CHAPTER TEN: Redemption Part 1: Hubris
"Redeem thy misspent time that's past. And live this day as if thy last. – Thomas Ken"
April 09, 2005: San Francisco, CA, 5:28P.M.
The man was in no way spectacular to look at. If you were to see him in the middle of the park, or walking down the street, you'd ignore him as if he were of no consequence. He stood at five foot five, less than the average height of a man his age, and could in no way be considered a threat by physical looks alone.
And yet, as the man walked through the crowded streets of San Francisco, California, he if you were to meet him on a crowded street, you'd find that you couldn't be further from the truth.
It was all in the eyes. He had the eyes of a killer.
He approached the police station with a cautious eye, and sat on the steps of the building. Then, taking a look around the street, he saw his chance; quickly placing an envelope on the step, he took a large rock from his coat and placed it on top of the letter, and walked away, his shoulders drooping, allowing him to blend into the heavy crowd.
April 11, 2005: Apartment of Jennifer Jareau: 5:28A.M.
Jennifer Jareau sighed, her body absolutely exhausted from the four hours of sleep she'd gotten the night before. The dim light coming into her window told her it was well before sunrise, and yet, though her body was exhausted, her mind was awake.
She was laid in bed, basking in the feel of the normalcy surrounding her, the arms around her filling cold nights with undisguised warmth.
She looked at the clock on her nightstand, and quickly turned it off, wanting to relish the normalcy as long as she could.
She had arrived at home well after midnight; her mind on the case she had to present to the team when they got to work the next morning, too a home-cooked dinner that was left, covered, in the microwave. A sense of deep affection filled her at the thoughtfulness of the man she loved. It was the first time she could remember, since she'd left the normalcy of North Versailles, that her kitchen had smelled anywhere as delightfully wonderful as it had. And, it was the first time that she'd ever come home to a home-cooked meal, and she loved it.
After she finished eating her boyfriend's offering, she'd looked for her young genius, intent on thanking him with an exuberance that would be repeated as often as possible… only to find him asleep, a look of utter content covering his Morpheus-entrenched body. Needless to say, it hadn't taken her long to slip into his arms, and had taken even less time for those arms to pull her close into him.
"Hello Jennifer," her boyfriend of sixteen days said in her ear. She jerked, not expecting him to announce that he was awake. She'd been especially quiet since she'd awoken, so was surprised that he'd woken since she'd turned her morning alarm off. She looked at the clock, surprised that nearly twenty minutes had passed; so caught in her memories of the night before she'd failed to notice time slipping away.
"Hey honey," she said turning in his arms. He smiled at her, his hand cupping her face as he trailed his fingers down, tracing her jaw line; undisguised lust filling his gaze. That realization hit her hard, unable to believe that she could have such an affect on her young genius, or that her young genius could have such an affect on her.
It was two days since they had declared their love for each other. It was less than a week since the night he'd seen her almost completely nude. And, of course, two weeks since he learned that she yearned for his touch, as much as he yearned for hers. And like every other area of study he had ever taken, Spencer Reid excelled.
Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments, their shared gazes telling the other everything they wanted to know. Slowly, ever so slowly, she felt him lean his mouth over hers, their lips touching in a sweet, passion-filled moment of pure ecstasy.
She ran her hands over his chest, surprised when he moved to straddle her, his forearms on either side of her face as he deepened the kiss. Her body reacted, instinctively; she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling their clothed thighs closer together, as she felt his lips move to her neck.
"Jennifer," the undisguised passion in his voice invoked a need within her, as his arousal pressed against her barely covered core. She opened her eyes, seeing the unhidden want in his eyes, though she could still see the ever-fading fear contained therein. She promised that the very minute that fear was gone, she'd have him. And he'd have her in return.
"Spence," she gasped, as she instinctively moved against him for the first time. She felt him gasp, and used the moment to reverse their positions; his hands coming up to hold her waist, as she fell forward, her lips crashing against his; her tongue entering his mouth as they began the battle for dominance.
The intensity in the room was all-consuming, their bodies moving ever-closer together, as she pressed her whole weight against him. She felt his arousal seated between them, and regretted for an instant the barriers of clothing still separating them.
Without warning, she felt him roll them too the left, and felt his body top hers, as he settled his weight against her. She felt his hands wrap around her, as he pulled her body tight against his. His lips left hers, before trailing down her neck. A shudder ran up her spine.
She could feel his arousal at her entrance, covered only by the cloth of his boxers and her panties. She moved instinctively, rubbing against him. A passionate gasp erupted from both of them, as deliberately she did it again.
