured. "Not sure how."
"If these unsubs are playing out some kind of fantasy, perhaps Marcus looks like someone they know," Luke suggested. "Didn't you guys theorize early in the case that these unsubs had changed Noah's appearance to look like someone?"
"Mm, yes," Alex agreed. "The blond hair. Being blond might have . . . that might have attracted the woman to him in some manner. We're finding that the majority of these other identified victims are either deaf, hard of hearing, or that they at least know ASL, so this is the main factor of the victimology. Marcus may be another outlier, just like Victim D. It might have merely been because he was injured. It might have been timing."
"Pretty sure that Connor is Victim D by the way," Derek said. "Let's not deny that."
Luke lowered his jowls and nodded.
"I'm pretty sure he is, yeah," Alex agreed. "Cece's black and Bradley's white. Genetic phenotyping indicated that Victim D was of mixed African and European descent. And it fits timeline wise, that he might have ended up at the unsubs sometime before May, considering that Aberdeen saw him in fall of '09."
"We just have to figure out how he ended up wherever Marcus was kept," Luke said. "The dude lied to his parents about being out of the country for some reason."
"Unfortunately, the Gaineses are put off with us at the moment," Derek mumbled. "Which sucks 'cause Connor just might be our most important victim—the one who's closest to our unsubs."
Alex set to getting the digital forensics techs to delve through the surveillance videos from when the team was originally in New Jersey in April to find any glimpses of when she and Spencer had spoken in Sign together.
—
Jennifer, Emily, David, and Aaron, who were up to date on the developments, were looking through folders and folders, manning the tip lines, and calling the forensics lab without letup to get confirmation on the items sent to them. These things usually took days because of backlogs—they were looking to get results in hours. They were following up with precincts around all the train stations on the rail lines that Luke had mentioned. They were interviewing the homes of people who reported break-ins, measuring out their proximity to train stations, and trying to find connections.
Penelope dug into the life of Connor Gaines in whatever capacity she could. "I hate it when people don't have an active social life," she groused. "My snooping yields little results when people don't have social media, and Connor Gaines was a private platypus. No dead Xanga or MySpace, no Facebook, Twitter, Instagram—nothing. Baby boy had the teeniest digital footprint ever. I hate it!"
Derek squeezed Penelope's shoulders. "Okay, but what do you have on him, mama?"
"Medical records are showing that he contracted bacterial meningitis when he was four and that's what caused the deafness. He attended a renowned school for the Deaf in Trenton. He went off to Gallaudet University in DC after graduating from the High School program. In college, he studied in the department of Social Work undergraduate program with a minor in Ethics. Graduated in 2006. From there he was an interpreter in high-profile cases for hospital and psychiatric trauma patients who were deaf, non-verbal, or hard of hearing. Expenses did show that for over two years after he graduated, he was constantly on the move, traveling to other states and countries for his work, sometimes for months at a time. By early spring of '09, though, I'm not seeing any records of travel. Termination of his job at that time. I'm actually seeing that he had a cheap month-to-month apartment in Newark. Payment for that begins to lapse by early summer. By late summer of '09, his bank account was nearly depleted."
"Maybe that explains what Aberdeen said about him," Luke said.
"Which part?" Derek asked.
"Aberdeen said that the dude seemed like he was tryin' to use drugs to shut out a lot of bad stuff."
Alex ticked her head. "Mm." She nodded. "Mm-hm. Dealing with trauma patients eventually wears on a person. When one translates for these kinds of patients, they have to put themselves in their shoes and not only sympathize with their horror but emote it, too. Leverage that against the clinical response of the doctors or nurses taking care of these patients or their frustration at not being able to convey things to their patients, and it creates this push-pull since a person in Connor's shoes has to be the voice for both ends. Eventually, a person might develop what's called vicarious trauma. This could be what started the drug abuse, the need to escape."
"Sounds about right," Derek murmured.
"Aberdeen seems like he's very good at judging a person's character," Luke said. "He said that it seemed like Connor was new to the drug scene—that he'd not been using them for more than half a year or so."
"Well, seems like he might've been spot on."
TUESDAY–WEDNESDAY
By late Tuesday afternoon and with the use of expedited DNA testing, there was a match. Connor Gaines was indeed Victim D. Considering how badly things had ended with the Gaineses, the team of agents was reluctant to have to tell the parents that Connor had been involved in this whole investigation but as a victim and not a perpetrator. That, and he was also the most important victim based on the manner of his burial.
