Chapter Three
Derek and Spencer arrive at the police station to meet up with the team. They find Hotch and JJ in one of the meeting rooms, which the lieutenant had set up as Party Crasher Headquarters. Rossi and Prentiss are already there, and judging from everyone's expressions their profile of the Johnsons was no more helpful than Reid and Morgan's.
"Morgan," says Hotchner, "What did you find?"
"Not much," admits Derek, "The Ramons were a fairly typical American family."
"The same with the Johnsons," adds Rossi.
"So what's the connection?" asks JJ, "Why did the unsub choose these people?"
"Maybe Garcia found something we couldn't," suggests Prentiss.
As if on cue, Morgan's cell phone rings. He checks the screen, and it's Penelope's number accompanied by a photo of her blowing him a kiss. He immediately answers it.
"Hey, Baby Girl," he says, greeting her with his pet name for her, "Speak of the Devil. Your ears must have burning."
"Oh, it's not my ears that burn when I think about you, Good Lookin'," she replies.
Derek chuckles a bit, as he always enjoys the innuendo filled banter that passes back and forth between them. "Hold on, Hot Stuff," he says, "I'll put you on speaker."
He turns on the cell's speaker and sets it down onto the meeting table. "Okay Garcia, we're all here. What have you got?"
"Good news and bad," she replies, "I've found plenty of information on our victims, but none that connects them in any way."
"Just tell us what you found Garcia," says Hotch.
"Okay," says Penelope, " Victims #1, the Ramons. The father, Manuel, is the child of Cuban immigrants. He was an honor student in high school and a star athlete. He got an athletic scholarship to Florida State University for football in which he was a running back, where he majored in criminology. He lost his scholarship in his second year when he blew out his knee. He didn't have the money to pay for tuition without the scholarship, so he dropped out. He joined the Florida State Highway Patrol, where his record was spotless, during which time he went to night school to study law. He graduated in the top 5% of his class. Passed the bar on his first try. He got a job with the District Attorney's Office, where he worked his way up to first chair at trials. Since then he has had the highest conviction rate in Miami, and one of the highest in Florida. Aside from his impressive records as a state trooper and a prosecutor, he also held black belts in both Judo and Tae Kwan Do."
"Citizen of the year," says Emily.
"Just about," agrees Penelope, "His wife, Victoria, was just as impressive. After high school, where she excelled both academically and at sports, specifically gymnastics, she spent a year backpacking across Europe. When she got home, she joined the police academy. Her performance at the academy was excellent. Shortly after being assigned to Miami PD, she was recruited for undercover work. She's been doing that pretty much ever since. She frequently enters the annual Police Marksmanship Competition. She has won more often than not. She also has a black belt in Brazilian Jujitsu, and has been studying Jeet Kun Do. Oh, here's something interesting. Her Jeet Kun Do instructor was one of Bruce Lee's original martial arts students."
"What about their daughter?" Reid asks her.
"Angela," agrees Penelope, "A chip off the old block. A B average student. A gymnast, like her mom, as well as a cheer leader. She also seems to have shared her parents interest in martial arts. She has been studying capoeira, and had even won several competitions."
"What about the other girls who were murdered there?" asks Rossi.
"They were all friends of Angela's, mostly from the cheer leading squad," replies Garcia, "All C and B average students. None of their parents had any criminal affiliations that I could find. I could dig a little deeper into them if you like."
"Only for the sake of being thorough," says Hotchner, "I have a feeling that it was the hosts that were targeted, and the guests were just at the wrong place at the wrong time."
"What about the second family?" asks Emily, "The Johnsons?"
"Charles Johnson was a high school PE teacher," says Garcia, "He was an average student in high school, but excelled in sports. He was a multi-time NCAA wrestling champion in his weight division. Went to college on an athletic scholarship, where he continued to wrestle. Didn't quite make the cut for the Olympics though. He also took up boxing, was a ranked contender for the Golden Gloves several times. He got a degree in education and got a job teaching. He even coached the high school wrestling team. His wife, Rebecca, was more the academic type. She studied education, drama, and psychology in university. Got into teaching right after graduation and had been doing that ever since. Apparently it was her life's quest to become a teacher. From what I could tell from their Facebook and Twitter accounts, their son Stephen was a fairly normal and well adjusted 11 year old boy."
"I'd concur with that," says Rossi, "His bedroom seemed fairly typical for a kid his age. He liked comics about young heroes. Teen Titan, Captain Marvel, things like that. He also had several novels with similar themes. The Chronicals Of Narnia, Harry Potter, and the like."
"At least one parent from each household was skilled in self defense," says Morgan, "But there's no evidence to suggest any of them fought back."
"Who ever killed these people must have been some kind of super ninja," says Garcia.