And suddenly, fear overwhelmed her, and she locked their gazes, searching for any indication that they'd gone too far.
"Jennifer," he moaned. Her eyes widened, she'd never invoked that response from him before.
"Spence," she said, before his finger covered her lips, and he shook his head.
Suddenly, he fell to the side, lying on top of her only enough to restrict movement. She wondered what was happening, before she felt his lips on the tip of her ear, and his hands moving down her body, cupping her breasts and tweaking her nipples as an arc of pleasure shot through her.
Then, for the first time, her boyfriend took a bouldering step. His hands dipped lower than she ever anticipated, ever hoped to imagine, and cupped her moist, most intimate area. Her back instinctively arched into him. And she panted.
"Guide me, Jennifer," he softly commanded. Her mind briefly wondered why she should bother, when he was doing such a wonderful job playing the melody of her body.
"Jennifer," he softly said, "Have I gone too far?"
She shook her head, instinctively knowing that the moment would end if she didn't respond. Her hands travelled down, seconds later, grasping his. She closed two of his fingers, and moved his hand too her moist opening, where she could already feel the slick juices of her arousal coating his fingers. She fumbled his hands awkwardly for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, before she felt an arc of intense electricity as he ran over her hidden bundle of nerves.
"D-d-did you f-f-feel that," she said. Spence, his lips on her neck, kissed once; yes. "R-r-rub t-t-th-there," she barely commands, her breath coming in shallow gasps, now. Spence smiled, or at least she thought he was smiling as she felt his lips curving on the side of her neck.
Her back arched again as his thumb moved over her clitoral hood, as his fingers entered her. "Spence," she gasped, shock and heavy anticipation filling her. He stopped his hand.
"Please," she said, not sure what she was asking.
He moved his fingers inside her, and she could almost imagine that it was another part of his anatomy entering her. Her eyes closed, as she felt electricity flowing through her, as she felt a second finger enter her, her own.
"Spence," she gasped, "Please?"
"This is for you, Jennifer," he told her, "to make up for all the time you've given me. I," he whispered, "I'm not fully ready for where this could easily head, but I know that you've been extremely patient and willing to teach me, so I wanted to make sure you know that I'm fully appreciative for the time you've given. I love you, Jennifer," he told her.
Her orgasm hit, exploding from a primal place, as she felt herself clench around him. He continued his steady strokes over her bundle of nerves. Soon, her body was again convulsing on his fingers, at his dexterous touch.
And the thought came to her, of its own volition:
If he can do this with his fingers, what will sex be like?
"Spence," she whispered again, a few minutes after coming down from her high. She could still feel the electricity coursing through her. She knew it would only take another touch, and she'd be lit up again.
"Jennifer," he said as he took his fingers from her. She groaned; sighing as her body protested his extrusion even as she turned her gaze to him, her eyes glazed over as she came down from an orgasmic high. Her hands came up, and she wrapped her arms around his chest, pulling him closely into her.
"That was wonderful," she whispered as her lips covered his and her tongue sought entrance into his mouth. "I couldn't have imagined that I'd be given such a beautiful gift, Spence."
He smiled, and she felt his arousal poking against her. "Do you need help with that?"
He blushed, and said, "I wish I were ready for that, Jennifer."
She smiled, and kissed him again, all too briefly, as she said, "The day you are, Spencer Reid, I don't plan on leaving this bedroom."
He gulped, but kissed her again, even as she sat up, and climbed out of bed. She looked at the clock, and was surprised; almost an hour had passed since she'd woken.
"You shower first, Spence," she said. He nodded, not protesting, as she walked over to her closet. As had become custom, she picked out his clothes for the day, before moving around the bedroom, straightening the bed, and picking up their day-old clothes.
She heard the water turn off, and smiled. He exited the bathroom naked save the white towel around his waist. He was flush, yet not as awkwardly so as he had been the first time they'd been this private with each other.
She walked towards him, and felt his hands embrace her, her nightgown becoming transparent as he held her against him. When he released her, she smiled and killed him again, and said, "I'll see you in a few minutes."
He nodded. She showered quickly, her body not needing the extra few minutes it would usually take to wake up in the morning; her boyfriends' hands had done a wonderful job. She stepped out, not bothering to wrap her body in the towel since he would be in the kitchen making them a breakfast.
She looked at the bed and smiled.
