Reid stepped out of the plane and smiled as the dry desert wind hit his face. But it also brought a twinge of sadness. 'They say you can never go home again,' he thought. And they were right. Someone else lived in his childhood home and his mother…
"It's not very warm," Morgan observed as he slipped on his sunglasses and gave Reid a gentle push to urge him on down the stair.
"It's winter, Morgan, the temperature here averages at 45 degrees in December."
"Oh."
They were being met by an FBI agent from the Las Vegas office. His name was Larry Wentworth, and he was one of the most peculiar people Reid had ever seen. He was over six feet tall, and looked like he had spent every day for the last two decades in the gym. He was in his forties, with a hairdo that rivaled Albert Einstein's, except it was bright carrot red. His eyes were an odd pale green color, almost like sea foam. He wore a very expensive, tailored suit, which clashed horribly with his unkempt hair. Added to that was a nose that looked like it had been broken repeatedly, and a very grim face. They wouldn't see him crack a smile the whole time they were in Vegas.
"Welcome to Las Vegas." His voice was incredibly deep. "Have you been here before?" Without waiting for an answer he turned around and stalked away, towards two parked cars, one with a waiting driver.
Hotchner steered Reid towards the car Wentworth would be driving, Gideon following them, leaving JJ, Elle and Morgan to take the second car.
Hotchner rode shotgun, with Reid right behind him and Gideon sat behind Wentworth as they drove into the city. Reid was torn between looking at the familiar scenes and rereading his
material.
"Our Special Agent in Command Wilmer, has put out a bulletin, to assemble representatives from all LVPD districts. You do of course realize, that if this murder takes place in a hotel, like you say it will, then it's not in a federal building and is therefore not under FBI jurisdiction. We will not be the ones who are called."
"Of course," Hotchner agreed, "But since the unsub has crossed several state lines, the case definitely falls under FBI jurisdiction, and though we'll be glad for any help that is offered, it is our case. I hope SAC Wilmer has explained this to the police."
Wentworth only grunted in response.
--
They were standing in front of a room full of not so cooperative police detectives. As Wentworth had promised, they had had a large audience, of both policemen and FBI agents. They had just spent the better part of an hour explaining the situation, sharing their profile, and showing crime scene photos, without any noticeable reactions. Reid knew that they were all seasoned homicide investigators, that had probably seen everything between heaven and earth, but he was beginning to wonder if they were even human. They had just been told that a serial killer was about to descend on their city, and they hadn't even raised an eyebrow.
Reid's part of the briefing was long over, and now JJ was finishing up her plea for them to keep this away from the press, and handing out contact information, should they hear about anything or anyone that may be pertinent to the investigation. She finished by asking, "Any questions?"
The room was suspiciously quiet as detectives pocketed the material that had been handed out without looking at it.
Reid bristled. Where was the compassion? The concern for these women? He knew this was Vegas, and he knew the crime statistics. What hotel hadn't had a couple of murders? But still…
"Do they even care? A woman is about to be murdered for no other reason than that her name is an anagram for a city and they look like we've asked them to keep an eye out for some litterer who throws gum wrappers on the street." It was meant to be a whisper to Morgan, but in his agitation it came out much louder and one of the police captains in the front looked up.
"Now, don't think us insensitive, Dr. Reid. But you've just told us that a killer is going to swoop in and commit a murder and then swoop out again, without any of us being able to catch him unless we catch him red-handed, which is highly unlikely, since nobody knows who he is, what he looks like or where he will be. And as to have my men on the look-out for anagrams? Hell, most of them can't even spell the word anagram, much less make one. We'll give you what help we can, but it doesn't seem as if there is much we can do. And we do have our own criminals to take care of."
The room was emptying, leaving only the BAU team and Wentworth who was standing in the back of the room, leaning against the wall, one foot braced against it, with his arms crossed over his massive torso, chewing gum. He had of course been expecting this reaction, Reid thought.
"All right, it's getting late. Let's get some dinner and head back to the hotel. We'll meet with Wentworth here at… 8.30 tomorrow morning to come up with a strategy." Hotchner looked at Wentworth who nodded his agreement, before leaving the room without saying goodbye.
"Pleasant man," JJ mumbled sarcastically.
Reid couldn't help but agree.
--
Morgan unlocked the hotel door and walked in, tossing his duffel bag on the bed closest to the window, calling "Dibs," as he threw himself after it, spreading out on the bed with a content groan.