"What makes you say that Baby Girl?" asks Derek.
"According to the ME's report," she replies, "the weapon that was used to kill these people was a metal blade about two feet long, and beyond razor sharp. I mean it sliced through bones like they weren't even there. No splintering or nothing. Cleaner than the cleanest cut you could imagine. And they all died within seconds of each other. Like they tried to run but couldn't move fast enough."
"A wakasashi maybe? Or perhaps a ninjato?" suggests Morgan.
"I don't think so, Sweetie," replies Garcia, "The fact that the blades went right through the victims with greater ease than a hot knife through butter isn't the only weird thing about the murder weapon."
"Really?" says Emily, "What else is it?"
"All of the cuts were done in pairs," she says, "Two cuts side by side, perfectly parallel to each other. It's like they were attacked by Weapon 23 from the X-Men comics."
"Weapon 23?" asks Hotch.
"She's like Wolverine," replies Spencer, "She has adamantium claws that extend from her knuckles and toes. Only she just has two claws that extend from her knuckles, not three like Wolverine does."
"Thank God one of you likes comic books almost as much as I do," says Penelope, "But this isn't a comic book, and whatever killed these people is very, very real."
"Could someone have slashed each victim twice?" asks Rossi, "Maybe some sort of dual weapon technique?"
"According to the ME report, the odds of that being the case is less than 1%," replies Garcia, "The most likely explanation is that the murder weapon has twin parallel blades set several inches apart."
"Something the killer made himself perhaps?" suggests Morgan.
"Your guess is as good as mine, Sugar," replies Garcia.
"Anything else Penelope?" asks Hotchner.
"I'm sorry, sir, but that was all I could find."
"Okay, Garcia," he says, "Keep working on it. Let us know if you find out anything new."
"Will do, sir."
She hangs up, and Derek picks up his cell phone and shuts it off. The team all sits around the table looking at each other. No one speaks, for they're all thinking the same thing. They're right back where they started from. There isn't nearly enough evidence to put together even a preliminary working profile. There were lots of pieces of the puzzle that just didn't seem to fit. As unfortunate as it is, it looks like they might have to wait for The Party Crasher to strike again before they can move forward.
"So now what?" asks Lieutenant Vasquez.
"We'll keep going over everything," says Hotchner, "Assuming that the unsub doesn't stray from his pattern, he shouldn't strike again until the weekend."
"What should we do until then?"
"Increase patrols in residential neighborhoods," replies Hotch, "Call in any auxiliary police you might have. Maybe get some reinforcements from the state patrol."
"Already being done," she tells him, "I've even heard rumors that El Tarantula had put out a call to his fellow masked vigilantes to help him with his patrols."
"Who?"
"El Tarantula," she says, "One of our local real life super heroes."
"That's all we need," says Rossi, "A bunch of Batman and Robin wannabes."
"I just hope it's enough."
The following Friday, on top of a hotel with a rooftop swimming pool, there's a fairly wild pool party going on. Rainbow coloured flags are set all about the pool side area. There are balloons everywhere, of each colour of the rainbow. Lady Gaga's Born This Way is playing over the sound system. The man who rented the hotel to host his Gay Pride Party, Mark Soifer, is manning the gas barbecue provided by the hotel for his party. He's wearing a light pink speedo, a Hawaiian shirt, a pink chef's hat, and a yellow apron. On the front of the apron is a picture of two roosters touching beak to beak, with a red heart in between them. Below them is written Two Cocks, Double The Fun. The party is really hopping with several gay and lesbian couples dancing and having a good time. Mark's lover, Barry Paul, walks up to him with a pineapple cooler in each hand and hands one to him.
"Hey, Baby," he says as he hands a cooler to the host, "Love the party."
"Thanks Love," replies Mark, "I'm so glad that so many people actually showed up. I thought they might be too scared."
"With that maniac killer on the loose?" asks Barry, "The Party Crasher?"
"We ought to be safe up here," says Mark, "We're twenty stories up. Plus there's a whole team of security guards down in the lobby. I doubt there's anything to worry about."
Just then Barry notices a triangular group of three red dots on Mark's chest. He turns and looks to see who's playing around with a laser pointer. A moment later, seemingly out of nowhere, a bolt of blue energy flies through the air and strikes Mark in the chest. His back explodes, showering the wall behind him in blood, leaving a gaping hole in his rib cage. Barry lets out a high pitched, girlish scream as he sees his lover's insides splattered across the wall. Another energy bolt comes from out of nowhere and strikes Barry in the back, causing his chest to explode. He flies into the barbecue, knocking it over.