Quickly, she dressed into her midnight blue bra and panties, before slipping into the black skirt she loved wearing. She quickly placed a pair of tan, translucent hose on her feet, and slowly rolled them up her leg, smoothing the hose out as she went, before placing a black pair of two-inch heels on her feet, and again smoothing out the heels for creases. She cautiously placed a second pair in her ready bag.
Then, she smiled and pulled on the aquamarine top she'd loved forever and a day, before moving too her safe, and entering her combination. She wasn't surprised to find Spence's badge and gun still safely inside, absently pulling both and his clip, after placing hers on her person.
She lightly did her makeup, glad that she never had to use much, and used an antiperspirant, before placing that in her ready bag. Then, she walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where her boyfriend was sitting at the table, two plates of eggs, bacon and toast, and two cups of coffee, his black hers with light cream and a packet of sugar, on the table.
"Good morning, honey," she said again, as she pulled the chair out. He smiled at her. "I have your gun and badge," she said. He nodded, "Thank you, Jennifer."
She still shuddered in pleasure, unable to believe the possession he could inflect saying her name. "How did you sleep last night, you were late in arriving?"
She smiled, not surprised he'd noticed when she got home. "It was a tired sleep, Spence, but so far, it's been a wonderful morning."
He blushed, and she knew his mind had immediately went too their pre-shower morning, her skin goose pimpled at the thought. "That was a wonderful present you gave me this morning, honey. I know how uncomfortable you made yourself, so I appreciate it all the more."
"A little bit of discomfort is worth it seeing your face light up," he told her honesty. "You're more important than anyone in my life, save mom, for entirely different reasons."
She didn't know how to respond to that. Surprised that he would open up so candidly to her, and not sugar coat the words with half-truths. He would never be the type to tell her that she didn't look fat if she asked him, and he would never tell her that he didn't think of his mom in high importance, but she knew that he also would never lie to her.
And that was amazing.
"JJ," he asked. She looked at him, at the confusion adorning his face, and smiled lightly. "And you're more important than anyone, or anything, to me too, Spence," she said. She smiled seeing the understanding in her eyes. "You need not tell me that your mom is important to you, I know that. It is okay too imply things, especially when I know what you mean. I won't take anything personally, and I know your mom won't either."
He simply nodded, accepting the information she'd given him. Once breakfast was finished, they moved to the living room, where she turned on the television to CNN, where Anderson Cooper was talking too the San Francisco Chief of Police. She sighed.
"What's wrong, Jennifer?" Spencer asked his breath soft on her ear. She sighed.
"They're talking about our new UNSUB," she told him, "I wasn't going to bring it up until we got to work, to let our lives stay separate for a bit longer."
Spence nodded, and too her shock, took the remote and said, "Then, let's get your mind off of work."
She looked at him, confused, until he pressed three buttons, and Savage Garden's "Truly, Madly, Deeply" filled the speakers.
She gasped as he took her hand, and pulled her close to him. Her arms immediately went around his neck, as she leaned her head in, and they swayed together.
The music changed, seconds later, and the original edition of "I Swear" by All 4 One replaced it.
They danced together for what seemed like hours, his breath on the top of her head a comfort she'd never realized she wanted until she'd been given it on a whim. It was only as her secondary alarm, letting her know it was time to leave, went off that she realized what Spencer Reid just did.
"Let's go," she said as they separated. He smiled, and wiped his finger down her cheek and under her chin before he kissed her one, final, time and said, "I love you, Jennifer."
"I love you too, Spence," she said.
With that, they walked out her front door, their steps and attitudes drastically different from seconds ago.
JJ smiled as her engine roared. She shifted gears, and pulled out of the parking lot, her rearview mirror full of her young genius' older model Honda Accord. He must have seen her looking, as he shook his head, a soft smile on his face. She sighed, and pulled out of the driveway.
Dawn's early light was just cresting over the horizon, a cool, spring breeze filtering in her open window, as she drove through the crowded streets. Traffic was a nightmare.
When she arrived, she noticed that Spence's car was nowhere to be seen, and realized he must have been cut off. She sighed, and pulled her phone.
"Hey JJ," he answered. "Sorry, I got cut off by a school bus as you were turning off. I'm right behind you," he told her almost immediately. She sighed and said, "Alright, I'm going to head on in, let Hotch know."
As he gave her his assurances, she softly told him to be safe, and closed the phone. She walked too the nearest elevator, and climbed in, pressing the correct button to head to the Behavioral Analysis Unit.
