Wayne drove back to the police station grim-faced. Gina and he had no children, and he couldn't imagine what Mr. Sterling was going through. The cause of his distress lay, sealed in an evidence bag, on the seat next to him. They would watch the tape after running it through evidence to collect anything their USUB might have left behind. Looking at the tape's wrappings, Wayne noticed that the material had the minor impurities and inconstant texture which he normally associated with Gina's hand-made paper.
He looked into his rear view mirror in an off-hand sort of way while stopped at a red light, and saw nothing but a white van behind him. Now that he thought of it, hadn't there been a white van that passed the Sterling's house? He had been inside dragging information out of a drugged and clearly out-of-it Mr. Sterling until, exasperated, he had glanced out the window and happened to see a van making its slow way down the street. He wouldn't have remembered it but for the huge, mickey mouse head-shaped spot of rust on the right side of the front bumper.
Wayne adjusted his mirror. The van's bumper was obscured by a sun-glare, so it was difficult to say if it was the same one. Its front license plate was bent in half, as if the driver had jumped a curb or two, making it difficult to read. Wayne briefly considered getting out to give the van-driver a warning, but the light turned green, and Wayne, with heavier matters in mind, decided to let it go.
As he turned right onto Main Street, the van took a left and his thoughts turned from Gina's paper to the woman herself. While she was generally understanding about his work, just as he was about the small paper business she ran out of their basement, Wayne knew his wife would kill him if he made a habit of early-morning forays in the name of duty.
That was why they had moved to Pico Aldo in the first place. Low crime rates meant fewer late nights or early mornings, fewer disappointed looks, fewer petty arguments. At least he still had a bargaining chip on the table; Friday night dinner with John Downey and his partner, Neal. He decided to tell her during his lunch break. Gina was particularly fond of Neal's lasagna, and evenings at the coroner's house were always amiable and enjoyable. That would square things away, he decided.
Nearing the station, he noticed the black SUVs out front, signifying the B.A.U team's arrival. The tall, dark-haired man with the stony-face, Hotchner, and the attractive brunette, Prentiss, were just opening the door to the station as he pulled up. The woman pointed to a cut on the man's neck, and asking, Wayne assumed, how he got it. Shaving cut?, Wayne wondered. The door closed behind them as Wayne steered his car into a parking space. He grabbed the evidence bag, taking a deep breath before opening the cruiser's door and walking into the station.
"Our UNSUB is most likely a white male in his mid to late thirties," Hotch said, addressing the conference room with a calm, relaxed demeanor that Reid envied. As gifted as Reid was, he often wished he was more comfortable addressing crowds, especially after listening to his colleagues' orations.
"The care and planning that went into washing his victims post-mortem, as well as the lack of evidence found at any of the dump-sites, both suggest an organized killer," Morgan said. "Our guy's intelligent, knows how to fit in, and will be difficult to catch. The month-long cool-down between each kill is unusually long for this type of pattern."
"Could the video have something to do with that?" Vasquez asked.
"We'll know more once we watch it," Reid said. Though giving the profile was a normal part of the case, he still felt his hands twisting at his sides as if they had minds of their own.
"We've dealt with UNSUBs who use cameras for all sorts of personal reasons...sometimes even web cameras to post their videos on the internet," He continued. "But if he's been videotaping his victims with some fantasy-related goal in mind, that could be extending the period. It allows him to recreate or prefect each kill, bringing it closer to his fantasy. He's also appears to be taking trophies; each time something small, like a watch or a ring. That could also be a factor in prolonging the time between kills. "
"This is a fantasy he's held for a long time," Prentiss said. "The multiple stab wounds to each victim indicate a deep seated rage, not at the victims, but someone they represent. This kind of rage doesn't just develop overnight. The person represented was close to the UNSUB, probably, but not necessarily, a close family member, who the UNSUB feels wronged by in some way. Killers like this don't stop until they're caught."
"Judging by the evolving M.O. we've seen from the first victim, it's probable that this is the first time he's acted on this fantasy," Morgan said, as Vasquez raised her hand again. "It's likely that our UNSUB had some sort of stressor before the first victim, which led to the acting out of these fantasies."
"Just ask the question Vasquez, this isn't school," Wayne said. To his chagrin, Vasquez actually blushed, but did ask her question.
"Why would the killer take such careful measures to get rid of evidence, but then do stupid, risky things like dump the bodies where we can find them, or send that tape to the third victim's family?" She asked. "I've heard of people wanting to get caught before, but..." She trailed off, thought unfinished.
"It's not so much that he wants to get caught," Reid said. "More that he wants us to know of his existence, probably to taunt or humiliate us. A surprising percent of serial killers actively communicate with either the media or the police in some form while they're active. Jack the ripper, the Zodiac killer, the Boston Rea--"
Reid stopped himself short of saying 'the reaper', pointedly ignoring Hotch's quizzical stare. Even Reid had noticed that the team had actively avoided talking about the case in front of Hotch for some time.
"It's actually quite common," Reid finished as JJ entered the room, holding a black cassette tape. They made eye contact and she shook her head. No luck with forensics, then.
"If we're at a good stopping point here, Evidence has done everything they could with the cassette," JJ said. "But all they figured out is that he wore gloves while handling it—the edges have traces a talcum powder on them. It, the cassette I mean, is a generic brand. They're still working on the glove-powder."
"Well, that's helpful," Morgan said.
"Actually it might be," Reid said. "The number of stores even carrying blank V.H.S. cassettes like that has decreased exponentially over the past couple of years with the introduction D.V.R's , D.V.D.'s, and other digital media."
"So we'll hit the stores that do have this brand and check if any others received special orders," Wayne said, then turned to address one of his detectives. "Jones, I want you to take a few other officers and cover that. Radio in if you find anything."
The officer, Jones, and a few others left.
"They just started working on the paper wrapping, but they've already determined it's not commercial. Something hand-made, but professional," JJ said, looking down at her report. "I'll see if the Bureau has any consultants who might be able to help us out."
"No need," Wayne said. "My wife has a craft paper-making business. She's an expert. I'll just grab it from evidence when they're done and show it to her during lunch."
"Perfect," Hotch said. "Reid, you're on graphology. Head over to evidence and take a look at our UNSUB's handwriting. Report back what you find. Morgan and Rossi, Wayne has already talked to Sterling's family. While I'm sure a thorough account was taken, I want you interview them again, as well as the other victim's families. See if they've received anything similar. Wayne, Prentiss? We'll watch the tape, as well as anyone else you think could help, Wayne. Afterward, I'd like to have it analyzed by our technical consultant, if that's alright."
"He's probably better than anyone we've got here," Wayne said.
"The best there is," Hotch said.
"And she likes to remind us of the fact daily," Reid heard Rossi say as he exited the conference room.
Though Hotch had sent Rossi and Morgan off as well, Reid couldn't help but think he had been purposefully left out of the video analysis. Hadn't his accurate visual and analytical powers of examination been proven crucial to the closing of countless cases? Why was he being blocked out?
He shook his head. No matter, he had a job to do. He'd confront Hotch with the matter later. Perhaps he'd even lay out the plan he was beginning to form, if he could get it untangled in his own head first, that was.
In the meantime, he had an address to address.