Luke and Derek took it upon themselves to drive down to the Gaineses home, a near hour drive to Glen Ridge.
"Cece said that they've texted over the years though," Luke started as he drove down. "They texted back in June on his birthday. So the unsubs kept up that line of communication. How does that work?"
"What do you mean?"
"Unpaid phone bills? He'd've been cut off from his services after a while, right? Kid was broke."
Penelope found the answer for that quickly after they called her:
"Again. It bears repeating that I hate when people don't have an active social life. Connor lived in the dark ages. I'm not seeing in his records that he had a regular phone service. His phone number is registered to a prepaid service and has been for years. I'm trying to track it and am coming up short 'cause the internet has taught people how to easily use VPNs to mask their internet history and locations."
Derek spoke up. "But we should be able to at least track—"
"The registered pins are from prepaid-service cards all purchased in a few weeks' span in late 2009 in New Jersey and Pennsylvania in various locations, and frankly I'm tired of people who are competent enough to do basic research and use the simplest evasive measures that trickle into huge-enough impenetrable walls that I can't see over or get past. I literally do not have the power to go beyond when those purchases were made because even though they were made in cash, records for these purchases are gone because of limited statutes on them. That's it. The trail ends. Good bye."
And the call ended abruptly.
"Oof." Luke winced. "So she's just normally a spitfire, hmm? I thought it was a one time thing back in August."
"She's one of a kind, man."
Luke laughed. "Yeah, I see it."
"So the unsubs just paid for Connor's phone service?" Derek supplied. "A huge risk. But they knew Connor well enough to communicate with his parents for years. They went out of their way to do that. Which means that they know Connor's parents, too."
"He's literally the linchpin to all of this."
"Mm-hmm."
—
As to be naturally expected, Cece and Bradley didn't take the news well at all. Their son—whom they had been communicating with sporadically for nearly four years—was, in fact, dead, and they had been communicating with his murderers. Consumed with grief and with indignation, they weren't amenable at the moment to provide additional information. It was a major setback for the investigation.
The team received a call from Derek and Luke while they were traveling back to the precinct.
"We need surveillance on them," Derek suggested. "Not only do we have to see how they might react, but they also might lead us directly to our unsubs."
"The unsubs haven't communicated with the Gaineses for over five months," Jennifer said. "Depending on his service, even if we were to obtain a subpoena for their phones through their service company, records sometimes are good for ninety days at best. We need the Gaines' cooperation to actually obtain their phones."
"This sucks," Emily hissed.
"Why wait?" Penelope asked. "These are things I can get easily."
"Garcia," Aaron chided. Erin's threat, the looming one of the Director, was ever present. Not when they were so close could they do something so dangerous and irresponsible. Not when they were so close could they jeopardize their ability to end this and make it clean. No.
"We're going to find these people. We are. And when we do, I don't want any unlawfully obtained evidence to be thrown out or found inadmissible during adjudication. I want everything to stick."
Penelope, feeling chastised, looked down.
"I want people's cooperation. We don't know how the Gaineses align in all of this, where their alliances are, or how the scales can tip. For right now, we table this, see what we can dig up, and we give the Gaineses a couple of days to come to terms with this. They're inevitably going to seek answers. They've been communicating with their son's murderers."
"That's good and all, Hotch," Emily started, "but nothing prevents them, at this point, from trying to open the lines of communication with the unsubs." She shook her head, and there was a passing hint of desperation that fell under her steeled expression in the next second. "If Reid's still alive, that puts his life in danger. If the Gaineses reach out to them through Connor's phone, that tells the unsubs that we're closing in on them."
"Oh god." Penelope murmured, hand braced on her stomach. "I hate this. I hate this. What do we do, sir? What do we do?"
"We remain calm, we continue digging, and I think now is the time that we appeal to the unsubs through the media. To the woman, at least. Emily's prediction is the most likely outcome: Cece and Bradley are going to reach out to the unsubs. So there won't be any point for us to withhold from the public that one of the unsubs is a woman. It may well be the woman who was communicating with them and that she was doing so out of guilt. She may be the one who provides the drugs to these victims as a way to help them escape from their torment. In the meantime, Luke, we need to get a warrant for their phones."
"I can get right on that, yeah."
