CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Master Part I
"The whole commerce between master and slave is a perpetual exercise of the most boisterous passions, the most unremitting despotism one the one part, and degrading submissions on the other. Our children see this, and learn to imitate it. - Thomas Jefferson"
April 10, 2005
"Diana," a brusque, masculine voice called through the silence in the living room of the small, one-storied house. "Diana, get me a damn steak! A nice juicy one, and make it fast!"
Eyes widened as a black-haired, green-eyed woman slid out of her makeshift bed. The woman winced, her back arcing in pain, as days-old slashes stretched and bled anew. The woman had a large, hand-shaped bruise covering the right side of her face, and her hair, once the symbol of her power and integrity, was matted and flea-ridden.
Seven years the woman had been held captive, abused daily and forced to live a life of solitude and slavery, to serve at the whims of her master. It was an existence she hated.
"Don't make me come down there, you lazy ass bitch," her master's voice called out, echoing through the house. As rapidly as her heavily emasculated feet could take her, the woman only known as Diana walked too a large deep freezer and winced at the site inside.
Another woman, this one blond, laid naked inside. The woman was the fourth one during her tenure at the master's feet. Large, gaping wounds covered the entirety of her once healthy, living body.
"Diana," the man yelled again. She winced, and rubbed her bruised ribs, as she took a carving knife and tipped the blade into the deceased woman's flesh, where a cut already ran along the underside of her skin. Quickly she took the steak into the kitchen, only inches from her 'room' and turned the stove on; before setting the steak on the rapidly heating surface.
"You'd better be in the kitchen when I get there, bitch," a man warned, as he turned the corner. Instantly, she averted her eyes, and bowed her head submissively, as the sounds of sizzling meat met her ears. The man, her master, placed his hand to her cheek, and raised her eyes to meet hers.
"Why didn't you answer when I called," the man asked with authority in his voice. Diana kept quiet, her eyes trying to avert themselves.
"You may speak," her master ordered.
"You did not give permission, master," Diana said a quiver of fear in her voice as she felt his breath on her face, putrid and decayed. The man pulled her face inches closer to hers, and forced his tongue into her mouth. She repelled the urge to vomit, to resist, and let her body flow into his.
"Tell me, Diana," the man said with a sinister smile on his face, "What you would do if I offered freedom?"
'Run like hell,' her rebellious thoughts came to her mind, but she knew that any answer, any response, would have her beaten and bloody on the ground at the monster's feet. Yet, her rebellious thoughts again came to her, this time of a dream from so long ago, of a field of yellow tulips, and grass farther than she could ever envision.
"Master," she said hesitantly. The man smiled, "Yes Diana."
"May I turn your steak?"
A dark chuckle echoed forth from the man's mouth and he said, "Yes, then shower and dress, you'll be with my friends and I tonight. And remember," the man said, his voice a slithering whisper, "should Sam complain again this week, you will regret it."
She nodded, trying to repress her urge to shiver.
April 17, 2005: 3:30AM
JJ sighed as she woke that morning, the body beside hers gripping her tighter. A phone, hers, was ringing.
"Spence," she whispered softly, "I need to get up."
He lightened his grip around her, the tips of his fingers trailing a line down hers as she slid out of the warmth of her bed, and her young genius' embrace.
The phone was on its seventh ring by now, and she could just picture the officer on the other side growing impatient. Before it could begin it's eighth, though, she answered.
"Jareau," she said softly, a yawn escaping her as the officer on the other end gave the usual platitudes for interrupting her sleep.
"Deputy Sanchez," she said surprise in her voice, "From La Grange PD? What can we help you with?"
She looked at Spence, as her boyfriend slid out of bed and walked out of their room.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, sincerely. "I'll head into the BAU now, and get a case file ready for in the morning. We'll be out there as soon as possible."
April 17, 2005: 7:30AM
JJ sighed as she stood in front of the team; her shoulders slumped in obvious exhaustion. Spence, to her side, was nursing his seventh coffee-flavored sugar of the morning. As the team gathered, Derek noticed their states and went to make a smart aleck remark, but stopped himself when he saw the case files in front of them.
"I received a call this at 3:30 this morning from Deputy Luis Sanchez of La Grange Police Department, in Le Grange, Wisconsin. He was calling to let us know that they found Jennifer Walcott's body in an isolated dump site."
