Chapter 5

"It is the man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways" Buddha

A/N I don't own any of the Criminal Minds characters, plot, etc. all belong to CBS

Rossi POV

Another Monday morning, another espresso ruined by another gruesome case presented by the eccentric and eclectic Penelope Garcia.

I am sitting at my desk, trying to drink my second espresso when Garcia pops her head in the door "conference room in 5" as she keeps on walking past to get ready to present the newest mystery case. Today she is wearing a purple sundress covered in little blue and black butterflies, a bright yellow cardigan and sparkling sequinned black shoes. For as competent of a tech analyst and generally intelligent as she is, she has some of the oddest fashion choices. I suppose it is the way she copes with the gruesome nature of our work, if she looks so bright and is hard to focus on, maybe the cases won't seem so dark. I take another approach. If I look like any other business man, any other agent, maybe these cases won't seem as extraordinary and won't follow me into my nightmares. That is why I always pick a fine suit, nice shoes, classic looks to impress the local law enforcement and indicate who will be in charge and who WILL come out on top. The BAU. I finish the finely crafted espresso and stalk out the door.

Garcia and Hotch stand in the front of the conference room as we file in at 9am. Hotch looks grim and stoic, death stare boring into the conference table, anger already forming for this new Unsub, Garcia smiling brightly as we walk into the room, surely thinking of anything BUT the case she is about to present. I sit in my usual seat to the right side of the conference table and drink my third espresso in silence, watching my colleagues wake up and recount their various weekend activities. Young and happy JJ is talking to Jade and Blake, it appears she took her family to the park to enjoy the beautiful spring weather and Henry absolutely loves the swings and seesaw.

Hotch clears his voice, straightens his tie, and Garcia clicks her remote, a few photos pop up on the screen, depicting various desert crime scenes. The rest of the team takes their cue, sits and settles in, sipping their respective caffeinated beverages. Once he has our undivided attention, Hotch begins to tell us our latest assignment.

"Over the last 3 weeks, 5 bodies have been found in and around the small, rural town of Hobart, Oklahoma. Their police department, especially police chief, is completely overwhelmed with this number of unsolved murders. The bodies are all connected to the same murderer because," Aaron pauses and Garcia makes a squinting and frowning grimace as she clicks the remote and new pictures, of the victims, spring onto the screen. We all blink at the gruesome photos, depicting words branded or burned into the victims bodies. Words in some other language, Latin perhaps. "Because, as you can see, the deprived UNSUB has branded words into each of his or her victims. Each of the brands is located on or between the shoulder blades."

Garcia clears her throat and continues presenting the case. "This is not some sick pre-April Fools Day joke, my dearies. Tomorrow is a revered holiday and I would never, ever, ruin such a holiday with something so twisted as this. And as much as it physically pains me to say this, it gets worse. Weirder. Stranger." She pauses, takes a breath and clicks her remote to bring up the photos showing the mouths and hands of the victims. "The victims also all have this odd, green substance in their mouths or under their fingernails."

"Victims are varied in gender and age. 3 males and 2 females, ages 20-67. 3 victims are white, one Native American and one is Hispanic, which is, as I am sure Reid will confirm, the statistical average for the area demographics. Seemingly a random selection of the towns inhabitants. The three males and one female have been identified, the remaining female, the Hispanic victim, has not been identified, however she was only discovered late last night. Since there seems to be no discernible pattern or preference in victimology, we will have to dig hard once we arrive to help the local police find who is responsible." Hotch explains, brow furrowed and forehead lined. It is clear he is very disturbed by this case and how disgusting it is. I can't blame him, I am sure my face is equally contorted at this point. Who could possibly torture and brand another human being?

"I have included all the information about the known victims, as well as all crime scene photographs in the case file, which you have manual and electronic copies. The local ME and labs are analyzing the green substance as we speak, and have been given strict orders to update the BAU with any and all updates. Find this sicko, my fine friends. Go do that voodoo that you do" Garcia tells us as she clicks out of the presentation. We stand from the table, collect the files and Hotch repeats his favorite phrase, "Wheels up in thirty."