The five minute walk through the FBI Headquarters was relatively simple, save for a few meandering fellow employees that hampered her trip by stopping and asking her for case considerations. She told them that they would need to submit a request in writing before she could present the case to her unit chief.
When she arrived, she was fifteen minutes early. She walked swiftly too her office, and unlocked her door, where she winced at the pile of files that had managed to accumulate overnight. Walking over to the only file in the outbox, she grabbed it and walked to the copy room, where Donald Palmer, the media liaison for another BAU team stood making his own copies.
"Good morning Agent Jareau," he said crisply, his black suit giving her the impression that the morning was anything but.
"Good morning Agent Palmer," she said happily, "How is everything going?"
"It's the same everyday, Agent Jareau," he said, his voice losing the crisp quality. "We have a case in New Berlin, Pennsylvania; stalker turned serial killer. And you?"
"The morning started out well enough," she said, smiling softly, "but we're headed to San Francisco."
"The Redeemer," the man asked, "how'd your team pull that?"
"Same way as always," JJ said, "They called the FBI, got passed onto me."
"Damn," the other agent said, "So soon after Boston? I know your team is back at work, but isn't it too soon to back in the field?"
"Apparently not," JJ said. "Your copies are finished, Don."
He looked down and gathered them up. "JJ, can I ask you a question?"
She nodded as she walked toward the copier, and started it up. The copies were being scanned and copied out, as she specified the number needed, four each.
"When you guys get back, I was wondering if you and I could go out… on a date?"
She looked at him, surprise on her face, before she let him down, gently saying, "I'm sorry, Don. I'm already in a steady relationship."
He caught her eye, looking for the slightest bit of untruth, but softened and said, "Whoever he is, he's a lucky guy."
She smiled and nodded, "I love him," she said.
He said, "Well then, Agent Jareau, I hope you have a good day. I apologize if I've made you uncomfortable."
"You too, Agent Palmer, and you haven't made me uncomfortable in the slightest."
"Oh JJ," he said smiling, "Your copies are finished."
She looked down, and laughed as she gathered her copies, and walked out of the copy room a few seconds later.
"Hey JJ," Derek said. "What's up with Palmer? He looks like the canary that's been eaten."
She sighed, "He asked me out."
"What?" Spence said behind her. She turned, ready to assure him that she'd turned him down, "I mean, that's completely understandable, JJ. How did he take it?"
She instinctively looked for any sign that her boyfriend was insincere, but mentally slapped herself for it. "He took it pretty good. I explained that I was in love with my boyfriend."
Spence smiled, as Derek whooped behind her.
"Should I go talk to him?" Spence asked.
"No," JJ said, "That would be the absolute worst thing you could do, it would make it seem like you are gloating, when you're not."
He nodded, "Thanks JJ."
"So, Pretty boy," Derek said, "Enquiring minds want to know? What do you and the beautiful Agent Jareau get up to in your spare time?"
"Oh," Spence said, "That's Top Secret."
Her laughter echoed around the bullpen.
She approached her office again, and prepared the four needed case files, making sure all pertinent information was easily visible, as Hotch stopped by her office.
"I heard what happened with Agent Palmer," he said without greeting.
"It was nothing; he asked me out and accepted it when I told him I was in a steady relationship."
"He didn't make you uncomfortable?"
"No," she told him, "Are we almost ready?"
"Yeah, I'm just gathering the others now. Meet in the round table room, five minutes," he said. She nodded, and picked up the five case files, the original and four copies, before exiting her office.
When she arrived, her young genius was already seated. Derek was at his right, and Garcia entered just after she did. Hotch came in, last, and closed the door behind him.
"JJ," he said, sitting as he approached. She picked up the case files, and said, "We're headed to San Francisco, California, to help catch the self-named Redeemer."
"The Redeemer," Derek said, "Isn't he dead?"
"Apparently not," JJ said, picking up the remote that controls the projector, "This note was found two days ago on the steps of Central Station. It's written in Hebrew, so SFPD haven't been able to decipher what it says."
"I wish Jason were here," Hotch said irritated, "He reads Hebrew flu…" he began.
"The vile and corrupt have again overstepped their boundaries; the arrogance and hubris have become their undoing. My work is incomplete. You have seventy-two hours before I begin again. I wish you luck," Spencer said. The team looked at him, and he said, "What? Jason taught me."
They looked at him. "You know I have an eidetic memory? I'm also an autodidact, which means that I am capable of teaching myself far greater than most people. Jason found out that I speak Russian, and asked what other languages I know, so I told him Spanish and French. He said that I should learn Hebrew, so I agreed."