In unison, the team opened the case files in front of them, except Spence, who had seen it all before.
"Damn," Derek said almost immediately. Hotch's face was set in stone, and a glacial gaze came over his eyes as he said, "Do they have any leads?"
"No," JJ said, "Deputy Sanchez said that, like with the previous cases, the UNSUB left nothing behind. It was as if Ms. Walcott died in the very spot she was found in."
"Has anyone else been taken," Hotch said?
"Deputy Sanchez believes so. Six days ago, Isabella Knightly was reported missing by her mother, Gabriella. State police didn't think anything of it, as Miss Knightly was taken from her home in Edgarton, which was twenty-five miles away and well out of our UNSUB's presumed comfort zone. Then," JJ said pressing a button to change the presentation, "They received her picture."
The next case file showed a woman, black hair and green eyes, which looked suspiciously similar to Jennifer Walcott's.
"As you can tell, Isabella Knightly is a match for our UNSUB's preference."
"Have the police identified the UNSUB's signature?" Derek asked. JJ nodded a grim look on her face. The next picture, of her chest and torso, had a single word carved into the flesh.
Diana
"It looks like he's back," Hotch said after a few seconds. Reid looked at him, confusion on his face, as Derek's gaze sharpened in anger.
"This can't happen again, Hotch," Derek said, his gaze locked with their Unit Chief. Hotch nodded. "Reid, I will need to catch you up on what we know on the way. JJ, you should be somewhat familiar with the case; I know that Jill took it upon herself to keep the case active, and as her partner, you would have been notified to keep the case in your thoughts. Hopefully, both of your insights will help us catch the UNSUB before something happens to Ms. Knightly."
They didn't wait long for the order, "Wheels up in twenty."
They were sitting around the small area of the plane, surrounding a computer where Garcia was keeping them updated with the latest details of the case.
"Hotch," Spence asked, "What's going on, exactly?"
Hotch looked at them and said, "It was one of the first cases I ever had with the BAU. An UNSUB had abducted a young woman, Savannah Miles, from her home in La Grange, Wisconsin. About the same time, the body of another woman, Brianna Washington, was found almost a mile from the dump site, her body beaten, with signs of sexual abuse spanning years, and a single word carved into her skin, Diana. The trail went cold for six months. When another report crossed Jill's desk, this time indicating that Savanna Miles body had been dumped, again with Diana etched into her chest, we realized that it wouldn't be long before another woman was taken. We later found out that Savannah Miles had Stage Four Liver Cancer.
Before we arrived back to La Grange, Jennifer Walcott's family reported that she was missing. We headed out almost immediately, but the La Grange PD asked us to leave just as we arrived; a new mayor had recently taken office, and was sure that the local and state police could handle the investigation. As we didn't have jurisdiction, we reluctantly left, with the understanding that there would be no leads until Jennifer Walcott's body was found.
The lead deputy on the case, Luis Sanchez, however, disagreed with the local mayor's decision and called us about three days later, promising to keep us updated. Jill was the media liaison at the time, and had him promise to call the second something happened."
"And this the first time in seven years that something came up?" JJ said horror in her voice. She looked at the picture of the woman again, and said, "How is that possible?"
"That's what I'm here for, my pretties," Garcia said. "I've been searching hospital records in a twenty-mile radius around La Grange, looking for any suspicious injuries. None have been reported."
"Good start, Garcia. Extend the search from twenty to fifty miles," Hotch said, "And include real names and the name Diana, no last name."
Garcia nodded, a determination in her eyes as she said, "I'll call you soon, hopefully with good news; goodbye my doves."
The team was silent, a fierce determination in their gazes as they stared at Jennifer Walcott's face, which was finally peaceful in death.
They landed about an hour later, but had to travel another hour by car when they arrived. The local field office had a couple of standard issue SUV's brought out for them to use, luckily, or they'd have had to arrange for transportation.
"Hotch," Derek said, "What happens if the mayor turns us down again?"
Hotch sighed, "I've already received permission from the brass to turn this into a federal case if that should happen."
Derek nodded; a hard determination in his gaze, as they pulled into the parking lot of the local sheriff's annex.
"Deputy Sanchez, I'm Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone. You know Agent's Hotchner and Morgan, this is Doctor Spencer Reid."
"I was hoping for the full team, Agent Hotchner," Deputy Sanchez said slightly confused.