The BAU settles around the small table on the jet, in order to continue preparing and reviewing the case file. Hotch and Morgan are reading the details on each of the known victims, trying to find any similarities, any crossover. JJ, Jade and I try to look at the green substance. It doesn't look organic, plant matter. It doesn't look like paint. The enlarged photographs of the brands are spread on the table, Blake and Reid are very closely examining them.

Blake says, somewhat loudly, catching everyone's attention, "Correct me if I'm wrong, since the branding is not very clear on some of these victims, but aren't all these words in the pluperfect indicative passive tense?"

"What?" Morgan asks as puzzled as the rest of us are, aside from Reid.

"Latin verb tense. Yes, I agree" Reid confirms, after closely examining two of the more clear photographs, "Pluperfect indicative passive tense is used when contemplating or describing completed past actions."

"That usually indicates a person realizing or describing something that has happened at a definite, discrete point in the past. Why would the UNSUB be branding in that tense?" Blake continues to muse, "Is he, or she I suppose, just practicing conjugations in a horrible, macabre way? These verbs are all mundane, 'I had sung', 'he/she/it were confirmed', 'you had been', 'they had gone', well that one *might* indicate something sinister, but they are not describing anything about the victims. I am not familiar with this word, the one ending in -amus. Reid?"

"I've not come across it before either, Alex. It is the we statement of this grouping, but I cannot say I have seen it before. It is hard to make out the first few letters because of that mole, and the angle of the victims spine of her scapula is rather protruding."

The two language loving geniuses continue to discuss the roots of Latin words and what the UNSUB could possibly be trying to convey to us, or to the general public, in doing this. Speculation never got us anywhere, so I settle back and talk to Aaron about his new SUV and if he still likes it. Of course I am not surprised when he does. Aaron looks at his cell briefly and then he asks if I could make some phone calls, apparently the bureau was unable to secure us lodging in Hobart, Oklahoma, a very rural town not known for its accommodations. There are exactly 2 "fleabag" motels and apparently they are both fully booked this week. I sigh and dig out my cell. I call the first motel and have no better luck than the bureau representative who normally works on our accommodations when on a case. The second was more receptive to my begrudgingly given bribe that was probably enough money to book the entire place for two or three months. The motel owner did admit it is unusually busy this week, but he does not know why, so the rooms are not near each other, but should be sufficient to cover our needs while in town.

We arrive in town and I split off to check into the motel, since the owner 'does not accept reservations or take payment over the phone'. I arrive and find out there are only 3 rooms available. I remind him there are 7 agents. He nods and tells me there are 3 rooms and hands me 3 very dated looking and well worn room keys. "If you want 7 rooms your rate doubles." I send him a glare but thankfully stop my fiery retort from exploding out of my mouth. The keys are not even the plastic credit card type keys, actual metal room keys with a rubberized plastic, overly tacky, motel logo on the key chain. I write the check, sigh, and trade it for the keys. The bureau is certainly not going to be happy with this months expense report. I take the government supplied black SUV across the small and desert-dusty town to the sheriffs station to meet the rest of the team.

In my absence, the team had met the local police and got the most recent updates. A sixth victim had been found, another white male and in his mid to late 30's, just an hour before the flight landed in Oklahoma City, which is a frustrating 2 hour drive away. Also, per the police department, cell service is not too bad directly in town, but more than 6 or 7 miles in any direction and cell service becomes patchy and beyond 10 miles out of town we are better off using walkie-talkies or CB radios like the station. We receive complimentary walkie-talkies and tune them to the channel designated to this case and head into the small office space we are to be using. What use is being in a first world nation if you cannot even use basic technology throughout the country? What am I paying so many taxes for? Fleabag motels and communication via walkie-talkie?

When I revealed our hotel room plight to the team, everyone let out a collective groan. Aaron and I will be sharing one room, Morgan and Reid the second and then the three girls in the third room. I guess we always talk about being as close as family, now we will test that statement.