Hotch shared a look with him, and said, "Can you also speak Hebrew?"
"Not even a bit," her young genius said, "I can read and translate easily enough, but I can't write or speak the language well enough to be of any help."
"Those are skills that you have to train in," Hotch said understanding. Spence nodded.
"How comes your Graphology?" he asked, pointing to the letter. Spence stood and said, "I'll need to examine the original, but I went to the library on base, and studied up on it. I'll need to talk to Agent Simmons when I get back, he teaches Graphology at the Academy, but I have an appointment for next Tuesday if we're not on a case."
Hotch nodded, and said, "Garcia, we're going to need you on this case with us. Central Station is being overrun with calls asking if the Redeemer has returned, so they've got no one to help get you set up. Do you have a ready bag?"
She shook her head. It wasn't a surprise, Penelope Garcia had gone on one case in her time at the FBI, and it hadn't ended well.
Alright, wheel's up in forty. Derek, go with her and help her get packed, and meet us at the airfield. We have twenty-three hours to find the Redeemer, or he's going to kill again."
Hotch, Spence and she separated from the other two, down to the parking lot, where they grabbed their bags, surprised that they'd managed to park, more or less, near each other.
"Reid," Hotch said, "How are you two handling things?"
Spence looked at him, and said, "I think we're doing well. We've agreed to keep all aspects of our relationship out of the office, if possible, and to try and keep the details of our cases out of our personal lives. It's difficult," he said, looking at JJ, "but completely and utterly worth every minute."
She ducked her head ahead of them, as they approached a standard issue black SUV.
"I heard that Agent Palmer asked JJ out this morning. How did you take that?"
"Under the circumstances, Agent Palmer had no way of knowing that JJ is in a relationship, so I took it to mean that he was physically attracted to her, and wanted to know if she reciprocated. I would assume by the fact that he did not retaliate to her rejection, that he was happy for her, even though he was hurt."
Hotch nodded and said, "Alright. JJ, if Palmer gives you any problems, come to me. He's been reported by various female employees as having boundary issues, such as the tendency to hug them unexpectedly. They have all agreed that if asked to stop, he will do so, and has not placed undue pressure on any of them, but is under surveillance."
She nodded.
When they arrived at the jet, they moved on-board. The pilot came from the front and told them that their take-off was delayed a few minutes by an approaching thunderstorm, but that the NWS didn't expect the rain to take too long to clear.
The next fifteen or so minutes passed in silence, except for pages turning. JJ looked up, and smiled as she saw her boyfriend scanning the report, his face etched in concentration.
It was coming up on forty minutes when the door opened, and Garcia's angry voice said, "And I'll tell you one more thing, Derek Morgan," she said, "I don't care if you're six-feet-one inch of chocolate thunder, if you EVER touch my laptop again, I will bury you six feet under! Do you understand me?"
"Sorry mama," the man said laughingly contrite, "I was just trying to help you along."
She growled at him, her eyes flashing, "You nearly dropped my baby!"
JJ looked at Hotch, who was watching the mounting eruption with amusement.
"How's Haley," she asked him. He looked at her, and said, "Pregnant."
She gasped as Spence looked up, a look of panic on his face. Her face dropped a second later, realizing that she had no idea what her boyfriend thought of children… though she knew what they thought of him.
"How long," Garcia's voice said, excitedly.
"Six weeks," he said, "before…" he said softly again.
"Before Boston," JJ said sadly. "Does Jason know?"
"He does now," Hotch said, "I found out Monday after we returned from Warwick, and I called Jason and told him. He told me that he was ecstatically happy for me, and that he was transferred to the FBI Academy to teach Behavioral Analysis, so that he'd start seeing us more."
"I'm happy for you," JJ said happily. "Do you think Haley would mind some female company when we get home?"
"I think she'd like that," Hotch said.
"Hotch," Reid asked, "Are you excited?"
The man looked at her young genius and said, "To be honest, I'm terrified. So many things could happen. Both Haley and I are recessive carriers for 3-M Syndrome."
"Hotch," Reid said. The man looked at him.
"3-M Syndrome is a genetic growth retardation disorder. Its name comes from the name of the authors who first reported the disorder; Miller, McKusick and Malvaux, in literature, and is identifiable early in pregnancy. Its symptoms are dwarfism, facial dysmorphia, and skeletal abnormalities, but there are usually no signs of mental retardation."
