Chapter 2-The Investigation Begins

"So whoever this UnSub is apparently doesn't attract attention to himself. That much is obvious," Reid replied as he studied the file in his hands while Morgan continued driving. Reid's cell phone was open and on speaker to enable the others to listen. He waited patiently for a response. There was none. "Why do I say that you might ask?" Reid continued with raised eyebrows. "I say that because he doesn't seem to be a person who stands out in a crowd. Each of these men didn't seem to panic when they saw this person at first, not until they realized they were about to die."

Morgan glanced at the younger man. "You keep saying he. How do you know it's a man?"

"Well, while its true that either a man or a woman could commit a hit-and-run accident, its obvious to me these other crimes were committed by a man. For example, Atkins was stabbed to death during the commission of a supposed robbery. Atkins wasn't a small man. From what I've read, he was about your height and weight. I can't see a woman overpowering him enough to be able to stab him in the lower back several times."

Emily nodded slowly as she listened. "What about Bellamy, Collins and Morrissey?" she asked.

Reid went through the folder. "Bellamy was beaten to death. I'd say by the viciousness of the assault that it had to be a man. Not that I'm saying a woman could not be vicious during an assault, but this attack was exceeding more vicious than any woman is capable of even in anger. Collins, having been hit from behind was then dragged to his car with the motor running."

"I could see a woman capable of doing that," Rossi reminded him.

"Maybe. However, Collins weighed over two hundred pounds and at least six feet tall. I can't see the average woman being able to lift a man of that height and weight without help. And the unconscious body would be dead weight itself which would make it even tougher. I'd say we're definitely looking for a man of about six-one, six-two and at least two hundred pounds if not more."

"Okay," Hotch said still massaging his forehead. "Rossi and I will talk to the spouses of each man, while Prentiss will speak with the families of the victims, beginning with the most recent one. Morgan, I want you and Reid to take a look at the different crime scenes. JJ, I'll need you to put together a press release of some kind."

The UnSub drove his car using another route to get Alexandria. He knew that's where Hotchner and his team would be heading since all the victims lived there. But most of all, all that mattered was that Aaron Hotchner would be there. He had made certain of it. He simply had to follow him and let his scenario play itself out until the time presented itself and he could make his move in such a way that the profiler would never see it coming nor would he be prepared. It did trouble him just slightly that he would be making Hotchner's wife a widow with a small child. But, those were the dangers of having a job like he had. Hell, besides what he had done to him, Hotchner was responsible for the death of his wife. He was the reason she had to die. He grinned at the remembrance of the terror and fear on her face and in her eyes at the precise moment she realized she was about to die. To him it was a memory definitely to be cherished and never forgotten. And the FBI agent's death would be especially memorable as well. He would see to it. He had quit that miserable job as he no longer needed it. It did serve its purpose as it allowed him to be close to BAU and Hotch and allowed him to observe the agent. It was simply a means to an end and that end would be the death of Agent Aaron Hotchner. He smiled as he kept driving.

Rossi pressed the doorbell a second time as he and Hotch stood on the front step of the Brennaman home glancing around at the outside. They turned when they heard the door open and a woman stood before them; her face reflecting her grief. Hotch held up his identification so the woman could see it. "Mrs. Brennaman, I am Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. This is Special Agent David Rossi. We're with the FBI; may we come in?"

Gillian Brennaman stood back from the door to allow the two agents to enter. As they did, the agents noticed a boy and girl sitting on the floor of the living room playing with a jigsaw puzzle. The children looked up at the two strangers as the agents walked further into the living room. Their eyes focused on Hotch, both children jumped up and ran to him catching him off-guard. The girl wrapped her arms around Hotch and a smile broke out on her young face while the boy grabbed his hand before their mother could stop either of them.

"Daddy!" the girl squealed excitedly.

Gillian started forward and pried both her daughter away from a startled Hotch and looked at him apologetically. "I'm sorry. Its just that you look so much like their father."

Hotch allowed a slight smile to appear. "It's completely all right. No need to apologize. I have a son of my own so I completely understand." Hotch knelt down in front of the little boy. "What's your name, son?"

"Christian. You aren't my daddy?"

Hotch rustled the boy's dark hair. "I'm afraid not, son. I just resemble him is all." The boy looked up at his mother who asked her daughter to take herself and her brother upstairs since she had to talk to the two men. Hotch stood up as the two children ran upstairs leaving the adults alone to talk.

"Please sit down."

Both agents sat down at the living room table as Gillian massaged her forehead and slowly sat down. She was so nervous right now with two FBI agents in her house and her husband dead. It was more than she could handle. The agents sensed her discomfort.

"Mrs. Brennaman…" Hotch began. "You have beautiful children." He allowed himself to smile.

Gillian began to relax and allowed herself to smile for the first time. Perhaps it was partially due to the fact she was talking to a man who resembled her late husband. "Thank you. Ron was so devoted to the children. Samantha and Christian adored their father. Now, how can I help you?"

