A/N: I seriously believe that not only would Gibbs stick DiNozzo with Hotch because he trusts Tony to do the job on behalf of NCIS, but also because he knows Tony can get under anyone's skin. I also believe that Tony would like understand he might have a dual purpose as well in being paired with Hotch.
Hotch gripped the steering wheel tightly as the only way to keep from turning around in his seat and decking DiNozzo. His work and the frequency with which he has had to interview some of the most depraved and devious human minds had left him with a high tolerance for insults, goading, and manipulation. Typically such things bounced harmlessly off him. However, even Hotch found his admirable patience and restraint stretched to the limit by Tony DiNozzo's incessant prattle about movies.
"Now, I thought the American remake of 'Shall We Dance' wasn't bad, but the original Japanese version is far superior. That's the way it is with a most movies. All though John Carpenter's version of 'The Thing', way better than the original."
Morgan sat in the front passenger seat next to Hotch. He threw an irritated and pleading look at his boss, the younger man not even having the level of thick skin the BAU team leader had. DiNozzo was working both of the FBI men's last nerve, which was probably what Gibbs had in mind when he assigned the younger NCIS agent to go with the FBI men. They had only been in the car for fifteen minutes but it felt like an hour as DiNozzo kept up a running commentary on movies.
"And 'Ben Hur', you don't see something like that chariot race anymore. The spectacle! Now, that is a bit of a toss-up with the original because the original version's chariot race was pretty darn spectacular as well. But Charlton Heston as Ben Hur, directed by William Wyler. Wyler, great movies he directed, 'Mrs. Miniver', 'Jezebel', "Roman Holiday', 'The Collector'…"
"Seriously, do you think Gibbs would honestly miss him if we kill him and dump his body into the Potomac?" Morgan muttered in a low tone. Hotch tilted up one corner of his mouth.
"'The Collector', huh, he's kinda like our guy," Tony mused. "You know, kidnap a woman and keep her."
"Our unsub is not a 'collector', he's a sadist," Hotch said in a cold voice.
"Yeah, but in 'The Collector' he gets away with kidnapping Samantha Eggar. No one suspects what he's done. He planned it all so carefully," Tony continued. "Like this sicko."
"We know. He's careful. He's a planner. It's all in the profile we've built," Morgan said in an aggravated tone.
"So he just automatically got this good at kidnapping and killing women and not leaving any trace evidence behind? I'm not the serial killer expert, but don't these guys start off a little sloppier? Maybe going for an easier target than these fit, high profile women? I mean, as soon as one of them doesn't show up on their regular schedule, there's somebody in their life raising the alarm."
That gave the two profilers pause. It was true, how did the unsub avoid leaving absolutely no evidence until now? These were not high risk victims. Their disappearance would be noticed immediately and with their connections an all-out effort would be made to find them, increasing the unsub's risk of being caught.
"He may have attempted something like this before," Hotch said slowly.
"But we did a search of potential victims and nothing turned up," Morgan argued.
"What did you search on? Maybe Dr. Giggles didn't start off doing homemade lobotomies and that's a new thing for him to keep these women docile," Tony added. "Maybe his earlier victims fought back and he just didn't want to deal with that anymore."
Hotch and Morgan exchanged looks. They hadn't considered the possibility that the unsub may not had formed his signature. When they searched for prior victims, they concentrated on the victims' looks, if there had been any sexual assault and deaths. But what if the victims had survived? And if the unsub started with victims who may not have reported being sexually assaulted and held captive, perhaps a prostitute who may not have wanted to go to the police, it may not even show up in any records. It wouldn't be a first time they've had an unsub move from prostitutes to socialites.
"It's a possibility we could have missed something," Hotch admitted grudgingly. "We'll have our tech analyst look into it."
"McGee can do that," Tony began to say, but Morgan already had his phone out and was calling Garcia.
"Hey Baby Girl, where you at?"
"Oooh, where do you need me, handsome?" came Garcia's purr over the speaker phone on Morgan's cell phone.
"Rrrrowwwrrr, who's that?" DiNozzo asked in a curious voice as he leaned forward to hear better.
"Morgan? Who's that?" Garcia squeaked out, surprised by the unfamiliar voice.
"You're on speaker, Garcia. I'm here with Hotch and Special Agent DiNozzo from NCIS."