The father-to-be sighed with relief visible on his face, as he said, "Thanks Reid. I'll have Haley make an appointment with her OB/GYN to get tested when we get home."
Spence looked at her, and she smiled at her boyfriend. "Good job," she mouthed to him. He smiled back at her.
"So," Hotch said a second later, "What do we know about the UNSUB."
"A lot," Morgan said, "And nothing at all. We know he's an organized, mission-oriented serial killer that has at least fourteen victims to his name. We know that he kills successful, wealthy men between the ages of thirty-five and fifty, and that he always leaves a note three days before he kills again as a way of taunting the police. He doesn't differentiate between races, seven victims have been white, and seven have been black.
We also know that he named himself for the press, who until the last victim, were hailing him as a hero for taking down corrupt businessmen. He left a letter after killing David Michael MacLeod saying that as long as the city kept its act clean, he'd stop killing.
He also admitting that MacLeod, who had donated millions of dollars to various charities, death was a mistake, that the real victim was Dwight Jordan, MacLeod's next door neighbor and business rival."
"So," Hotch said, "What don't we know?"
"How old the Redeemer is," Spence said, "or even a general description. When he was first hailed as a hero, conflicting reports came in detailing an black male between six foot two and six foot six, a white male five feet four and three quarters inch tall, and a pair of brothers, both six feet two inches tall, one Asian the other Japanese."
"He's never left DNA at a crime scene," JJ said, hoping to contribute, "But he always leaves something behind from a previous victim. The local LEOs think that is his signature. Jason originally consulted on the case about two years ago, so Central Station should have a copy on file. If not, I know that Garcia can download it when we get there."
Hotch nodded.
"What do we have on Dwight Jordan," Hotch asked, "If the UNSUB is starting again, we have to assume that Dwight Jordan is his first target."
"He died two weeks ago, terminal cancer," Garcia said, her hands typing away on her laptop. "His death was reported nationally, since he was the major shareholder in a restaurant chain."
Hotch nodded, "And his family?"
"He divorced from his wife a year after the UNSUB stopped, but not before she gave birth too a baby boy, Dwight Junior. His son has been named his sole beneficiary," the techie said reading the information off of the screen.
Hotch nodded again. "When we get too the station, Derek and I will start on a preliminary profile. Garcia, you'll need to get everything set up for our connection to Quantico. JJ, I'll need you to get started on a press conference as soon as we land. Reid, you'll need to start analyzing the letter. I don't need to tell you that we are running on a strict deadline, you all know your jobs, and we're going to be working with Jason's profile, so we'll go from there."
The team nodded, in a display of uniformity that would have bothered anyone else, if they had never been involved with the Behavioral Analysis Unit before.
After a few minutes of silence, JJ stood and walked over to the coffee machine that was kept on board for longer flights, and started a pot brewing, while her teammates started discussing the details of past cases.
The anxiety felt as they headed towards a new city, a new UNSUB, was familiar yet unwelcomed.
They landed after a few hours, and as soon as they arrived to the station, separated to do their assigned duties. The lead detective, who had initially called for their help, looked appalled at the blatant dismissal, as JJ sighed and said, "Detective Marsden? I'm Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone. I apologize; sometimes our team gets tunnel vision."
The Detective nodded, and said, "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Agent Jareau. Is Agent Gideon with you," he asked looking for the stoic, yet knowledgeable older agent. JJ shook her head, not wanting to explain to the Detective why Jason hadn't come, though she did notice an understanding look cross his features.
"The Agents currently dismantling the case room are SSA Aaron Hotchner and SSA Derek Morgan. Our Technical Analyst, Penelope Garcia, is currently taking over the computers to get our connection up and running, and SSA Doctor Spencer Reid is looking over the UNSUB's letter."
"We still haven't gotten a translator in," the man said, "I'm not sure how he's going to look over it, he's what… twenty?"
"He's twenty-three, and he can read Hebrew, which is the language that letter is written in," JJ said, "If you'll excuse me, I need to get in contact with the local media."
The Detective nodded, and said, "I'll be with your Unit Chief."
JJ nodded, and went about getting hold of her local contacts.
"JJ," Hotch said a few minutes later, "How are preparations for the press conference coming?"
"I can have local media here in about two hours, Hotch. I've also managed to arrange for the previous letters in evidence to be brought up."
"I'll let Reid know to expect them," the man said, "Keep up the good work."
She nodded.
With Reid
He entered the room with a whirl of activity, as he approached the officer manning the projector where the most recent letter was displayed. The officer, like so many before him, automatically sneered as he introduced himself, surprise coming across his face as Spencer used his given title, Doctor.