"We recently lost six members of our team," Hotch said, "And Jason's taken a leave of absence."
Luis's face fell as he said, "I'm sorry, Agent Hotchner, I had no idea. I've been told to bring you to meet Mayor Wilson."
Hotch nodded and said, "Alright." His shoulders set, Hotch walked into the city council building, a one-story building that looked like it only had three rooms. And, it wasn't air conditioned.
The mayor's office was full of trophies, and various knick-knacks that showed the woman behind the desk was completely comfortable in the space. Hotch's face set, he stepped forward and said, "Mayor Wilson, we meet again."
"Agent Aaron Hotchner," she said calmly, her voice sounding strained as she said, "Before we begin, I need to apologize. Seven years ago, I made a mistake that has cost the life of a young woman and endangered the life of another. I lived with the hope, albeit false, that, somehow, Jennifer Walcott would be found alive. Obviously I was wrong. Believe me when I say that I have no intention of making the same mistake again."
Hotch nodded, a slight look of relief on his face as he said, "Thank you, Mayor. I know that I speak for my team when I say that I'm very glad to hear that."
Mayor Margaret Wilson sighed. "I've come to know the Walcott's very well since my inauguration as Mayor of La Grange, Agent Hotchner. This is going to devastate them. If you wouldn't mind, please keep me informed of all details of the case. I've already instructed Deputy Sanchez too work with you completely.
Agent Morgan," the Mayor said to the man to JJ's right, "Please believe me when I say that I never wanted this."
Derek nodded, though anyone could tell it was forced. Mayor Wilson said, "That said, I believe that Deputy Sanchez has a list of suspects for your perusal. I wish you the best of luck; hopefully you'll succeed where I failed."
"Then we need to get to work," Hotch said, "Morgan and JJ, I want you to head out to the dump and abduction sites. Reid, head to the precinct with Deputy Sanchez, and begin setting up for a geographic profile. I'll go and talk to the families."
"Hotch," Morgan said, "You sure you don't want help?"
"I'll be alright," the man said, a sad, but reassuring look on his face. Taking his reassurance as an order, the team separated to do their, hopefully successful jobs.
With Derek and JJ
"JJ," Derek said as they arrived at the government-issue van. His shoulders were tense, and she could see his hesitance. She looked at him, as she settled into the front seat, and waited patiently.
"Are you alright," JJ asked her voice soft as she watched the confident man hesitate. Derek nodded, his face tense as he placed the key in the ignition, "Yeah, it's just that this is a difficult case. This UNSUB has been abducting women for years, and as far as we know, he never leaves anything behind."
She shivered in slight fear, and said, "I couldn't imagine being locked in a cage for years, forced to do God knows what to survive… I think I'd rather kill myself."
"They tried," Derek said softly. Her head snapped up, and her eyes met his as she urged him to explain. He did, his voice coming so softly that JJ almost had to struggle to hear him over the engine, "We won't know until a toxscreen is preformed, but Brianna Washington's body showed signs of prolonged exposure to items that would have killed her in large doses.
Mostly antifreeze," Derek told her, "but there were also traces of rat poison in her system, as well as various over-the-counter and prescription drugs. Any combination of which should have killed her in large doses, but if given over long periods would have built up in her system."
JJ's eyes widened, fear and disgust on her face as Derek sat down, "When we were forced to leave, we told Mayor Wilson that she'd come to regret her actions. We told her the profile for this type of UNSUB; sadistic, with complete control over her life, and able to keep control by giving her enough poison to drug herself, but not commit suicide. Even her death is controlled by the UNSUB," Derek said a minute later, "He keeps her alive long enough to carve "Diana" into her chest, and then she dies, knowing that he was allowing her too."
JJ's face paled, as she turned to him. She saw his face clenched in absolute rage, and his eyes were hard as he said, "So hopefully you can understand how I feel about Mayor Wilson."
"You hate her," JJ said so softly that she was sure Morgan had not heard her. His sly chuckle was her only reassurance that he had.
"She was so full of hubris that she told Rossi, Gideon and I that local and state police could handle the search. We were so angry, none of us wanted to leave, you know." Derek paused, "I loathe her, JJ," Derek said. "And now, we're expected to work with her."
"That's why you guys have me," JJ tried assuring, "It's my job to deal with the politics of our situation. And," she said softly, "I think I'm pretty good at it, Derek."