"You might not want to do that," Reid said dryly.
"And why not?"
"Did you know that the DNA expert who tested the bedspread from the hotel in the Mike Tyson rape trial found over one hundred unique DNA markers on it? And none of them were Tyson's and that was a seven-hundred-and-fifty-dollars-a-night hotel room. And this is Vegas."
Morgan eyed the bedspread underneath him. "Eww… You're shittin' me, right?"
Reid shrugged, "It might just be an urban legend, but it's very credible. Think about it. How often do you wash your bedspread, compared to how often you wash your sheets?"
"What makes you think I even own a bedspread?" Morgan mumbled, as he got off the bed.
Reid just grinned mischievously at him as he used his fingertips to carefully pinch the corners of his bedspread and ease it off the bed, before getting ready for bed.
As he lay in bed, watching the neon lights shine in through the windows and listening to Morgan's even breathing, he thought about how long it had been since he'd been back here for any length of time. From outside he could hear all the familiar sounds of a city where there was always a party, a club or a poker table that would welcome you, day or night. Then his thoughts strayed to the case. Were they here to catch a killer? Or had they really just come to wait for the next crime scene? He hoped for the former, but suspected the latter. Sighing he twisted around, ending up on his stomach. Wedging an arm under the pillow he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.
--
Morgan's bed was empty when Reid's alarm sounded the next morning. A note on the pillow said that he had gone to the hotel's gym and that he would see him at breakfast. So Reid went by himself to the restaurant and discovered that he was the first of the team there. As he was surveying the breakfast buffet, trying to decide between cereal and oatmeal, a strawberry-blond waiter came up to him, carrying a fresh pot of coffee, to replace the old one.
"Good morning," he said.
Reid looked up, unsure if he had been the one addressed. "Morning," he answered.
The waiter switched the coffeepots, but didn't walk away. Instead he stood looking at Reid, a look of anticipation in his face. Reid raised an eyebrow in a quiet question. The waiter seemed to shake himself out of his stupor.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But you're Dr. Spencer Reid, aren't you?"
Reid frowned. "Do I know you?"
"No, but I've read, like, everything you have ever published! I think you are brilliant." His voice was trembling with awe.
Reid was startled. He hadn't expected this, not in a million years. He took a quick look around, to make sure no one had heard them. "Thank you," he mumbled.
"I mean, your article about the behavioral patterns of medicated schizophrenic out patients without an established social network, it was… it was… you must be like a genius, or something!"
"Or something," Reid agreed wryly.
"And you work with the FBI. I read about the Fairmount kidnappings." He lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "Was that crazy, or what? That guy was seriously messed up."
Reid really didn't want to hear anything else the man might have to say.
The waiter looked searchingly at him. "Is that why you are here? With the FBI, I mean. Are you chasing some psycho?"
Over his shoulder Reid saw Elle and JJ come in and chose a table big enough for six.
"I… uh… I have to go now," he said. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too. Wow. Good luck with the case."
"Thanks." Reid spun on his heels and hurried to the table, with nothing but a spoon and small jar of jam in his hands, all the way feeling the other man's eyes burn into his back.
Elle and JJ greeted him warmly. "Is that all you're having for breakfast?" JJ questioned.
"No, not really," Reid said, looking back at the buffet table. The waiter was gone. "Let's go get some oatmeal."
--
They had been at their temporary office for a few hours, going over their choices, and what would most likely result in finding the unsub, when one of the Las Vegas agents stuck his head in the door.
"There is something you need to see."
They went out into the bullpen, where a TV was showing a local news station.
"…in nine different states over the last year. And now, the Las Vegas law enforcement is holding it's breath, waiting for this brutal serial killer to strike at one of Las Vegas's many hotels. According to our information the FBI has brought in their Behavioral Analysis Unit, a profiling team that is known for finding some of the cruelest serial killers, kidnappers and rapists of our time…" A shaky picture showed the team going into the FBI office, apparently filmed only a few hours ago. "…including the infamous Fairmount kidnappings, the brutal crimes that shocked and outraged this country just a few months ago, where one of their own agents made extraordinary personal sacrifices in order to let the drama end happily for one grateful family. So far we have not been able to reach anybody at the FBI for a comment, but stay tuned for further updates."
"JJ!" Hotchner yelled.