When the officer moved away from the projector, Spencer pulled a pair of latex gloves, and slipped them on his hands, before he approached and picked up the letter, which had been slipped between plastic sheet protectors.
He hurriedly read over the translation, mentally interpreting it with what he'd hurriedly scribbled on the plane. Other than a few incorrect conjugations, he'd gotten it correct.
With that done, he began analyzing the strict, almost proficient way the UNSUB wrote; using the Semitic language itself instead of phonetically. That meant the UNSUB was multilingual. Spencer's mind raced through the various jobs that required a person to speak Hebrew, in the United States, and was about to go talk to Garcia when Hotch came in.
"Hey Hotch," he said, "What can I do for you?"
"Reid, JJ has arranged for the UNSUB's previous letters to be brought in so you can analyze them."
He nodded, "That's a great idea, it'll give me insight into the UNSUB."
"You've got something?" Hotch asked, surprised.
"I'm not sure," Spence admitted, "But like I've been told on many occasions, nothing is unimportant."
Hotch nodded, and said, "Right, nothing is unimportant. What do you have, and why do you think it's important?"
"I've gone over the possible translations to the letter, and I realized something. The letters are written in Semitic Hebrew, which too the layman are nothing but a series of symbols, instead of phonetics. There aren't that many jobs that would require a person to know how to write in Hebrew. What's more," Spence said, "the letter is handwritten, and I can see none of the obvious signs that it was hand copied from another sheet of paper."
"That's good work," Hotch told him, "What types of jobs should we use to narrow our search?"
Spencer said, "Any Ambassador to Jerusalem, or Gaza, would be fluent, as would a college professor who has studied abroad. A high school teacher may know, but again may not. Any local Rabbi would most likely be fluent also. A company officer whose business works in or near any Hebrew speaking nation would also help."
Hotch was about to say something, when the door opened, and an officer came in with a large box. Spencer walked over and opened it gently, before he said, "What all did Agent Jareau ask you to bring?"
"The previous Redeemer letters, as well as a copy of Agent Gideon's initial profile," the officer, suddenly nervous, said. "If there is anything else, Doctor Reid, please let us know."
The man exited swiftly, and Hotch nodded to him, "I'll check back later."
With Hotch
He hated that they were so far behind on this case. The UNSUB was meticulous though, always keeping things close to the chest, and never leaving any fabric, any fibers, or anything even close to suspect around the dumpsites. From a forensic point of view, there was literally no case to be had.
And yet, from the point of a view of a Behavioral Analyst, the crime scenes spoke volumes. Hotch knew this as he stepped out of the room where a young genius with an IQ of one-hundred eighty seven was currently, meticulously pouring over every single, solitary aspect of the letters they had… or were they Hotch wondered as the genius walked over to him.
"What's wrong Reid," he asked. Spencer held out the letter to him, his figure tense with exasperation. Hotch looked down, and cursed the ineptitude going on around them.
"Detective Marsden," the unit chief said.
"Yes Special Agent Hotchner," the man said.
"My team requested the letters that you've received on the Redeemer case."
"That's right, I had Officer Martinez bring them too you a few minutes ago, your Agent did sign for Chain of Evidence."
"Yes he did," the man said, "But he needs the originals, not the translations," Hotch said firmly. The Detective paled, his body turning, his shoulders taught with anger as he said, "Martinez!"
"Yes boss," the man said, walking in, his shoulder swaying.
"Get Agent Doctor Reid the originals, now!" the Detective said, anger inflicted in his voice.
"Those aren't written in English, boss," the man said, his voice full of smug hubris. Hotch growled in his throat, and said, "We don't have time for this. Every second you rebel against your bosses decision in asking us here, is another minute closer to the UNSUB killing again. You need to quit seeing our presence here as a remark on your capabilities, and realize that this is what we do. Get Doctor Reid the originals, do it now, or I will have you arrested for impeding this investigation!"
The officer paled, and turned on a dime, running to the door.
"Hopefully," Hotch said his voice full of anger, "This isn't going to come back and bite us in the ass."
Reid nodded at his side, and said, "We've got less than six hours to find the UNSUB."
Hotch, who had been keeping a mental account of the time, sighed.
When the officer came back in, his face was full of impotent anger, as he thrust the box and another evidence form too the genius doctor, who quickly signed the document, and cracked it open, to make sure the disgraced officer wasn't trying to press his luck. Again.