"Yeah," Derek said, "You are."
She nodded, glad that her friend was coming around. But, she glanced at him worriedly, noticing that his fingers were still clinched tightly on the steering wheel, his knuckles white with suppressed rage.
She could see his shoulders were tensed and wondered why, when he turned into a large, wooded area. She wondered where they were going to pull off too, but turned in surprise when he turned off the engine, and pulled the key.
She quickly depressed the latch, and opened her door. Quickly, she checked to make sure her sidearm was positioned correctly, before slowly pushing the door open.
"This is the area that our UNSUB has dumped each of his known victims," Derek said as they met at the front of the standard-issue vehicle. "Because of the amount of time between body dumps, the local and state law enforcement has reopened the site when the case went cold."
JJ nodded, and turned to study the ground around her.
"What are we looking for," she asked the experienced profiler. Derek looked at her pointed, his eyes moving too and searching an outline in the sand, and said "To be honest, I'm not sure what we'll find. I know that local and state officers have canvassed the area already," he said pointing out the yellow tape that hung off the trees, so its not likely we'll find anything they missed. Just look for anything that is completely out of place. We can hope that the UNSUB made a mistake."
JJ nodded and walked under the police tape, and absently placed a pair of blue latex gloves onto her hands. She knelt down, where she noticed a handprint, and turned to Derek.
He nodded a sad look on his face. Her eyes searched the ground, travelling from the prints too where an outline of a face was eerily visible. Where the woman's mouth would have been, a small mound covered in dry blood protruded.
Derek knelt down, his hand searching the soft, blood-stained ground for the briefest of seconds. Then, his fingers wrapped around a small, mud-covered necklace which he picked up and placed into a small, plastic bag.
Then, Derek sighed and said, "JJ, let's split up. I need to head a bit deeper into the woods, and I need you to get a CSI unit out here to investigate again. We need to know if the UNSUB came back, or if they missed this in the initial investigation."
JJ nodded and said, "Keep your line open, and I'll do the same."
"Good idea," the profiler said softly, before he turned his attention to the tree line. JJ watched him disappear, before turning her attention too where the outline of Jennifer Walcott's body was slowly fading as dirt and mud shifted around it.
She knelt and said, "I promise that we'll do everything we can," as she pulled out her phone.
With Hotch
Aaron sighed, spying the familiar road with a small amount of trepidation. This wasn't the first time he'd been down this particular, well-travelled path, and he had a feeling that it wasn't going to be his last. His eyes narrowed in sad disbelief as he approached a large, yellow house.
The owners of the house, Abraham and Sara Walcott, must have heard him coming. Hotch sighed as they exited the large, cold house, and sat on the front porch.
"Agent Hotchner," Sara said as he parked, her eyes whetting with unshed tears. He looked at their states, and frowned. He hadn't been informed that someone had visited yet.
"Mrs. Walcott," the unit chief said as he approached the disheveled woman. Her husband was holding her hand tightly, if his white knuckles were any indication, and his eyes were red from tears… the air of defeat on their faces telling him more than he needed to know.
"I'm sorry to be here under these circumstances," the unit chief said unceremoniously. The couple sat down as he approached, blithely offering him a seat as the burdened man neared.
He took the offered seat, and waited, knowing that they would speak in their own time. It didn't take long for Abraham to begin.
"We knew you were coming," the man said unnecessarily.
"I got that impression," Aaron told them man hesitantly, "Do you mind if I ask how?"
Abraham pointed to a brown package sitting in front of them. Aaron reached forward, barely meeting their eyes as he opened the package, his face paling as he eyed the contents.
"It was sitting on our front porch when we woke up this morning," Sara said, her voice cracking as she eyed the box with disdain.
He could easily see why. Inside the box, a black VCR tape precariously sat beside a small, blood-written letter with the words "the last minutes of Diana's life."
It was signed, "A friend."
Hotch felt an unbridled rage fill him as he eyed the taunt, his eyes glazed with righteous fury.
"Can you tell us why he's doing this?" Jennifer's grieving father asked, his voice cracking with the same unbridled rage.
"I can," Aaron told the man, honesty reflected in his words. "But please trust me when I say that its best you not know."
A hesitant nod was his only response. "I need to ask you a question, and I'm afraid that it's going to sound unsympathetic, but I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."