He parked behind the car behind the agents' SUV and sat to wait. He knew which house they were heading to and figured he'd keep following the SUV around as long as he could. He wanted to watch Hotch and get inside his head if he could. He hoped to rattle him even more than the letter had. He wanted him to know he was there without him knowing. "I will be in your mind, Aaron. I will be in your every waking thought until I feel your blood oozing through my fingers." He smiled as he leaned back in his seat dreaming about when that moment came and how he would feel.

"Have you spoken with Ron's parents?" Gillian asked. "I'm sure they're even more distraught than I am. Ron was their only child. His two younger brothers were both killed. His older brother, Timothy, was a fireman and died answering a call. His younger brother Daniel was a police officer and was killed while off-duty. He had stopped at a convenience store on the way home and interrupted a robbery in-progress."

Rossi, seated on the sofa beside his boss, looked at his hands for a moment before looking up again. "We sent one of our agents to speak with his family."

"Mrs. Brennaman," Hotch began. "Can you tell us exactly what happened that day? Try not to leave anything out no matter how trivial."

Gillian sighed wearily. She had repeated this so many times; but she supposed once more wouldn't make any difference since the police hadn't come up with anything. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes couldn't hurt. "I was in the kitchen preparing breakfast for us when Ron came hurrying down the stairs saying he had no time because he was running late."

"Was he in the habit of running late for appointments?" asked Rossi.

"Not at all. But shortly after he was assigned his latest client, he seemed to become, I don't know, different somehow."

"What do you mean by different?" asked Hotch with narrowed eyes.

"It's hard to explain. I guess you might say moody, morose. Like he was preoccupied all the time."

"Do you know what kind of criminal case he was working on?" Hotch asked. "Did he talk about his work with you at all?"

Gillian shook her head. "It wasn't anything sensational. Actually, he was preparing the appeal for his latest client. I don't know who the client was, but I do know he had started receiving threats once the appeal process began." Hotch and Rossi looked at each other.

"What kind of threats?" Hotch asked.

"He never told me about them exactly, except one day I picked up the phone here and somebody on the other end didn't say anything except I could hear breathing. I kept asking who's there but nobody ever answered. Ron heard me, snatched the phone out of my hand and slammed it down on the cradle."

"Were there any other calls?"

"I don't know. Ron had our phone number changed after that. Then there was the letter I found taped to our living room door on the outside." At the mention of the letter, Hotch fought with every ounce of strength he had not to react in front of Rossi. Instead, his face remained impassive.

"I understand you found the letter?" asked Rossi.

"Yes. I remember what it said because it only had one line. It said Ron would pay for what he had done to someone. It didn't mention my husband by name however. The police have it now."

Rubbing his hands together, Hotch looked at the woman. "Did your husband ever complain to you about anybody at work he might have be having problems with? A co-worker or maybe a supervisor?" He and Rossi both noticed Gillian's cheeks develop a tinge of crimson. "What is it?"

"I'm sure he had nothing to do with it," she said with a sigh. "I told Ron he was harmless."

Rossi and Hotch exchanged quick looks. "Who had nothing to do with it?" Rossi asked.

"There is…was a co-worker of Ron's at the firm. A Brandon Cooper. I came to the office one day to meet Ron for lunch; I waited for him in his office. Brandon walked in and said hello and introduced himself. There was something about him that made me feel uncomfortable."

"Such as?" Hotch inquired.

"He started looking me up and down then sat down beside me. He then put a hand on my knee asking how did I end up with Ron. I started to slap him and he grabbed my wrist just as Ron walked in. He completely lost it. He and Brandon got into a vicious argument. Ron reported it and Brandon was fired the next day. He came to our home that same evening and threatened Ron would pay for what he did to him. But I'm certain Brandon had nothing to do with Ron's death, Agent Hotchner."

"How long ago was this?" asked Hotch, his interest piqued.

Gillian sighed. "About two weeks before Ron was killed."

"Excuse me," Hotch said suddenly getting up and moving to the far corner of the room. He removed his cell phone and dialed.

"Tell me what you need, sweetie?" said a friendly voice. "I am your forever servant and at your beck and call."

"Garcia? It's Hotch." He could hear Garcia clearing her throat now feeling totally embarrassed that she had just called her boss 'sweetie.'

"Uh, sorry, sir. I uh, thought you were somebody else."

"Never mind. Garcia, I need you to run a check on a Brandon Cooper and get back to me as soon as you have something."

"I'm on it, sir. Oh, Hotch?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to call you sweetie."

Hotch smirked. "Forget it, Garcia. If that's the worse I get called than I'm doing good."

Morgan shook hands with the police officer. "You must be from the FBI, I take it," the officer said politely, his eyes studying Reid.

"I'm Special Agent Morgan and this is Doctor Spencer Reid."

"I'm officer Perry Windsor of the Woodbridge, Virginia Police Department." Both agents noticed the officer's eyebrows rise in surprise while staring at Reid.