Due to the long drive in from the airport, it is now 1:00pm and we are all anxious to get started. The police are very obviously overwhelmed. Six dead bodies in just over three weeks. Hell, even the most well equipped stations in NYC or LA would be overwhelmed with that amount of violent crime in one jurisdiction. As we look at the crime scene photographs Reid and Morgan plot the points on an area map. The Police Chief Holman rejoins us and lets us know he is completely unprepared for this kind of investigation, and he could not be more thankful for our assistance. Since he became Chief in 1993 the town has only seen 4 murders, this is a very peaceful small town where everyone knows everyone else and generally likes to keep things quiet. Aaron assures him we will be doing everything possible to solve these crimes before someone else is murdered. We split up into teams to begin our analysis and develop a profile, Morgan and Hotch head into the field with the local police detectives to investigate the latest crime scene, hopeful for clues, Blake heads two towns over to the nearest community college in order to investigate the Latin words and try to figure out who would have that kind of knowledge in Hobart, JJ and Jade are staying at the police station to work on the current information, await any news or new tips as well as help Jade with her media and communication liaison position while Reid and myself head to the county ME.

Reid and I are directed to the basement of a local hospital to the medical examiners office after we flash our badges to several people at the receptionists desk who were unsure if they even had a medical examiner in the entire state. As we enter the clinical and disinfectant smelling room, the ME introduces himself as he pauses in examining the sixth victim. He confirms what we already knew, the victims are branded on or near their shoulder blades and they have green substances under their fingernails, around their nailbeds and/or in their mouths. The ME informs us the branding takes place approximately 60-72 hours before the victim dies, according to the amount of healing and scarring noted around the brands and the color of the burns, indicating the UNSUB is holding them somewhere between the time they are branded and the time they end up dying.

"What do you think the UNSUB is using to brand them? Surely he doesn't have the Latin phrases made into custom a custom branding iron?" I ask the examiner who looks quite weary and over worked.

"I cannot say for sure, but looking at the wounds, the brands, I would have to say each one is a custom made branding iron. The letters are evenly spaced and do not account for birth marks, prior scars or moles, which makes some hard to read, like the fourth victim, Mr. Greene. It does look like a wood craft brand, however, not a large cattle or horse brand. There are several shops in and around the area which make custom brands, it is something of a local hobby to do woodworking projects."

"Thank you Doc. Now, the green substance, do you have any clue about what that is?" I say, looking down at the current victims hands and noticing the substance.

"That puzzled me at first, to be honest. It almost looks like green chalk but it has more of a hardness when I scraped it out from under the fingernails. Thankfully the lab was able to send us results, it is malachite green."

"Malachite green? Is that supposed to mean something?" I ask, perhaps too demanding because the ME flinched a bit and Reid furrowed his brows at me. "Sorry, I am just very anxious to get answers."

"Well, to some people it certainly does. But to me it was new as well. It is a fungicide and antimicrobial used in fish farming, fish hatcheries and larger fresh water aquariums. It is not very popular anymore due to residue being found in freshwater runoff and side effects in the fish. However, a few places, particularly rural places and aquarium hobbyists, still use it."

"Thank you, you have been extremely helpful. We might be back for more questions but for now we must be heading out." Reid answers as we both shake the ME hand and excuse ourselves.

As we walk back to the SUV, I call Garcia to ask for local fish hatcheries, fish farms or noted aquariums as well as any recent purchases of malachite green. She promises to call back "faster than Nemo touched the butt". I chuckle and slide into the drivers seat.

Jade POV

The team quickly disperses and gets to work bringing together all the facts of the case. JJ discusses certain things with the Chief, trying to figure out what is in common between all the discovery sites, if he thinks the murders happened there or if they died elsewhere and were dumped. I looked over the map Morgan and Reid were working on plotting and I placed the sixth pin on the map corresponding to the most recent victim. I noticed it was a rough circle, centered just west of the town, the exact center is an intersection of what appeared to be more major roads.

"Chief Holman? Can you come here, I have a few questions about the bodies and the sites they were found." Looking over from their discussion, Chief Holman and JJ walk over to stand beside me at the map on the bulletin board.

"What do you want to know, Miss?" The middle aged police chief eyes me warily, obviously he doubts that some child who can't stop fidgeting with her blazer can have any groundbreaking new ideas.