"Oh crap. Sorry, sir!"
"Garcia," Hotch said crisply, ignoring her lapse, "We want you to do another search of potential victims. This time though, focus on survivors of sexual assault."
"Sir, that's going to a pretty long list, even if I use the victim type as a filter."
"Concentrate on hospital records," Hotch continued, "We're thinking the victims may not have reported to the police what happened to them and no report was filed."
"Sir, those hospital records are confidential. If the women didn't report a sexual assault, there's not going to be any information I can access."
"Most hospitals and clinics have a domestic abuse or sexual assault counselor. Talk to them. They might remember a victim and if they can't give you a name, they can give you a starting point of when the attack happened. We're thinking it's possible that the unsub started with an easier target, prostitutes, homeless women who may have survived an attack. See if the counselors or even the ER attendants remember anyone who was seriously injured, but still refused to report it."
"I will do what I can, my liege. Garcia out!"
"She sounds fun," DiNozzo grinned.
"She's also the best at her job," Morgan growled out. He glanced over his shoulder at the NCIS agent. "And off limits."
"Hey, okay! I get it! I don't move into other guys' territories."
"No, it's not that-," Morgan began.
"We're here," Hotch sighed in relief. He parked and turned to look at both men. "I suggest we keep focused on this case." He gazed pointedly at both of them before he got out of the car.
"I see the bug up his butt is continuing to build condos," Tony muttered as he got out of the car and followed the two men into Miss Ellington's.
Miss Ellington's Academy for Young Ladies was located in an old building in Southeast Washington, not far from the Capitol. It was in a converted, relatively large brownstone that had two, small and rather pretentious stone lions adorning the either side of a short staircase that lead up to a door painted bright blue. A small, discrete brass plate sign next to the door announced in cursive script that this was the right building.
The doorknob, brightly polished, turned easily in Hotch's grasp and the men entered. The foyer was empty, a small Queen Anne desk and chair that typically housed a receptionist was unoccupied. The décor was done in a pleasing combination of pale yellows and creams with touches of dark hunter green. It had an air of quiet and rich elegance. They could hear music coming from a room down a short hallway. Hotch led the way down the hall and they stopped in the doorway of a large room.
A group of a dozen 13 to 16 year olds were lined up into two equal lines, staring straight ahead to where an instructor was lecturing them on posture and carriage. They were all dressed in simple black skirts that came to their knees and white blouses. Black, two inch, Mary Jane styled pumps were on their feet and they wore little makeup.
"They look like they're preparing to go into the nunnery," DiNozzo said in wonder.
"Hardly," came a cold, deep, feminine voice from behind the men.
They turned and saw a striking woman who could have been anywhere from forty to seventy. The woman with her deep, rich voice and tall, elegant appearance must have been a great beauty in her youth and still looked extremely attractive. Her silver hair was carefully coiffed and her face practically unlined. Bright blue eyes peered out from black framed glasses. She was dressed elegantly in black with a strand of pearls around her neck and one gold cuff. She was tall as well, her heels making her almost as tall as Morgan, and her perfect, straight posture put the young girls in the other room to shame.
"What are you…gentlemen doing here," she asked in a sharp, haughty voice.
"Agents Hotchner and Morgan from the FBI. This is Agent DiNozzo with NCIS," Hotch introduced them, showing her their IDs which the woman examined closely.
"Well," she huffed out. "What can I do for both federal agencies?"
"I'm sorry, you are?" Hotch asked.
"Vivian Ellington Maxwell," she replied as though this information should have been intuited by the men.
"Oh, so you're the Miss Ellington on the school name," Tony replied.
"My Mother was the original Miss Ellington. I took over for her thirty years ago."
"Is there somewhere we can talk privately, ma'am?"
She stared at them for a long moment with her piercing blue eyes before she spun gracefully on her heel and ordered in her sharp voice, "Follow me. We can talk in my office."
Vivian led them down a twisty hallway past smaller class rooms where they could hear lessons on dining etiquette, small talk and dress. "We are ladies, not Kim Kardashian clones. Breasts do not need to be aired like sheets!"