JJ stuck her head out of the office where she had been banging her head against the wall, trying to coordinate their efforts with the police departments. She had her cell phone pressed to one ear and another phone glued to the other.
She shrugged as best as she could. "I have no idea where this came from, but I'm setting up a press conference in an hour. This is going to go national in no time and I want to stay ahead."
Hotchner nodded approvingly, as always proud of his team member's professionalism.
"So, what do you think?" Morgan asked. "Someone from the briefing yesterday?"
"No," Gideon said. "It's him. The unsub. He has been waiting for this. The fact that we are here before the murder means that we have solved his riddle. That excites him. He knows we are here, and he wants us to know that he knows."
"And put a little extra pressure on us," Elle reflected.
"And that," Gideon agreed.
--
Reid spent the next three days reading guest manifests and staff records and dodging the press, something he had become very skilled at after Fairmount. When they finally calmed down and backed off, the call came.
At 9.53 a.m. a chambermaid had found a dead woman in the Paradise Suite in the Lohan's Hotel and Casino. The police was called and the first detective at the scene took one look at the room and called Wentworth, who informed the BAU.
"Lohan's?" Reid sounded concerned.
"You know it?" Hotchner asked.
"Yeah, my mom was dating the owner, Geoffrey Lohan, for years, until she got… you know… sick. I practically grew up there." He turned to Wentworth. "The victim was a guest, right?" When Wentworth nodded, he felt a guilty sense of relief. He still knew people who worked there.
The drive over was quick, but Reid was nervously bouncing his foot against the car floor the whole time. Walking in through the magnificent lobby doors, he felt like he was twelve years old again. He hadn't been there in years. They were met in the lobby by a police captain, who happened to be the same captain that had talked back to Reid at the briefing. He nodded a greeting at them.
"I've got four detectives interviewing the staff and I have a CSI team waiting to get started, but I figured you'd want the scene uncompromised when you arrived."
"Thank you, captain."
"I'll take you up there."
The elevators were across the lobby and as they walked through the lobby, Hotchner kept looking back at Reid over his shoulder. Suddenly he stopped and turned around, effectively stopping everybody else as well.
"Are you okay?"
Reid took a half-step backwards, surprise clear in both his face and his voice.
"I'm fine."
"You are limping." It sounded like an accusation.
"What?" He looked around and saw only worried faces, then he looked down at his legs, trying to remember if he had been limping. A twinge in his little toe made itself known, and he almost laughed.
"I have new shoes and they're giving me a blister. That's all."
Hotchner looked at him, his eyes piercing Reid's, searching for the truth of the statement.
Appeased with what he saw, he turned again and started walking. But Reid could feel the people behind him stare at his leg as he walked and he felt very self-conscious.
--
The Paradise Suite consisted of a large living room with a magnificent view over the Strip and two bedrooms, but the victim had stayed there alone. Reid stood in the doorway to the largest, most luxurious bedroom, looking at the dead woman in the bed. Hotchner tapped him on the shoulder and handed him shoe covers. When he had put them on Hotchner mutely pointed to the name written on the wall.
"Atlantic City," Reid said, knowing what was being asked.
The victim's name had been Caitlin Tytac. She was 36 years old and divorced. She had lived off a generous alimony and bred show dogs. She had been in Las Vegas two days. Now she was dead.
CSI had already started processing the rest of the suite, but the bedroom was undisturbed. Except for the unsub's cleaning efforts of course. Reid could see a champagne cork and a glass on the bedside table, but no bottle or second glass. There were no towels left in the bathroom, and the soap and shampoo bottles were gone too. Could he really bring everything he had touched with him, or was he just a kleptomaniac, Reid wondered.
Reid squatted down over the footprints leading from the bed to the bathroom. They looked very clean, like the feet had been very carefully put down, so it wouldn't smudge. What was the point of the footprints, when he was so careful to clean up everything else?
Standing up he found himself staring into the face of the dead woman. He swallowed hard, looking into her lifeless eyes, wondering what the last thing she had seen had been. Had the unsub been happy or angry? Had she been scared of him?
"Guys, you've gotta come see this," Morgan called from the living room, breaking Reid out of his thoughts, returning him to the present.
He went back out into the living room, where Morgan was standing next to a coffee table. He looked up at them. "This is new."
On the table was a full ashtray, minus the cigarette butts, but that was not what Morgan was referring to. Next to it stood an envelope, propped up on a flower vase. It was simply addressed 'BAU'.