—
» who is this
» wht have you done
to my son
» u bastards u damn
bastards. U go
straight to hell for
wht u did to my son
» u fucking cowards
» pick up the phone u
cowards. I want to
hear ur voice u
damn coward.
» I want to hear the
voice of the person
who killed my baby
» Please, please just
tell us what you've
done to Connor.
» Please, pick up the
phone.
» Why have you
done this to us?
What have we done
to you?
» Please, we just
want to talk.
» Please pick up.
» Do you have any
children?
—
Jennifer appeared before the public.
"Throughout the course of this investigation, some oversights have caused us to misunderstand the profile of the two perpetrators of this crime. New and vital information has come to light. It's now our understanding that the perpetrators that we're looking for are not two men, but a man and woman. As of now, we can confirm that the woman is white and that she may or may not own or drive a dark-colored SUV or pickup truck. We're unsure of the extent of her participation in the violent aspect of these crimes, but she is complicit, whether by force or of her own volition."
Jennifer looked into the cameras. She'd done this years ago as a voice on the radio, appealing to someone who she couldn't sympathize with. Today, still, she couldn't. She couldn't see how she could sympathize with this woman or how she couldn't judge the things she'd done.
But she would do it. She would try to have compassion. If Spencer was alive, it would mean his life.
"We're sure that at this moment, you're feeling pressure—from outside sources and from a place and person with whom you should be finding safety. We implore you not to do anything drastic with yourself or with your victim if he is still being taken care of by you. What you're doing is noble. We thank you for returning Marion Knowles in the manner that you did many months ago. We know you didn't want to hurt him. We know that you only care for the men that are under your care.
"At this moment, whatever walls you feel closing in, there is hope. Whatever you've been made to do to feel powerless, you do have the power to end this. Our tip line is anonymous, and you can approach us through it. We can provide you safety. If you're still with the victim you've taken months ago, you can end whatever suffering he's being put through. We know that you do what you can to alleviate that. If"—her voice faltered, her face reddened, heat built behind her eyes—"If he's no longer with you, we can still help you. We can protect you from your partner. Please, end this. You can end this."
—
The searching, finding, digging, weeding, and interviewing was intense. There were potential couples that the team was looking at, and they dug into the lives of the ones that were high on their list.
It went on for a few hours into the late evening.
"My search for Victim F is running a little dry, Jaydge," Penelope said, frustrated with herself. "I need additional parameters to run against."
"Well maybe, like Zachary Bridges, we shouldn't be looking for missing people," Jennifer reasoned. "We're so focused on those who are reported missing that we're forgetting about those who just disappear without getting reported."
"Okay, so—okay." Penelope's fingers moved. "Okay so here I beg in, with the total number of people with cochlear implants in the states being around 96,000. Okay, so weeding out the women and children, that—"
"No, leave the children. We don't know when the cochlear implant was initially installed. He could have been a child at the time."
"Okay, keeping in the men and male children, we're looking at 52,350 males. Weeding, weeding, weeding. Okay, about 33,000 who are white. Mmkay, 9,750 who are blonde. Now I'm curious to know about the statistics on these things and what the demographic and income bracket is."
"Save it for another time, Garcia."
"Of course. I'm gonna say, born between 1975 and 1990 just in case. That still leaves us with 2,755 names. And—"
"And remove those with death certificates."
"I was gettin' there, chickadee," Penelope said as her fingers continued to move. "Okay, those who are still alive, that's 2,005 names."
"Okay." Jennifer peered over Penelope. "Why don't we try narrowing to the northeastern states for now? Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, Maine."
"Okay, 702 names."
Jennifer stood straight, clasping her hand under her neck as she tilted her head. The victim was somewhere in there. She pulled out her phone, calling Alex, who wasn't in the precinct. "Alex, hey, you're on speaker phone."
"Hey Alex." Penelope spoke up for her colleague to hear.
"Ladies," Alex returned. "What's up?"
"We're trying to narrow the list of blond males with cochlear implants, Alex, and we need something that really narrows our field. We're striking air with the missings. Is there anything else you can tell us about cochlear implants that you think would be helpful? Like do they have a shelf life or something? I don't know the last thing about them."