The Academy owner ushered them into her office, a sunny room with more Queen Anne furniture, silk wall coverings and a tasteful scattering of antiques. Pictures of the Academy that featured past students adorned the wall in a few places. A large vase of white roses sat on a credenza behind her desk where she seated herself.
"Now, what do you want?" she asked, getting right to the point.
"We were wondering if you can tell us if these women were students here," Hotch replied as she handed Mrs. Maxwell photos of their victims, saying each of their names as she took each picture.
Her eyebrows raised, Mrs. Maxwell studied each photo for a moment and then nodded. "Yes, now that I see them together like this, I remember them. I thought the first three women, looked familiar when I saw their photos in the papers. However, I knew them as Deborah Jones and Alison Carter, their maiden names. Yes, they were students here." She frowned as she looked at Commander Hill's photo. "She's a little younger than the others. There were three periods where I took time off from working at the school to have my children. She may have been a student then. One moment."
Vivian stood and went over to a bookcase where several shelves of white leather bound books with gold dates imprinted on the spines stood neatly. She pulled one and returned to her desk, seating herself once more. She opened the book and flipped through the pages, finding a page and handing the book over to Hotch. "There she is the class of 1983. I had my second son that year."
It was a different photo from the one Emily had found on the Internet. The men could see a fifteen year old Laura Hill with braces and glasses smiling at the camera.
"You don't remember Laura Hill, but what do you remember about the other girls?" Morgan asked.
Vivian let out a huff of breath. "Not much. They weren't extraordinary in any way that I can remember. I remember most of my students in some capacity, but only that they've been through the Academy unless they were unusual in some way."
"They were all here different years. Was there someone else at the Academy, an instructor or someone who was here frequently over the period of time that these women attended here?" Tony asked.
Vivian stared off in space for a moment. "That would have been from 1980 to 1983," she mused. "There was of course Miss Craddock who taught dance, but she passed away in 2004. Mrs. Bellamy, table etiquette, she left in 1995 and moved to Florida, I believe when her husband was transferred."
"Any men?" Hotch asked.
This received a cold stare from Mrs. Maxwell. "Our instructors have always been female. If you haven't realized it by now, Agent Hotchner, my Academy only caters to the best families and as such, they expect a high caliber of instructor who will be interacting with their daughters. We do an extensive background check on every staff member."
"Perhaps a handyman? A contractor? Surely you've had service done to the building," Morgan pressed.
"I would have to check the records, but I don't recall anyone who frequented the Academy and was male," Mrs. Maxwell continued in a cool tone. "I understand you are likely trying to find someone who knew all of these women and they seem to be connected by attending my Academy. However, thousands of young ladies from the tri-state area have passed through these walls. It may merely be a coincidence." She stood, clearly dismissing them.
The men also stood, not having any other questions for her. Hotch handed her his card and asked that she phone him after she had gone through her service and contractor records for the time period the victims were at the school. He thanked Vivian for her time and the men were about to leave the office when a photo caught Hotch's eye. He moved closer to it and saw some sort of class photo of about twenty girls dressed in dance gowns standing demurely by a large tree. It was the face of one girl that caught his attention.
"Who's that?" he asked Vivian as he pointed to a pretty brunette in the front row.
Vivian moved towards the photo and peered closely at it. "Oh yes, I remember her. Headstrong child. Emily Prentiss. The daughter of Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss. Beautiful child but never took her studies her seriously."
DiNozzo and Morgan had crowded around the photo to get a look at a young Emily who seemed to stare defiantly back at the photographer. There was a proud, rebellious tilt to her head and a determined set to her mouth, but there was also a sad look in her eye. A small date was imprinted on the mat around the photo, "June 17, 1986."
Hotch was looking at the other photos, taking note of their date and a discrete mark in the bottom right hand corner of every photo. "Mrs. Maxwell, you've used the same photographer throughout the 1980s and 1990s."
She stiffened at the implication and after a short moment, nodded her head sharply. "Yes. Yes and we still do. It's a family operated business. Williamson Photography in Alexandria."
"We'll need their contact information." Hotch's voice remained polite but there was a level of steel to it that clearly said he would expect no less than Mrs. Maxwell's complete cooperation from this moment forward.
Vivian Maxwell bristled but only nodded sharply and turned to get the address. Hotch looked back at the photo of Emily and wondered why her eyes looked so sad.