When the Levee Breaks

History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, however, if faced with courage, need not be lived again.

Maya Angelou

EIGHTEEN

It was five o'clock in the afternoon before Hotch managed to finish up all his interviews. To his chagrin, he had made no case-breaking developments.

Neither had anyone else, it seemed.

They needed a casebreaker. One small bit of information that made everything fall into place. Meanwhile, though, they told each other of the day's findings.

'...every search parameter we could think of, man. Nothing,' Morgan was saying.

A strange thought struck Hotch. 'The list,' he said. 'Some of the people I spoke to – their names weren't on the list. They were temps. Temps aren't always included on full-time employee lists.'

'It does give a solid workplace connection.'

'You can't temp in a police station,' pointed out JJ, referring to the seventh victim.

'But the police would have been questioning suspects,' Reid said.

'Okay, Baby girl. Work your magic. White male, between 25 and 35, living alone in a house, working for a temp agency.'

'Still a lot of names on that list,' remarked Garcia.

'No,' said Hotch. 'We need to call the companies themselves, and get that list.'

Each member of the team went for a phone. Ten minutes later, they had a list of temp workers for each company.

'Are there any names that keep cropping up?' Hotch asked Reid, who was glancing at each list, names stored in his eidetic memory.

'Four,' announced Reid. 'Terry Macquarie, Max Clark, Lorelle Harding and Casey Redding.'

'Run those against the profile,' Morgan told Garcia, holding a breath.

'Nothing,' she announced. Morgan thumped the table with his good arm.

'What if he doesn't fit the profile?' wondered Reid. Morgan looked up at him, eyes almost hopeful.

'Remove the age parameters,' suggested Reid. 'No,' he corrected himself. 'Widen them. 20 to 40.'

'Nothing.'

'What if he isn't living alone?' wondered JJ.

Garcia shrugged, and removed that requirement. 'Terry Macquarie, 21. Lives with his parents and sister.'

'No,' said three voices in unison.

'Max Clark, 37. Lives with his father.' Tap tap. Frown. 'His father, who, according to other records, died over six months ago. Clerical error, maybe.'

'Not if he changed the records. When did Clark work for the victims? Was it in the weeks before the abductions?'

'Yes, in most cases,' nodded Garcia. 'But he's worked for some of them several times.'

'This is our guy,' said Hotch, momentarily stunned. He had been hoping for a casebreaking revelation, but he wasn't expecting to get it.

They all but ran to the parking lot, Hotch collecting Detective Walters and some backup on his way.

'They questioned me again today,' he said, moving the water-dripping device away from her forehead. She blinked, several times. She could feel her heart racing.

'It's so...exhilarating. To know that they're so close, yet so far.'

'Don't underestimate them,' she muttered. It was the first sentence she had spoken to him in the past two days. He seemed intrigued.

'You're not like the others,' he said. 'I spent days – weeks – trying to break them. You were broken before I even got here. You haven't screamed once.'

'This? This is nothing.'

He seemed disappointed. 'I haven't finished yet,' he whispered, wrapping his hands around her throat. She felt the air flow stop, the fingers already bruising. She sunk slowly back into the abyss.

'We don't have a warrant,' explained Detective Walters.

Hotch looked at him, and then back at his team. Rossi and Reid had their vests strapped on, guns already out. Morgan, JJ and Garcia stood back further, waiting apprehensively.

'I don't care,' decided Hotch. 'I don't want the death of one of my agents to be because we couldn't get a judge to sign off on a warrant.' He started walking in the direction of the house.

'They'll crucify you,' Walters called after him. Hotch kept walking. Reid and Rossi followed. Walters looked on, stunned. Then he thought of the police officer that he'd failed to protect. The victims whose lives had been shattered by this sadistic son of a bitch.

'I guess they'll crucify me then too.' He waved his men forward. 'This one's on me, guys.'

A/N: Well, that's that chapter. I was going to write more, but I have to get to class. No more tonight either, because we have stocktake at work. I guess you'll all have to suffer through another twenty-four hours of not knowing. Peace out. tfm.