"Go on," Abraham said, as he took a deep breath in preparation. Aaron sighed, "did you recognize anything on the tape that stood out too you, other than what the UNSUB wanted you too?"
"Like the background or anything? No," Sara said, her voice cracking. "Just our daughter…" Hotch didn't bother looking away when the woman shifted too the side, her food from the day violently expelling from her body. "And the other woman."
"Other woman," Hotch asked.
"Jennifer was… she was…" Abraham said, choking as he struggled to admit to something horrific.
Hotch sighed, knowing that the family had said all they were going to on the matter.
"Would it be alright for me to take the tape back to my team?" he asked, "Obviously, something on there is important, but frightening enough that you can't or won't talk about it. My team and I need the information this tape contains, especially if it helps us to catch the bastard that's doing this."
"Please do," the now sickly father said, his voice cracking as he stood and said, "And please don't think less of our Jennifer…" before grasping his wife's hand. Aaron shook their hands, and apologized again for their loss, and turned away too let them grieve in peace.
It was as he approached his van, that Sara Walcott's voice caught his attention. "Agent Hotchner, promise me you'll catch this bastard."
"I promise," Aaron told the woman, his voice tight with anger as he stared at the grief-torn woman, "I will catch this bastard."
He wondered, briefly, how he would feel if his unborn child was hurt in such a way. Silently, he placed the box into the back of the van, and said, "I need to get this back to my team, is it all right if I come back to speak with you later?"
The couple shared a long, grieving look, and nodded simultaneously. Aaron sighed and walked down the stairs, five minutes after he first arrived, knowing that the grieving parents were in no state to talk anymore, the UNSUB's final taunt too raw for them.
With Reid
Reid entered the large, air-conditioned room fifteen minutes after the team was dismissed, his shoulders tense with undue tension. Deputy Sanchez stood beside him, his grief palpable as he looked around the room; where the faces of known and suspected victims stared back at them.
"There are ten more victims here," Spence said in incredulity, absently noting the similarities between them, or lack thereof, and comparing them to the known victims. Only one of those on the display actually met the profile.
"These are just the local cases," Deputy Sanchez said silently, "There are about fifteen other cases, scattered across the state, which matches or nearly matches the detail we know about."
Reid looked at the pictures, his eye for detail silently studying every crevice, nook and cranny of their faces and committing them to his eidetic memory. The level of torture the UNSUB inflicted upon the victims was heinous, and sometimes Spencer hated his eidetic memory.
Absently, he noted that those that did not match their immediate profile were nearly identical in looks, blond with forest green eyes, slender builds, and anxious, yet portraying a fearlessness that would have been a challenge to any of the various UNSUB's that they regularly chase.
He absently pulled at the white board, and tacked-up a map that showed most of the surrounding area. Spencer spared only a second glance at the details provided to them by Deputy Sanchez, and only to check that his figures were accurate, then started.
First, he marked where the previous dump and abduction sites were located, which he noticed were all around a five square mile area, a fact he outlined in red as soon as he realized it. Then, he placed markers for the six closest cities, three of which were in the UNSUB's comfort zone.
"What do you have so far, Doctor," Deputy Sanchez asked as he walked towards the concentrating genius. Spence looked at the man and said, "Can I have the files for the local missing persons?"
Deputy Sanchez pointed over to an oft-disused filing cabinet and said, "They'd be in there, Doctor."
Reid opened the filing cabinet swiftly, and gaped at the flowing stack of files. He had expected the amount to be larger than ten, considering the victim's profiles that were displayed around them, but not this many…
"There are about twenty-five files here, Deputy."
The Deputy nodded, a solemn look on his face, as he looked at the large stack that Spencer pulled out, and set on the table.
Within minutes, the young genius was scanning through the back log of various large, and somewhat dated documents. He separated out the known victims of their UNSUB, Brianna Washington, Savannah Miles, Jennifer Walcott, and Isabella Knightly, and then separated out those that disappeared within the presumed comfort zone, all of which were blond, and eyed forest green like before.
Nine victims, four of whom had disappeared within the last seven years, were sat on the table beside him. Their disappearances corresponded and overlapped, he noticed, on a twenty-one month basis, or one year and nine months.
Deeming the information important, even if he wasn't sure why at the moment, Spencer placed flags beside each of the women that corresponded with the disappearance of their primary victims. Four of the women had disappeared during the times that Brianna Washington and Jennifer Walcott were missing, each, with one disappearing while Savannah Miles was also. And hers was the only gap that lasted less than twenty-one months.