"Hmm, well, cochlear implants are a lifetime commitment," Alex said, voice lilting. "Usually within the first year of getting the implants, a person should be seeing an audiologist every three to six months, and ideally yearly after that. It's ideal, but not everyone will follow through with the yearly test fitting. Maybe check against clinics of males who haven't checked in for those appointments within the last few years?"
Penelope's fingers moved over her keyboard, and in moments she gasped. "Shut the front door—you win all the awards today!"
"It helped?"
Jennifer shook her head in disbelief. "Alex, you just helped narrow a list down of 702 potential people down to eighteen in the few states we were looking, and only two are in New Jersey."
"One of them lives right in Morristown," Penelope added.
"That town is becoming our prime focus, it seems," said Alex. "What's his name?"
"Austin White, 31 years old. He missed his scheduled appointment two years in a row—since 2011."
"Send me the address, Derek and I are almost done here, and we can check things out."
—
While Alex and Derek drove toward Austin White's street, Penelope and Jennifer put on the coffee and delved into Austin's life and called everyone else who was out in the field.
"Austin's been a Jersey resident all of his life," Penelope started. "Since he was four, he grew up in and aged out of a foster group home in Millburn. He got a cochlear implant when he was three years old. He's also got something called cortical visual impairment, so he's like on the brink of legal blindness. Complications at birth caused this all."
"He stayed in the foster group home his whole life?" Alex was unable to hide her chagrin.
"Yeah; poor thing," Penelope answered.
Jennifer was rifling through his records, which Penelope had uploaded to an iPad. "Records are showing that while he was a mild-tempered boy, he was extremely withdrawn. He went through a slew of behavioral therapy to help this for a few years until he was an early teen. He didn't last long at all in foster homes. Ugh, this is a shame. He was shuffled around and kept ending up back at the same group home."
"I'm looking at Austin's . . . phone records, bills, statements, everything," Penelope started. "His grades across the board were exceptional—earned scholarships aplenty, but he didn't even take a whole semester of studies in a local community college before dropping out."
"What does he do?" Derek's voice came through the phone.
"I say, Be still my heart," Penelope began, "because he's a programmer who brings in crazy bank."
"A crazy rich lonely person, though," Jennifer added, swiping through everything. "He doesn't have social media, I see a lot of bills for home deliveries from food companies and from supermarkets, a slew of online purchases . . ."
"He probably had social anxiety," Emily suggested.
"Oh, yeah, you're not wrong," Jennifer responded. "Records show that he was diagnosed with social anxiety disorder . Which makes sense about the dropping out of college part. He was only ever homeschooled at his foster group home by its overseer, Eleanor Clarke—he didn't go into the public school system."
"Well he started therapy again when he was twenty-five, looks like they were over the phone, and stopped two years later. And I am seeing some local in-store purchases in his later records, but usually in the late evenings."
"So, looks like he was trying to venture out in the public," Luke mentioned. "He was trying to reassimilate or somethin' when less people were around."
"Mm-hmm. Okay, so none of his bills have lapsed into late payments because he had them connected to his bank and not to his cards. This guy has over a hundred thou in his savings, and has about thirteen-k in his checking account. But. According to his bank card statements, his last food-related purchase wasn't made at home. He was in the Morristown plaza area on August 20, 2010."
"Okay?"
"Oh, and my heart. He wires almost $1,500 a month to the group home he grew up in. The darling."
"So he held onto ties from his youth."
"Mm."
And then after a series of clacks, Penelope hummed in confusion. "Huh."
"What is it?"
"So his last in-store purchase was in August 2010, yeah?" Penelope murmured. "We can assume that he was abducted soon after that, right? He has vet records starting in fall of 2008. He has a dog license, and his dog, Ginger, is registered as an emotional support animal."
"Why is that strange?" Emily asked.
"Because if this is Victim F, then something hinky is going on. Why did he report to his vet in April of 2011 that his dog had died?"
"Huh."
"See? My thoughts exactly."
—
Austin's home was tucked away from wandering eyes, at the very end of a suburban street.
"Why do I have a feeling that this kid deliberately looked for a place like this?" Derek asked as they sauntered up the walkway, where the grass and bushes were well trimmed.
"Look at this," Alex waved her hand. "You're a quiet neighbor who's isolated, and you live in an HOA, so you all get the same lawn and maintenance care as everyone else. You're gone for a month or two? Who cares, as long as your home keeps up the standards of the other surrounding homes. But three years?"