"Jade is fine. I wonder, is there anything located at this intersection? It seems like whomever is involved in these murders is centered here," I say, pointing to the intersection in the center of the pins.

After looking at the map closely for a minute, Chief Holman straightens up and says "Well there used to be a fish hatchery just up the 2150, about a mile, maybe a mile and a half north of this intersection with the 1370. Closed down in the 90's right after I was elected Chief. Old Rusty and his crazy nephew live up there now. Its a big old farm, several ponds and maybe four or five barns and outbuildings."

JJ takes a good look at the map, weighs what Chief Holman told us and then tells me to meet her at the SUV in a minute. JJ asks him a few questions and obtains a warrant for the address, hops behind the wheel and drives off like a demon. She quickly tells me what I have to do, how to back her up and what to do "if it goes bad". She parks in the circular packed dirt driveway at the front of the farm about 6 minutes later and reminds me to not leave the SUV until she returns. I give her a quick hug and wish her the best of luck as another black SUV swings into the drive from the opposite direction, Reid and Rossi hopping out. I head over to Reid while JJ meets with Rossi, quickly reformulating the plan.

Rossi and JJ quickly don their bullet proof vests and take off, heading onto the large wrap around porch of the grand farmhouse. Even though I am standing back by the vehicles, away from any danger and with Reid, my heart is racing. My mind also races, worried for my coworkers, what if it is a trap, what if they saw us coming and they shoot, capture or hurt JJ? Rossi? He is a stuffy overprotective old man, but I certainly do not want to see him hurt today. How quickly we have become a family.

Helpless, worried and a bundle of nerves I look over to Reid. "What do I do? I don't have a gun, I don't have any training as an agent. I should have stayed at the station and let JJ come alone. I am such a liability right now."

"Its better for you to be here, it would have been more dangerous for JJ to enter a home by herself. You do not need a gun to be intimidating and taken seriously by UNSUBs." Reid assures me, stepping closer to where I am, the tall, lean agent leans against the back door of the SUV.

"Thanks, you always know what to say to me." I say, turning to lean against the passenger door next to him, gazing out, noticing the old fish hatchery grounds. "How did you guys know where to go, I didn't get to call anyone and I don't think JJ did either?"

"The ME told Rossi and I the green substance is used in fish hatcheries, fish farms and aquariums. Sounded like enough of a lead with a narrow scope of usage, that would likely lead us to the UNSUB in some way. We called Garcia and she lead us here. We also had the time to call the rest of the team."

"What is the substance?" I ask, curious.

"Malachite green. I am not familiar with it, but the ME told us it is often used as a fungicide and antimicrobial for freshwater fish. Not super common any more because of some runoff issues and side effects in the fish. Probably not the best thing for the victims to be around, but I cannot figure out the connection between the fish farming and the Latin words."

"It almost seems like they are two different crimes. Very odd." I reply, noticing JJ heading around the back of the house toward the outbuildings and Rossi going toward the largest barn.

"That occurred to me as well. Perhaps we are working with a team, or perhaps the malachite green was left behind more as a relic of the location rather than related to the deaths of the victims." Reid explains his thoughts to me, squinting in the bright afternoon sunlight. March sure is warm in Oklahoma, it is almost 4:00pm and it is still warm, bright and sunny.

"How do you figure this out? How do you piece together cases? How can you tell what is relevant to the case and what is left behind without meaning?"

"Whoa, Jade. One question at a time" Reid laughs, looking over and down to me, and smiling a quirky little grin, before he can answer, we both notice two vans arriving, painted with the local news station. Of course media will arrive. Of course. Panic rises and my heart races, wishing I could melt into the orange-red dirt and disappear. "I guess news does travel fast in a small town." Reid looks over to me, completely calm and collected, "Ready Ms Media Liaison?"

"No. I quit. I shall go on and live life as a hermit never consuming or participating in media ever again." I joke, but my voice breaks and I shudder involuntarily.

Reid chuckles again at that comment, voice bright and clear, before realizing it was half true, he advises, "don't say anything definitive, don't admit to anything, don't confirm anything, don't deny anything."

"If I don't do any of that, what is left, what do I say?"