Spencer was frustrated, when Morgan and JJ entered an hour later. It didn't take long for the profiler to notice the young genius' added details, and when he did, surprise washed over his face.
"Is that what I think it is?" Derek asked.
Spence said, "If you think its some type of corresponding timeline for our UNSUB, then yes."
JJ's eyes widened as she looked at the nine new pictures, and she turned to her young genius, who was staring at her, his eyes clouded in a mix of relief, and self-loathing.
Hotch came in a few minutes later, his eyes holding a furious anger to them, as he set a plain brown box on the table, and said, "You need to see this."
The group turned to their unit chief, who was eying the box with a loathing the team knew all too well. They often saw the same loathing in their own gazes, as they noticed a detail, or learned of some new perversion that gave them knowledge of the depravity that humans can sink too.
Hotch opened the box. Against the far left wall, a TV/VCR Player combo sat on a tall mount. Their unit didn't hesitate to walk over, and place a VCR into the player.
She was obviously underfed. Her frame, which was once obviously healthy, was easily emasculated and stick-thin. Her ribcage jutted out of her stomach at odd angles, sign that the woman, easily recognizable as Jennifer Walcott, had been beaten regularly.
Her hair, a dulled and dirty brunette, was matted; a tangled weave of uncoordinated discontent.
She was standing beside a table, her dead eyes staring down and too the left in a sign of clear submission as a man, her abductor, ate a large, bloody piece of meat.
Where Jennifer was thin and unhealthy, the man was not. He was obviously well-fed, but his body was slightly emasculated. It was confusing, until the camera recording the man moved to a cold-storage freezer and the body of a blond woman could be seen, chunks of her body missing. The camera moved back to the man, who was saying something to Jennifer, whose face had paled as she sat on the man's lap.
He was saying something, but it was obviously only intended for his victim, as she nodded resignedly. With slow, delicate movements, Jennifer's face reached forward, and she guided the fork into her mouth, and took the meat off the fork.
The man's face took a familiar, sickening look about him, obviously having gained his release at the show of power he had over Jennifer. Her face was sickly pale now, and contained a green pigment. Obviously, Jennifer's ultimate act of submission, consuming human flesh, had given the man his ultimate high.
"The Walcott's received this tape, anonymously, this morning. It was left on their front steps, and the family is understandably upset. They agreed to my taking the tape so that we could analyze what we found on it."
The man; whose face was cloaked in shadows, looked right at the camera. His hubris was evident, as the low light in the room around them hid his face very well.
He said something to the cameraman, and grabbed Jennifer by the back of her neck, and pulled her towards him. Then, forcibly he kissed her, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth. The sight of his yellow, almost decayed teeth, and Jennifer's slight, almost unnoticeable flinch was all the sign they had for what came next.
The woman vomited.
Seconds passed in uncomfortable silence, and the team tensed for what they knew would be coming next.
She fell to the ground, seconds later as their UNSUB punched her in the face, his feet lashing out too kick her in the side, one after the other. She grasped her side, her mouth open in a silent, for them, scream as she held her caved ribs. He continued to kick her for five minutes, maybe more, then knelt above her battered body, and spat on the broken, bleeding woman.
She flinched back from the look in his eyes, and then seemed to beg for him to stop what he was doing. The camera panned to the right, where he placed a knife on the iron of the stove, and turned it on. The woman flinched back, and attempted to move, but her ribs forced her to stay as the man approached.
Then, to their confusion, he stopped and nodded at something the cameraman said.
When the foot connected with her temple, and the woman passed out, the camera shut off.
Hotch approached to eject the tape, his face tense with undue pressure.
"Hotch," Morgan said in warning as the tape began again. Hotch turned, and silent relief filled him as he realized that as bad as the first part was, the Walcott's didn't actually watch their daughter's murder.
He turned, and then uttered a heavy curse. He doubted that the UNSUB's accomplice even realized they'd accidentally turned the camera on, but the area they were in was heavily wooded, with trees and moss growing all around them.
Derek, thankfully, recognized the area almost immediately.
The camera panned around, and seconds later, JJ pointed to the screen. "And that's where we found the necklace," Derek nodded and pulled the necklace from his pocket, where it had been placed after being sealed.