"He was just that outta touch with his neighbors, then, which is a damn shame. Didn't help that he pocketed enough money to keep up with bills, so no one had to check him, no foreclosure, nothin'. The unsubs took a good victim in him."
"They must have stalked him, then. And the rare chance that he goes out in his later years in the evenings, he catches the eye of his abductors."
"Or they came to him." As Derek reached the door and as he reached forward to ring the bell, he pointed to an unobtrusive sign under it that read Please deliver all packages to the back door.
Alex ticked her head. "Hm. That's possible. Repair services, the maintenance crew, delivery people, lawn services . . . These are possibilities."
"Mail slot on the front door, so there's no mailbox to get jammed up."
They went to the back and found nary a package buildup. They expected a couple, at least.
"I'm very curious about the dog, though," Alex said. "Maybe Austin's not a victim. We could be wrong and it's all just coincidence."
"After the accident, when you were in the hospital, we figured that the unsubs might have been keeping tabs on Zachary's place even after he was abducted, right? Possibly to intercept his mail. Specifically regarding an ordinance he'd receive for getting his car towed from the overlook off of Route 80. Except Zachary had a post office box."
"Okay?"
"Coulda done the same thing here. Say these unsubs abducted Austin when he's out? He's walking his dog. He's got his keys on him. If they stalked him, then they know where he lives. Or even if they didn't stalk him, he probably took some ID with him."
Alex walked to a window, cupped her hand over her eyes, and peered in. The nighttime darkness gave her little to see, so she shone her flashlight through the window. "Well, Derek, I take back what I said. I think we need to call back-up and get in here."
"What's going on there, Alex?"
"This guy's house is immaculate, and yet the amount of mail scattered around the front door is staggering, there are a few packages sitting right in the kitchen, and all his plants are dead and dry."
—
Everything in the bare condo was covered in a fine layer of dust, plants were dried up and drooped over, the fridge was stocked with food so rotten that they had hardened, and some of the pantry items had long expired.
Hallmarks of abandonment.
In his office was a vivarium with a long-dead reptile in it.
Alex, Derek, and the CSI went through everything. Dusting was being done meticulously. There was open mail found within the pile under the slot with their contents missing. From his bathroom, a toothbrush and a comb with his hair were taken, and these were going to be submitted for DNA testing, though they were sure of what the results would be.
There was a set calendar on his work desk scheduling nearly every part of his daily life. On the last entry—coinciding with the day that Penelope mentioned he made a last purchase—he wrote one thing:
Explore The Green with Ginger.
According to neighbors, The Green was a colloquial name given to the central Morristown area.
Austin's neighbors barely knew him aside from being a quiet person. There was almost no interaction. But since he had gotten his dog, an energetic red-haired husky, he had begun venturing out more—especially in the late evening hours out of necessity of the dog's maintenance schedule and because he was trying to assimilate more. The stores that he ordered his food from said the same thing—that he was very quiet, but that he was a generous tipper.
David and Luke drove down to Millburn and bothered the foster home overseer at the ungodly hour of 11:45pm. Eleanor Clarke, a kind, motherly woman in her sixties, seemed worried that Austin might be missing. There had to be some affinity there for him to feel behooved to send money to the foster home every month.
In speaking to her, they got the sense that she had taken it upon herself to look after his education and care for him. She sent him a kind, hand-written letter every month for his generous donation to the foster home. Alex and Derek later corroborated this after looking through his mail.
Mrs Clarke also confirmed that Austin was fluent with Sign language and preferred it to verbal speech, which he had difficulty with throughout the years and which contributed to his severe social anxiety.
By Wednesday afternoon, DNA testing confirmed that Austin White was, indeed, Victim F.
"Maybe this explains the whole dog thing," Penelope murmured. "Which—honestly? Still confounding. Where did Ginger go? Are these cruel people animal murderers, too? Did they keep her? Set her free in the wild?"
Jennifer shook her head. Her hand was tucked around her neck and her gaze was lost. "It's unnecessary. Maybe . . . maybe there's an emotional tie here, too. But in general, this worries me."
Penelope paused and looked over at Jennifer. "Worries you? Why, baby Jay?"
"Because it seems so far that these unsubs—or one of them—not only kept these victims captive, but that they used whatever access they had to these victims' homes or personal affects. We'd theorized that they might have tried to intercept Zachary's mail, and we're finding evidence of it at Austin's home. They went out of their way to make sure that people weren't looking for these victims, or rather that they weren't suspecting anything. This kind of evasion is . . . patient, meticulous, and calculated."