As much as their fingers were itching to pick it up and see what was inside, they knew that picking up something at a crime scene that hadn't been photographed and properly processed was a mortal sin. Hotchner waved a CSI technician over to prioritize the envelope, but he knew they wouldn't get it until late afternoon, at the earliest.
A security guard showed up at the door and Hotchner waved him in.
"Here's the information we have about the guest," he said.
Reid eyed the thin file. "Where's the rest of it?"
"This is all the information we have, sir."
"Reid?" Hotchner waited for an explanation.
"This is the Paradise Suite. You don't get into Paradise without putting down some serious floor time. She was obviously a high roller, and most likely a return guest. Lohan's has always made extensive background checks on their high rollers. But maybe not always through the most legal channels. There's got to be a much thicker file on her."
Hotchner turned to the security guard, whose facial expression would have made a Buckingham Palace guard proud. "I'm sure I don't know what he's talking about."
"We could just go and see Geoffrey Lohan," Reid said.
"I can't grant you access to see Mr. Lohan. He's a very busy man."
"Well, I know someone who can," Reid said and turning to Hotchner he said, "I'll take care of this." And then he walked out of the room.
It took Hotchner a couple of seconds to realize that he had actually left, without back-up, during an active investigation and without saying where he was going.
"Gideon," he called, and gave him a come-with-me nod. "Elle and Morgan, stick to the CSIs like glue until they are finished."
"You got it," Morgan said as they hurried out to catch up with Reid.
Reid looked at them as they caught up with him by the elevators, but he had his cell phone to his ear and it was ringing, so he didn't say anything. Neither did Hotchner, for the same reason.
Apparently the person he was calling had caller ID, because she answered with a cheerful, "Spencer, you little rascal, I haven't heard from you in ages! What a wonderful surprise!"
"Hi, Jenny. Where are you?"
"Where am I? At Lohan's of course."
"Well, so am I, and I need your help. Can you meet me in the lobby as soon as possible?"
There was a moment of silence.
"You're calling on official business, aren't you?"
"Yes. Sorry."
"All right, I'll see you in a couple of minutes."
Jenny turned out to be a short, stylish woman in her late forties, but with enough work done to look like 35. Her dark blond hair was expertly styled and she was wearing a crisp business suit, and had a cell phone hands free in her ear with the phone hidden in a pocket.
"Spencer!" she called, arms stretched out to pull him down to her level. He obliged, hugging her tightly, smiling.
"Jenny," he said. "This is Special Agent Aaron Hotchner and Special Agent Jason Gideon. Guys, this is Jenny Lawson. She's a casino hostess and one of my mom's best friends."
They shook hands.
"So, what can I do for you? I assume this has to do with our guest in the Paradise Suite?"
"Yes it does. We need to see Geoffrey."
She grimaced. "Listen, Spencer…"
"Jenny, we are the FBI, and last night you had a serial killer in your hotel. We will meet with Geoffrey, no matter what. We just want your help to save some time. He is here, isn't he?"
"Of course… ehh…" There seemed to be an internal debate going on. "All right then, come on. But if I get fired, you'd better be prepared to provide for me in the style which I have become accustomed to," she said flirtingly.
"Always," Reid said.
She led them through a door that needed a keycard to get into, and then through a maze of corridors. As they walked she talked to Reid.
"How's your mom? I went to see her a couple of months ago, right after the Fairmount— oh, I'm sorry, I completely forgot, how are you?"
"I'm fine, Jenny. Nothing to worry about."
"That's what you said when you came home from school with a broken arm too."
"A broken arm?" Hotchner asked. "What happened?"
Reid blushed, "I fell from the bleachers at the football field."
Jenny snorted disdainfully. "Fell, my ass."
Reid's face became even redder.
"Anyway…" he said, and Jenny took the lead.
"Anyway, she cannot stop talking about you, she's so proud. But…"
"But?"
"She didn't seem to know about what happened…"
"You didn't tell her, did you?"
"No, I didn't have the heart to. But I think you should."
They came up to an elevator flanked by a security guard. He nodded at Jenny and looked suspiciously at the men.
"They are FBI agents, to see Mr. Lohan."
"Has Mr. Lohan cleared it?"
"I have cleared it." Jenny sounded very firm.