Spence took the necklace from them, and eyed the video, which he paused in order to investigate something that only he saw. JJ walked over to her young genius, and placed her hands lightly on his wrist, before she said, "What are you seeing?"
"It's more what I'm not seeing," Spence told her, his voice tight with frustration. "The victim isn't wearing this necklace, but since it was found underneath where her body was dumped, either someone dropped the necklace and didn't look for it, or it was planted there."
"It's a taunt," Derek said, "Just like the tape is a taunt to her parents. This is a taunt to us, telling us that this man is three steps ahead at the moment."
"What do we know of the other woman on the tape?" Hotch asked.
"Her name is Jessica Williams, 27 years old and lived within ten minutes of La Grange, Wisconsin. She was reported missing twenty months ago."
They looked at Spence, who was eying the pictures of the other nine women on the board. Hers was the last picture he'd found that met his secondary profile, and as much as he wished he didn't, the genius now knew what the UNSUB was doing to his secondary victims.
Silently, they started the tape again.
Her body fell to the ground with a silent thump. Silently, the UNSUB knelt above her, and ripped her shirt off of her body. Silently, her eyes flew open and a silent scream filled the screen.
The sound must have enticed the accomplice, because seconds later the camera started jerking erratically, and the UNSUB turned, and stifled a chuckle. Then, he said something, and Jennifer's eyes widened in fear as the man laughed. The UNSUB seemed to frown, a second later, and turned to her, smacked her across her bruised face, and then placed a piece of cloth in her mouth.
Then, the smoke of a fire could be seen behind him, and the UNSUB turned back, a few minutes later, holding a red-hot knife that he touched to the woman's skin.
For the next fifteen minutes, she screamed as he etched into her skin, the heat from the knife working to cauterize her wounds as soon as they appeared.
When her body finally fell limp, the man seemed to lean over, forcing his tongue into her mouth, as he whispered into her ear.
An hour later:
"He's a cannibal," Spence said softly, looking at the gathered law enforcement officers, mostly all of them state officers. They were gathered around an old television that still contained the tape they'd received earlier that morning.
"He's a sadist," Derek said quickly, "He enjoys the control he gains from forcing his victims to answer to anything he says, but forcing them to set aside their inhibitions and actually cook… and eat human flesh? He probably gains release every time."
"And when the release isn't as powerful anymore," Hotch said, continuing his teams' thoughts, "He kills the primary victim, and kidnaps another. He then hunts locally for his secondary victim, a blond haired, forest green eyed woman that he forces the victim to cook so he can consume them."
"Are you guys sure about this? Wouldn't a cannibal eat his primary victim too?" An officer asked, as he wrote down some information in a pad he was holding.
"The UNSUB gives the primary victim prescription and over-the-counter drugs, any combination of which should have killed them, but in such low doses only acts to poison her 'meat'. The only problem with that is that she thinks she's slowly killing herself." JJ said in disgust.
Hotch looked at her for a second, then to Derek, and nodded before saying, "We know this because her tox-results show low doses of rat poison and arsenic in her system, but not in high enough doses that can kill her. We also know that he used Antifreeze, and various other poisons, all in an effort to give the woman false hope.
We think that, right before she dies, the UNSUB tells her that he was slipping the drugs to where she can take them, and watches as she resigns herself to death. We won't know that, however, until we catch the UNSUB."
"That's where you come in," Morgan said as the unit chief stopped talking. "La Grange is such a small town that, more than likely, the UNSUB is a member of the local militia. He could even be a cop, or a member of the local government. As we're not sure of whom we can or cannot trust in this matter, we need for the state police to assist us in our search."
"I don't think that will be a problem," Deputy Sanchez said. "Other than me, the only other member of the police force is a lieutenant that is only a volunteer at best. I had him vetted, and I've already submitted my own name for vetting. I've asked for all results to be sent to the Sheriff, and state police, so they should know if anything is missing."
"That's good," Garcia's voice came over the computer, "because we have a problem."
The room turned to the vibrant woman, who was looking at them with both pity and frustration.
"Can someone turn on CNN?" Garcia asked. JJ moved to the television in the room, and turned it on.
"If you're just joining us, the bodies of five students at Las Vegas High School have been found in the school gymnasium. Cops on the scene have determined that the children, who range between the ages of fourteen and seventeen, were murdered and are in the process of informing their families. Until then, their identities are being withheld. A spokesperson for the LVPD has informed reporters that a call has been placed to the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit.