"Okay?"
"Spence's bag was never found, Penelope."
Penelope's face fell. "Oh god," she whispered.
Jennifer nodded. She swiped her hands over her face and then interlaced them, tucking her knuckles under her chin. "Most of Spence's mail goes to his PO Box, thankfully, but. His bag. His wallet. His keys."
"But do you think that they were dedicated enough to go all the way down to DC, JJ? To his condo?"
Jennifer shook her head and lifted her shoulders. "I don't know, Garcia. I don't know what they could have done. It's only a three-hour drive. But they have or had his things. I don't want to think about it, honestly. I don't. I can't. The what-ifs will drive me crazy. Because if they did, then you and I—whenever we went to Spence's place, we were in the company of our unsubs."
THURSDAY MORNING
"So, sir?" Penelope started, speaking around her croissant. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and she was staring at her screen in bemusement.
"What is it?" Aaron responded.
"I've been just . . . sort of creeping on Noah's social media because Mrs Turner and Sonja update it from time to time? Like . . . Austin and Connor—they don't have social media, and I have to feed my need to know more about our victims, right? So I snoop. This is what I do, sir. Balance the scales."
"Okay?"
"And weeks ago, they started regularly posting photos of the gifts that people have been sending them. They've been thanking people for the support they've received since they came out in September with the fact that Noah was a victim of the unsubs. They took pictures of the floral arrangements, gifts, and things that have been left on their front porch or that have been delivered to them, right? I saw something and . . . I don't know what to make of it."
"What is it?" Aaron said, looking over Penelope's shoulder.
"Just . . . look at this one post." Penelope pointed to the screen.
It was a post dated from the twenty-fourth of September.
We don't know who got us this lovely gift, but this is one of the most beautiful things that I've ever laid my eyes on. Thank you to whoever sent this to us. They even gave instructions on how to keep these beautiful plants thriving. Bless. #goodlord #thiswasheavy #thanksforhelpingfrankfamily #neighborsbeingneighborly #qualitymaterial
It was a picture—taken in Mrs Turner's living room—of a massive glass and black-frame terrarium. Housed in it was an elaborate display of young fern bushes, a tree sapling, and another unidentifiable plant, all growing together in soil covered in peat moss.
"The unsubs made contact with Mrs Turner," Aaron concluded, voice rushing out as he pulled out his phone.
Mrs Turner was unable to be reached.
In the meantime, everyone tried figuring out what the third plant was for hours, looking at it online and wishing they'd had Spencer's books with them to make comparisons. They figured that the tree sapling was a birch tree and based on the leaves and what showed up online, they were right. Suddenly, the horticultural angle of this investigation was being brought back to the forefront.
"That terrarium was heavy enough for Mrs Turner to have people carry it inside for her," Emily observed. "Hashtag thanks for helping, Frank family."
Jennifer kicked her head back in understanding. "Given how meticulous these people are, the unsubs had to have delivered it personally."
"Maybe someone saw them."
"Let's get local PD to interview their neighbors," Aaron asserted.
—
If they weren't trying to reach Mrs Turner or Sonja, then they were trying to see how the lives of the victims may have converged aside from knowing Sign language.
They tried seeing how the Morristown area was such a hotbed and a ripe place for the unsubs.
Penelope's attempts to determine where Marcus had boarded a train was running dry. Her additional search of students registered at the school for the Deaf while Connor attended it to make any comparisons was yielding too much information.
She tried searching for other blond males who were also deaf who might fall under the 25-to-35 age bracket to see if she could identify Victim C, and it was yielding far too many results. Knowing that Connor was in a bad way—knowing that Victim C was a long-time drug user—also opened the possibilities that he might be homeless.
The victims of the break-ins weren't yielding fruitful results; some had moved away, others had no reports of stolen jewelry or stolen items matching Marcus' account from their homes.
Abuse reports for male relatives of Vietnam veterans only went back so far, as not all of them were digitized. Local jurisdictions were digging through the analog files to find answers.
Surveillance was being put on the homes of any viable suspects.
But it wasn't enough.
They needed more on Connor Gaines, and Cece and Bradley had yet to follow through with turning in their phones.
.
.
.