A lesbian screams as she sees her hosts die. A second later a pair of blades bursts from her chest, cutting her screams short. She's lifted off the ground by something completely unseen, then is thrown into the pool. Her girlfriend screams at the sight of her partner's death, then the blades slice her head clean off her shoulders. Another guest makes a dash for the door, but is stopped dead by a metal projectile, not unlike an arrowhead, piercing his skull.
Down below, Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan pull up to the hotel in their SUV. They have been going over the existing evidence, what little there is of it, all day and have made virtually no progress in their investigation. Agent Hotchner sent them to their hotel to get some rest. Their eyelids were so heavy they could barely keep them open. It probably wasn't a smart idea to drive while so exhausted, but the hotel is located only a few blocks away from the police station. Just as their SUV pulls into the hotel parking lot, Mark Soifer's headless body lands on top of the SUV's hood. The impact nearly flattens the vehicle.
"What the Hell!" cries Morgan.
"He came from the roof!" says Reid.
They get out of the vehicle. Reid quickly realizes that the body is missing a head, and by the looks of things, a spine as well. "My God!" he shouts, "He's here! The unsub is here at our hotel!"
"Call for back up!" shouts Derek as he draws his weapon and runs inside the lobby doors. Spencer quickly gets on the radio.
"All units! All units! Back up immediately requested for The Hilton Hotel at the corner of 70th and Wilshire!" he shouts, into the radio, "Possible multiple 187's taking place! It's The Party Crasher! The unsub is here!"
"Reid!" says Hotchner as his voice comes over the radio, "Hold your position! Back up is on its way!"
"Derek's already gone in, Hotch!" replies Reid, I've gotta go watch his back!"
With that, he draws his side arm and races after his friend and partner. "Reid! REID!" comes Hotchner's voice over the radio, but it falls on deaf ears. As he catches up with Morgan, the larger man is talking to some of the hotel security staff.
"Back up's on the way!" says Reid.
"Okay," acknowledges Morgan, "Now I want all of the civilians in the lobby to be moved into the lounge. Lock every entrance ans exit, and post a man at every door. No one is to be allowed in or out of the building until our back up arrives, and then only law enforcement personnel are to be admitted. Do any of you guards have law enforcement or military backgrounds?" about a half dozen guards raise their hands, "You all come with me and Doctor Reid."
"Where are we going?" Reid asks.
"Up to the pool on the roof," replies Morgan, "The unsub might still be killing people up there. We have a chance to stop him, but only if we act now!"
"So what are we going to do?" whenever there is tactical planning to do, Reid generally lets Morgan take the lead.
"You take three of the guards and go all the way up in the elevators," explains Derek, "One of the guards and I will take the stairs up the west side of the building. The other two guards will take the east side. With both of the elevators and the stairs being covered, the unsub shouldn't be able to get past us."
"But what about the back up?" inquires Reid.
"No time!" replies Morgan, "There might be someone up there getting murdered right now! Now let's move!"
Derek and a relatively fit security guard head straight for the west stairs, while two other guards head to the east stairs. Reid and the other three guards run over to the elevators and hit the buttons to go up. When the elevator doors open they go into the elevators, two to each one, and hit the buttons for the pool. It seems to take an excruciating long time for the elevators to reach the top. When they do, and the doors open up, Spencer Reid and the three armed security guards accompanying him step out of the elevators. They run to the pool side to see if they could stop the slaughter, only to find that they've arrived too late. Everyone who had attended the gay pride party was dead, their heads missing. The security guards all cover their mouths and turn away, trying hard not to get sick. Reid just stands there and stares, in an odd mix of horror and fascination. A flash of movement catches Reid's eye, and he quickly aims his side arm at what he thinks he saw. A shimmering image of humanoid form squats on top of the changing bungalow as though it was observing Reid's actions. Spencer blinks his eyes repeatedly, then wipes the sweat from his forehead, certain that his eyes are playing tricks on him. The shimmering image is still there. Suddenly, Spencer hears the doors to the roof top pool open. Reid whirls about, aiming his gun at the door, only to find him pointing it at Derek Morgan. Morgan holds his hands up defensively.
"Woah," he says, "It's just me kid."
Reid lowers his weapon. "Sorry," he says.
Morgan looks around at the carnage, shocked that there are so many dead bodies. He turns to the armed security guards that had joined them in covering the roof. "You guys go back downstairs and help secure the exits. The killer must still be somewhere in the building. When the rest of the team gets here, send them up to the roof."
The guards go downstairs to do as they're asked. Morgan walks over to Reid, who is once again looking at the roof of the bungalo. Whatever it was he thought he saw there is gone now. Reid looks at Morgan with a concerned expression on his face.
"What the hell is going on here, kid?"
"I don't know, Morgan," replies Reid, still looking very worried, "I just don't know."