Section Chief Erin Strauss, who oversees the Behavioral Analysis Unit, has contacted CNN and informed them that a team has already been assigned to the case. We'll keep you informed as more information comes in. Back to you Wolf!"
The screen cut back to a middle-aged man, with graying hair that was shaped like a lion's mane…
"We can't go," Reid said softly.
"The Director has already agreed to your transfer. You're the easiest team to get together on such short notice, and your jet is already being prepped to takeoff," a woman's voice interrupted Garcia as the technical analyst moved out of the way. "And before you ask, Agent Hotchner, yes I did check to see if there were any other teams available, but this order came from my bosses."
"Chief Strauss," the man said stiffly, "I understand that, but we're dealing with a cannibal that has kidnapped multiple women over a long period of time. If we don't catch him now, we won't get another chance, unless he makes a mistake!"
"I'm sorry Agent Hotchner, but this case has to take precedence," the woman said, with no sound of regret in her voice, as the connection ended.
Hotch turned, his face stern as he said, "I'm sorry about this."
"It's not your fault," Deputy Sanchez said as the team started packing up. Hotch said, "We can give you a profile before we go."
Sanchez nodded, and said, "I'll give the profile to the staties after you're in the air, Agent Hotchner. Hopefully, you'll make it back before too long."
Hotch nodded, his face set in stone.
"You're looking for a white male between the ages of forty-five and sixty. He's lived in the area for at least fifteen years, possibly more. He had a wife named Diana, who either left him or was murdered by him. Either way, she won't be in his life anymore."
Reid stepped forward.
"The fact that the UNSUB likes to physically torture his brunette victims, and murders his blond victims, means that more than likely Diana was blond. He consumes them so that he can prevent them from leaving. Jennifer Walcott, and now Isabella Knightly, was simply the means to that end."
Derek said, "And he does not hold a steady job. As much as I hate to say it, more than likely he prostitutes the living victims in order to earn money. That means that he will live in an isolated area, most likely in the middle of the woods near where the victims were dumped."
Reid nodded, "This area," he said pointed at the colored in map, "is his comfort zone. Any suspect you have should live in these areas. If I had more time, I'd narrow the information down even more, but at the moment we can't. What I will do," Spence told the man, "is work on the geographic profile, and have it sent to the state police office."
"Most importantly," Hotch said again, "Do not involve the local militia in this investigation. Do not involve the mayor, or any member of the local government, until they are fully vetted by your people."
The state police nodded. Hotch said, "We will be back."
"I know Agent Hotchner," Deputy Sanchez said. "Hopefully, with your profile, we'll be able to narrow a suspect pool down, and catch the bastard doing this."
"I'll have Garcia keep a search going for any information relevant to this case," Hotch told the man.
As the team packed into the standard-issue SUV, none of them dared look back.
"Diana," his sharp voice woke the sleeping woman. Her eyes fought to adjust to the low light in the room.
"My name is Isabella!" the now groggy woman said as she sat up, her eyes glowing with a determination that he hadn't yet driven from her. That didn't bother him, though; he enjoyed the game far too much to want it over so quickly.
"What do you want, bastard?" Diana asked him snappishly, her voice cracking as she fought to keep her composure against his more-intimidating aura. He grinned and licked his lips, as he leaned over her.
"I just thought you'd want to know, Diana," the man said, breathing heavily in her face, his putrid stench causing her to vomit slightly. She gagged, and moved backward, defiance in her eyes that he knew would soon be extinguished.
"I thought you'd want to know that the rescue you hoped was coming, isn't. That FBI team that was called here to find you have left, it's all over the county. That means that you, Diana, had better shape up quickly. My patience with you is running thin."
She spat in his face.
His foot kicked out, striking the woman in her toned stomach. He reached down, and grabbed a handful of her hair, and said, "Now, get in the kitchen and cook me a steak!"
"I won't, you sick freak!"
"Oh really?" the man said, his eyes grim with excitement. He watched the fear enter her eyes for the first time, and she took the slightest step backwards.
"It only stands to reason that where there's sacrifice, there's someone collecting on the sacrificial offerings. Where there's service, there is someone being served. The man who speaks to you of sacrifice is speaking of slaves and masters, and intends to be the master. – Ayn Rand"