"I don't know, this is more of a JJ/Hotch area. I am best utilized off screen" Reid admits before continuing "Say: we are exploring a lead, we are examining evidence, we are checking out local historical sites."

"Historical sites?"

"Isn't it a defunct fish hatchery?" Reid says, I never noticed his sense of humor before, but I certainly respect it today. Just enough dry wit to take the edge off the serious situation.

"Clever-" I am cut off as the media personnel swarm us, two rather uncomfortable young agents. I could practically feel the media crew drooling at the fresh meat.

Reid and I take turns giving half answers and elusive responses to the crew who only seem to get more intent with each passing question and each sweaty-half reply. They ask about the fish hatchery, the murders, and some local conspiracy theories that they are trying to create mutant fish-human hybrids and, we, the government, are trying to shut them down. Spencer Reid, my savior, steps closer to me and I am thankful for the warmth of his body along my right side. My right hand man. As the questions from the media get more probing and more ludicrous, I feel myself babbling, barely able to keep Reid's guidelines in mind. Just when it cannot possibly get any worse, it does. A third black SUV arrives, Aaron and Derek dash out. Derek heads to the barn while Aaron marches up to the media crew and steps arrogantly, no, confidently, between us, and the cameras.

"This is an active crime scene. I will have to ask you to remove yourself from the premises and the surrounding area until law enforcement is sure there are no risk for contaminating evidence or risk of harm. We recommend a 5 mile radius. Thank you." He curtly ushers the media back to their vans, their tails between their legs. Immediately, Aaron turns his attention to me.

Prepared for a lecture, I follow my boss off to the side, out of Reid's earshot. "I am sorry, they ambushed us and I had no idea what to say, I didn't tell them any facts related to the case, but I didn't know-"

"Jade, stop babbling. Rule number one of an effective Media an Communication Liaison, never ever babble on air. Rule number two, never ever babble to me. I understand."

"Sorry sir. It won't happen again."

"Thank you. Now, that being said, do not behave like that ever again when media is involved. You are representing the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Do not ever make us look like a motley crew of unprepared and unintelligent fools. Do not ever look like you have never been in front of a camera before. Do not look like you are the one guilty of a crime." Aaron lectures me, anger in full stride, my eyes burning and my face fully flushed from the criticism. It happens every time I am criticized or my performance is negatively reviewed, especially the two days just before I expect my period. To avoid full tears, I glance around briefly and I happen to notice JJ guiding an angry, absolutely outraged old man and Rossi leading a younger and distraught man out of the barn toward the SUVs, Derek not far behind. Aarons tone softens and sounds more fatherly as he continues. "We cannot always predict when the media will show up, part of this job is being ready at a moment for any sort of change and challenge, including the media. Being part of the BAU means always being ready. Take a deep breath and be firm. Make eye contact. Treat the media like you treated Cruz and I during your interview. Decline an interview and do not back down from the declination, if we are not ready to deliver a profile or public plea for assistance. Just because they ask you questions you are not obligated in any way to answer them. Understand?"

"Yes, Aaron, thank you for the criticism and the helpful guidance." I reply as I feel the unmistakable approach of Dave Rossi, his large warm hand landing on the small of my back. It is my turn for an angry outburst "I am an adult. I can handle myself when my supervisor offers constructive criticism."

"You were about to cry, piccolina*" Rossi replies, not bothering remove his hand from my back.

"A: I am not your little one and B: yes, I do get emotional the day before my period. I am a female, I am allowed to experience the full range of human emotions in one minute." I retort and his hand slips from my back in an instant. Probably the only time to flaunt menstrual cycles is to put men in their place.

"My apologies Ms Jade Bennett. I was just trying to be supportive."

"I don't need support, I already have a great bra and a work bestie." I turn back to Aaron, telling him "Thank you for helping me earlier and thank you very much for the critique and the advice. I will do my best to make everyone proud of me."

"I think you are doing fine, Jade." Aaron replies, hint of a smile softening his dark eyes, brow flattened and smooth, tiny curl at the corner of his mouth.