"Well," he asked. Spence nodded and said, "While I have both copies, I'll check compare the two translations. The others were translated within ours of their arrival, so it doesn't make since that this last letter took so long."
Hotch nodded.
The hours passed quickly, and tension was high between the agents and the local officers, who were seeing the winding down clock as a sign of their ineptitude. Hotch had visited Garcia twice, asking her to gather information on the Redeemer from the FBI database, which included Jason's notes and his initial profile, fully written; not just the footnotes version that the police had on file.
He'd visited Reid once more, asking him how the graphology was coming along, when Spencer had only made an offhand comment, his face furrowed in confusion.
"Hotch," he'd said, "I think I know why this last one wasn't translated right away."
When Hotch looked, he noticed it too. Spencer Reid was looking at familiar handwriting, that of his mentor and friend, Jason Gideon. He was glad that, even without him being here, Jason was looking out for his team.
April 12, 2005: San Francisco, CA, 5:20P.M.
He stalked the man with a vengeance, his knife gleaming in the setting sun. He'd hoped that the police would find him, and end his horrid existence. Ever since he'd found out that Dwight Jordan had died, not at his hands like the corrupt slime he was, but as the act of a vengeful, yet merciful God, he'd been enraged.
Now, as he stalked the large, overweight male currently entering one of San Francisco, California's most popular adult entertainment nightclubs, he swore that he'd never make that mistake again.
The man exited ten minutes later, as he knew he would. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the man, he'd known him once, six years ago when he lived as an orphan on the streets. The man was a known 'pimp', who sold the services of both men and women, some for same-sex purposes, depending on the mood of the clients. Only pimp wasn't the right word, because each of his employees was one-time, and was never seen again.
But that was his night identity. During the day, the man was a successful bank manager, who had chosen to supplement his well-paying job with a better paying, less taxed alternative.
His hands clenched as he watched the man walk down the street, a girl no older than seventeen, if younger, on his arm about to walk into a life she'd never expected, or escape from.
He exited his car, his knife gleaming as he pulled his hoodie over his head, and walked too the man, Carl Jamesworth's, car. Carl grinned, his eyes holding a maniacal gleam as he moved to open the passenger side door.
He approached Carl with anger, and an excitement he hadn't felt in years. With one smooth, gleaming plunge, he stabbed the man in the base of his spine, instantly paralyzing him. The young girl's eyes widened in fear, as blood sprayed across the window. He noticed that she was younger, sixteen at the oldest, and said, "You need to run home, little girl. This man was going to sell you too his clients. Get out of the risqué business, and I need not come for you."
She nodded, as fear entered her eyes. The Redeemer smiled, and opened the man's eyes, dead. He felt for a pulse, dead. He lifted Carl's hand, and placed a letter underneath. Then, he pulled a signet ring, bearing the MacLeod Coat of Arms and placed it on Carl's finger, before taking a marker and writing on Carl's uncovered arm.
I'm sorry.
That done, he drew an arrow too from the message too the signets ring. MacLeod's death would always be with him, but he couldn't atone himself until his mission was completed.
The sounds of sirens were coming closer now, so he moved along the street, and into an apartment building. He walked calmly to an apartment, discarded his jacket and mask, and placed it on a hangar, before he walked up too the top of the roof, and jumped over to the next building, and over to the third, where he entered a roof access staircase, which he walked down. He took an elevator too the bottom, and out of the front door, looking at the scene where police were already taking pictures, and observing.
He turned; ready to walk away, when a hand touched his shoulder. A tall, well-formed black man stood before him.
"Excuse me, do you live around here," he asked, showing a badge, FBI? The FBI were here? His mission! What about his mission?
"Yes, I was visiting my friend, Ariel, who lives here, but I live in the apartment two doors down. She wasn't home, but I did see Old Mrs. Abernathy while I was in."
The man, Derek Morgan, nodded and said, "Did you see anything suspicious a few minutes ago?"
The man shook his head, "No, there's always something happening here, gang activity and whatnot. We pretty much learn to ignore strange noises, and such. What happened?"
The FBI agent shook his head and apologized, before telling him he could be on his way. He walked over too his car, black and two doors, before he started his ignition. He'd have to call Ariel later, and tell the young woman who was sweet on him that he'd stopped by to ask her out, as too not arouse suspicion. Damn, he didn't have time for this.
"I think there's a lot of naiveté and hubris within our mix of personalities. That's probably our worst crime. I keep wondering what a 'mature' record means.– Ian Williams"