"Kind of young to graduate medical school, aren't you?" he asked. "You look like you just graduated high school."

Reid seemed to blush just a bit as this was not the first time he had been told he appeared too young to be a doctor. "Actually I have an I.Q. of 187 and an eidetic memory."

He noticed the officer continuing to stare at him with what seemed like disbelief.

"In other words, he's a genius," Morgan explained with a chuckle.

"Really?"

Reid nodded. "Yep," was all he said with a slight smile.

Windsor shook his head. He was a tall, lean man about Morgan's height and build, but with sandy hair and green eyes. His muscular build showed that he enjoyed working out often and kept in good shape.

"So this is where Ronald Brennaman was shot? Where exactly are we?" asked Reid looking around.

"We're at the intersection of Walthrop and Montgomery. We believe Brennaman's car stopped right here," Windsor explained as he walked two car-lengths from the overhead street light. We found his cell phone on the floor inside the car open so we figure he was on the phone talking with somebody when he was shot."

Reid looked around and started walking a few paces at an angle towards the opposite sidewalk. "From the autopsy report Brennaman was shot point blank in the temple at an angle which means the UnSub approached him from the rear," he explained. "And since he was on the phone, he wouldn't have noticed somebody approaching until it was too late."

"So the victim didn't see me at all," Morgan added as Reid approached him from the direction the shooter had taken with one hand in his pocket and approached the vehicle.

"Exactly. Seeing my victim is distracted, I knock on the driver's window. When its rolled down, I pull my gun hand from my pocket and fire." To demonstrate, Reid held his arm out straight with his thumb and forefinger in the shape of a gun. "After I fire, I stick my hand back in my pocket and walk away calmly across the street where I get lost in the throng of people."

"Nobody heard anything," admitted Windsor. "There wasn't enough noise out here that somebody couldn't have heard a gunshot. We just haven't found anybody yet who will admit they heard anything because people were on the street at the time."

"And you won't. The shooter used a silencer," said Morgan.

Windsor raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

"A majority of people who use a gun to commit a murder in a public place filled with people will usually use a silencer especially if they want their crime to go unnoticed until they have left the area of the crime."

Prentiss rang the doorbell of the Brennaman home and waited as she reached into her shoulder bag, removing her FBI identification. There was no answer. She range the doorbell again. This time after about five minutes, the door opened to reveal an elderly man whose eyes were red and his face wet. Emily didn't need to be a profiler to know the man had been crying. She held up her identification for the man to see.

"I'm Special Agent Emily Prentiss with the FBI. Are you Mr. Theodore Brennaman?" She stuck her identification back in her bag.

"Yes. My wife and I were expecting you. Officer Windsor informed us he had called in the FBI after Ron had been killed." He held the door open to allow Emily to enter, and then followed her into the living room where she noticed a woman of about the same age sitting on the sofa, her face in her hands. Hearing footsteps, she looked up.

"This is Agent Prentiss of the FBI, Ruth," her husband said. "Agent Prentiss, this is my wife Ruth."

Emily smiled. "It's very nice meeting you both. And please, call me Emily."

"Only if you call us Ted and Ruth," Ted said with a faint smile. "Please sit down." He motioned to the sofa while he took a chair from the living room set and moved it over to the sofa and sat down.

Emily looked at both of them sadly. "I hate to call on both of you during your grief, but I have some questions I'd like to ask you."

"We'll do our best to answer any questions you have, Agent Prent…Emily," Ruth assured the agent. Emily smiled warmly. "What did you want to know?"

"Did your son confide in you at all as to whether he was having any problems with anybody at work or outside the job?"

Ted shook his head. "Ron got along with everybody both at and outside of work," he said. "We don't know anybody who didn't like him."

"Have you had a chance to speak with his wife, Gillian?" asked Ruth. "She and our Ron were married a long time. I don't know how she's going to manage with two young children to raise."

"Two of our agents are speaking with her right now."

He was bored waiting, so he pulled out of the parking space and backed up his vehicle. When he was near the corner that's when he saw the door to the Brennaman's home open, and out walked Rossi and Hotchner. A smirk appeared as he suddenly got a fun idea to rattle Hotch a bit. He gunned his engine and waited. As the agents stepped off the bottom step of the house, he could see Rossi head to the passenger side and Hotch had the car keys in his hand.

Hotch stepped off the curb and was now standing outside the driver's side. Hearing his cell phone ring, the agent reached for his phone and stood with one hand on the door handle of the SUV while he spoke with Garcia. That's when Rossi heard the sound. Looking down the street, he felt like his feet were caught in cement when he noticed the battered-looking Corvette barreling down the street heading towards Hotch who appeared unaware as his back was to the vehicle and absorbed in his conversation. Rossi ran around the front of the SUV.

"Hotch! Look out!" he screamed. Hotch suddenly turned to see what Rossi was shouting about and saw the speeding vehicle practically on top of him.