Aaron, Dave, Derek and JJ head into the barn to collect evidence and examine the scene. I walk over to Reid and we take one of the SUVs back to the police station. On the brief drive, we talked about the most recent RadioLab short episode, about mosquitoes. We found out a few weeks ago over lunch that we both enjoy the podcast and now we have something to talk about that isn't necessarily work related. He likes the more science related episodes and I prefer the more pop culture and philosophical episodes. We also both enjoy WTF with Marc Maron for a more personal look on celebrity and life itself.

We enter the police station and review the evidence, including the data from the newest scene, what we learned at the fish hatchery, and what Garcia was able to find out for us. Reid and Chief Holman get a statement from the nephew, and we compare the statement to the evidence, but it is not adding up. There are more bodies, there has to be, or else what the nephew said makes absolutely no sense. Is it possible we got the wrong guys? The outraged uncle, Old Rusty, still is not saying anything, insisting on waiting for a lawyer. Frustrated, Reid and I lean over the evidence table, examining the photos shoulder-to-shoulder, looking closely at each photograph, making sure we didn't miss anything. In between comments about the photos and other evidence, we continue chatting about the podcasts and how much we enjoyed previous episodes, particularly the one from last summer about Blood, and last spring about Doubt and Certainty. While we are chatting, I feel the eyes of someone staring at us from the doorway. I glance up only to see Rossi swiftly retreating down the hallway.

For many long hours the team continues to pour over the evidence, question the nephew and attempt to get Old Rusty to talk. Blake had returned from the community college around 7:00pm with fresh coffee for the team as well as her research on the Latin and who was possibly studying it in Hobart. The nephew was enrolled in the community college a few years ago and was indeed taking the Latin courses, but did not resume his classes when the Spring semester started in mid-January. The word we could not identify earlier is likely 'spectata eramus' which means 'we were viewed'. The nephew is not saying anything about the Latin words, other than admitting he took several years of Latin, but insists it was to help his biology work. It seems like nothing adds up. They are definitely guilty, there was more than enough evidence in the barns and outbuildings as well as the nephews statement to confirm that, but the rest of what he said doesn't fit. Everyone on the team feels like we are missing some big clue.

Around midnight, Aaron made the executive decision to have us head to the motel and get some rest. I feel somewhat apprehensive about sharing a room with my two new coworkers. I haven't really ever shared a room with a person I barely knew, when I went to college and roomed with one of my best friends and when I was younger I went to summer camp with my friends. We enter the room and discovered it only had one, large king sized bed. Of course. After showering, JJ and Blake seemed to fall asleep in the king sized bed almost immediately. In fact, JJ was snoring lightly, curled on her side in the center of the mattress by the time I was finished in the shower. I laid down and tried to get comfortable but kept tossing and turning. No position was comfortable, the rattle of the air conditioner was too loud, the bed linens were too scratchy. Worried I would wake my coworkers from all the tossing, turning and re-fluffing of the pillow, I get up, grab the book out of my bag and head out of the room looking for a quiet place to read until I get tired enough to sleep on that bed.

The flickering neon light above the "24 hour" pool catch my eye and I am drawn to it. As I approach, I see the silhouette of a dark haired man reclined in one of the hard plastic lounge chairs, his right hand nursing a glass of Scotch on the glass table to his side. My scuffling flip flop feet scratching over the uneven concrete must have alerted him, or perhaps David Rossi truly is as good as the legends claim and he asks "Can't sleep?" as a greeting without even turning from his spot, staring into the dingy pool which doesn't seem like it has been cleaned this decade.

I sit in the plastic lounge chair next to the senior agent before I answer him, "no. Does it get easier to fall asleep in strange beds, with strange sounds?"
"As a rule, I don't make it a habit to sleep in strange beds, piccolina mia*. In fact, I never sleep when the rest of the world says I should. Probably fuels my scotch habit." Rossi replies as he sips from the glass, then continues "I'm not the company you were hoping for down here, am I?"

"Not really expecting any company, honestly. Just wanted to read until I was tired enough that the horribly lumpy mattress feels like my pillow-top," I answer pulling my book up as I get comfortable on the lounger.