The security guard did not look happy, but he studied their badges and produced a sign-in sheet that they dutifully scribbled their names on. Then he and Jenny simultaneously ran their keycard through a double reader and the elevator door opened.
"They are very serious about security here," Jenny explained. "Through here you can also get to the vault and security offices."
They rode up several floors before stopping. They walked only a few steps in a carpeted corridor before Jenny pushed open a door, coming into an antechamber with an empty secretary's desk. The door on the other side of the room was ajar and voices could be heard. Jenny knocked and stuck her head in. "I've got the FBI here to see you."
They could hear mumbling for a couple of minutes, then the secretary came out, looking crossly at Jenny for letting them in without her permission.
Geoffrey Lohan's office was elaborately decorated, mixing old gentlemen's club style with modern technology. Lohan himself was one big, welcoming smile in his well-tailored suit and silk tie.
Jenny made introductions. "Mr. Lohan, this is Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, Special Agent Jason Gideon and Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid."
He narrowed his eyes, and let them roam over Reid. "Not little Spencer? Diana's kid?"
Reid nodded.
"Well, well. I haven't seen you in years. Look at you, all grown up."
"Yeah, well, that's what happens to little kids." Reid said wryly.
"And you went and joined the FBI?" He tut-tutted. "Such a shame really, we had such great hopes for you. You were destined for greatness. But…" he said, turning to the others, "that's not why you are here. I understand that you are investigating the murder of one of my guests?"
"Yes," Gideon answered. "I'm afraid you were visited by a serial killer last night."
"I see." He didn't sound overly upset or surprised. "Well, I will obviously give you copies of all relevant security tapes from last night, and anyone on my staff will be available at any time, should you have any questions."
"Thank you," Hotchner said. "And considering how cooperative you are being, I'm sure you won't mind sharing the extra information we have been told your security people has gathered about Ms. Tytac."
Lohan looked at Reid, his smile disappearing. But he didn't deny it.
"Well, there's some fairly sensitive information in there. I don't feel comfortable sharing that with anybody outside my organization."
"Mr. Lohan, you do realize that we are chasing a man who has now killed twelve women? There is no information that isn't important to us." Hotchner sounded calm, but a telltale wrinkle was showing on his forehead, betraying his agitation.
"I appreciate that, Agent Hotchner, but my responsibility is first and foremost to my guest, Ms. Tytac, and as I said, there is some very delicate information there that I'm sure her family would wish were not made public knowledge."
"We will see that file, Mr. Lohan," Hotchner said sternly.
"Then you will have to get a court order, which I believe you will find difficult, considering that according to official records this information does not exist, and I have done nothing criminal to warrant a search of my business." They were staring at each other with ice-cold eyes, daring the other to push harder.
"We could wait for a court order." Reid's voice made them shift their focus on him, Hotchner noticeably irritated that he was agreeing with Lohan. "But as you said, it will be difficult. It might even take days. In the meantime, we could just wait down on the floor. After all…" His eyes bore into Lohan's, speaking slowly. "…it's legal for me to gamble now."
They could see Lohan's neck turn red in anger and he gritted his teeth hard enough for Gideon's teeth to hurt in sympathy. He seemed to be deliberating with himself, before crossing over to the intercom. "Ms. Reynolds, could you please make a copy of Ms. Tytac's red file for the FBI?"
"Yes sir." She sounded surprised.
"Well, gentlemen, I can't say it has been a pleasure, but I do wish you good luck with your case. Ms. Tytac was a well-liked guest of ours."
He shook hands with Hotchner and Gideon again, before taking a hold of Reid's hand with both his.
"You have a lot of guts, kid."
Reid gave him a small smile. "I learned from the best."
Lohan laughed and pulled him in for a quick hug.
"Just never do it again." His voice was pure steel.
They left the office, picking up the file on the way out. Once they were out of hearing, Jenny slapped Reid's arm lightly.
"Are you insane? Challenging him like that?"
Reid shrugged. "It worked."
"So," Hotchner asked, "You're a gambler?"
"I could count cards when I was four, and I used to help spot cheaters from the control room after school. But I moved away before I turned 21, so I never got to put it to the test."
"Well," Gideon said. "Maybe we should. It's always good to know one's skills."
Reid smiled at him. "Another time, Gideon. Give it ten minutes and I'll be black-listed from every casino on the Strip. They collaborate more than you'd think."
--
TBC