"Sure you weren't looking for anyone else?" Rossi inquires, with enough intrigue in his voice that I look over. We make deep eye contact despite the flickering shadows before I answer him honestly.
"Dave, we both know you aren't dumb and I certainly don't play games. I'm not sure who I could be meeting here. It is story time, just me and Mr. Dean Koontz. I hope I'm not keeping you from anything, or anyone." I move to open my book, right index finger running along the worn cover, in the barely bright enough to read neon light.

"No, Tesoro*, you could never keep me from anything." He replies before I finally break the eye contact and change the subject.

We turn to talking about the case, his jobs, the twisted people he met and arrested, and how he learned to compartmentalize the terrible things people are capable of. I am not sure how much time has passed, the clear night revealing millions of bright stars and I can even make out the whispy arm of the Milky Way, as we talk and he tells me things about his career that never made it into his books and I suspect never will. Eventually, the chill of the March, no it is April by now, night has me visibly shivering through my light pj pants and tanktop. Rossi finally notices and offers for me to sit next to him and share his lounger. After a brief internal debate, I decide to get up and move over to continue to talk until I feel myself find the beginnings of rest. As I fight the drift to slumber, I feel Dave Rossi's warm and comforting arm wrap around my shoulder, holding me close and sharing his warmth and I rest my head in the crook of his neck. Just before dawn we both wake and head to our rooms.

JJ and Blake don't seem to have noticed my disappearance. I slip into the bed beside JJ and she does not even move as I fall asleep for a quick nap before we head back into the police station. Too soon our alarms go off and I am stepping into another outfit. As I tug my tank over my head I get a whiff of Rossi's cologne. Ugh. That man needs to learn a lesson from the school of less is more. My charcoal grey dress pants and blazer look very professional with my rose pink scoop neck tee. Hopefully I don't look as tired as I feel. I might need to look into some melatonin for when we travel for cases.

Fresh and ready to close this case, we arrive in the police department before 8:00. Aaron and Chief Holman coordinate their efforts and examine the locations described by the nephew. Aaron, Rossi, Derek and JJ are heading out with the teams of local police to investigate. Blake, Reid and I are staying in the station to continue working on the Latin words as well as talking to Old Rusty now that his counsel has arrived. Just in time too, since they cannot keep him for more than 24 hours without formally charging him for a crime. Old Rusty, it seems, was trying a macabre teaching method for verb conjugations. Neither man has admitted to why they started killing the people rather than letting them go, or why they wanted to do this branding to begin with, but they do fully admit to being the only ones involved in the crimes.

Over the next 3 days the team and the local police find 18 more bodies in the Oklahoma desert, in various states of decomposition and with various levels of animal foraging on the flesh. It appears that the local coyotes and foxes enjoy the taste of human carrion. I'm not sure I can ever get the images of the crime scene photos out of my mind. Of the bodies with intact shoulder blade and back flesh, all have the trademark Latin words or phrases that the nephew would say would be there. They admitted to be doing this since January when the nephew was no longer able to afford the tuition for his college semester. The team helped me along the way, answering my questions and letting me observe the interrogation processes. It turns out the malachite green was on the victims hands and in their mouths because Old Rusty was storing them in the storage shed which formerly held the fungicide, and it was the only thing there. Out of desperation or boredom, the victims appear to have played with, ate or attempted suicide with the green chemical.

Reid and I would chat about the psychology involved, with Blake occasionally joining to add in her opinions when our conversation turned to the relevance of genetics to abnormal psychology and if behavioral genetics has any merit to the fields of psychology and psychopathology. Thankfully, Rossi behaved himself when the two of us interacted during the investigation, aside from the one minor comment about my cleavage on Monday in the scoop neck top, and he never mentioned our rendezvous on the first night in town. No one else on the team seemed to suspect anything out of sorts. The only person I have not really talked to this entire trip was Derek. He is still such a mystery to me.

I will never be able to understand why people turn to crime, and I am very glad when late Friday evening, April 4, Aaron officially closes our portion of the case and gives our orders to head back to the airport. Entering the jet, somehow the last team member to do so, I survey where they are sitting and look for a good place to rest my weary legs. Aaron, Derek and Blake are deep in conversation in the front of the jet. Reid has claimed the couch, with JJ in the seat at the end, whispering and leaning on each other. Rossi is sitting by himself toward the back of the jet, with yet another glass of scotch, eyes determinedly staring out the window observing the stark, cracked and bare tarmac. Up for a challenge and conversation, I sit next to Rossi, putting my vanilla iced latte in the cupholder, bumping into his knee with my own, of course he sits like a total man, knees wide. He doesn't acknowledge my presence. So I sit in silence, watching JJ and Reid whisper, completely comfortable together. They are absolute best friends, each others support and rock. If she didn't have Will, I wonder if they would be an item. Or if anything ever happened before. I smile to myself, enjoying their happiness.

After about half an hour of silence, my latte empty, I finally look over to Rossi who is still staring out the window, gazing as the fields and flatlands pass beneath us. I nudge his knee with mine again, "Why the cold shoulder? Why are you ignoring me now?" I ask the senior agent I have come to respect and enjoy talking with.

Taking another long sip of his Scotch, ice clinking in the glass, he finally turns to face me, answering with a soft muttered phrase I cannot entirely make out, but sounds somewhat like he said "shouldn't you be more concerned with JJ and Reid?"

"No, I'm not sitting by them, I'm sitting by you. I'm sitting by you, David, because I wanted to talk to you."

"You sure seem to be looking at JJ and Reid quite a bit."

"They've been friends, best friends even, for far longer than I've known any of them. I'm happy for their friendship. And I had to do something until you'd acknowledge me."

"Don't lie piccolina mia*" Rossi replies, his soft tone almost sounding hurt.

"Why the pet names if you are going to be so antagonistic? Or are you only talking to me in order to be a rude old bastard?"

Despite himself, he chuckles briefly. "Rude old bastard? Really, Jade? And do not deflect from the discussion at hand. I know how close you and Reid were at the station. Smiling at each other shoulder-to-shoulder." He pointedly glances to Reid and JJ who are now in the same position.

"Is that what this is about? RadioLab? Dammit, Rossi. He was talking to me about a goddamn podcast. A radio program we both listen to." To avoid full shouting, I impulsively grab his Scotch and swallow about half of what is left, shuddering at the intense burn in my throat, the heat in my stomach, but thankful for the near-immediate dulling of my senses. I put the glass back in his waiting hand without a word, still glaring at each other. We glare for a long time, staring each other down, both refusing to concede.
"I know what a podcast is, kiddo. I might be a rude, old bastard but I know what modern technology is." He subtly maybe even unconsciously strokes the rim of the glass exactly where my lips just were moments before.

"If you know what a podcast is, then why are you so pissed for me talking to Reid about it? Or do you want me all to yourself? Just because you know Uncle Mike, you don't have the exclusive rights to my friendship, David."

"What did I tell you about calling me David?"

"I'll call you what I want when I'm upset."

"I am not pissed with you being friends with Reid, I just figured you would want to keep whispering to him on the ride home since he is your supportive "work bestie" or whatever you told Aaron."

"That is JJ, not Reid. And I am not so immature that my friends cannot be friends without my presence. I would think a wise man like yourself would know how friendships work."

"I barely know how friendships work, Jade, I've been divorced three times."

"You have been friends with Aaron for decades now."

"That is different. We work together and understand each other."

"And you think JJ, Reid and I cannot understand each other the same way as you and Aaron?"

"Fair enough, Tesoro*. So you think I am a rude, old bastard AND a wise man?"

"I don't think I know you well enough to know what I think about you yet." I answer, finally thinking he worked out whatever he was really upset about. I don't think for one minute it was about me befriending Reid.

Rossi stands and goes to refill his Scotch before returning for more conversation. We continue to chat the rest of the flight, I tell him more about growing up and living under the guidance of Uncle Mike. Eventually, Rossi even offers me the last sip of Scotch before we depart the jet back in DC.

Piccolina = little one

Piccolina mia = my sweet one/my little one

Tesoro = sweetheart, treasure, darling

"There is a fellowship more quiet than even solitude, and which rightly understood, is solitude made perfect." Robert Louis Stevenson