Chapter 8: Wednesday (Part 2)

Disclaimer: I've been to DC/Virginia, but not Quantico. I've been to the LA airport, but not the city. And I've driven through Ohio, but none of the locations in this story. And I don't own any TV shows…. (Thank you, Google Maps and Wikipedia).

Please remind yourself of the warnings in Chapter 1.

3:45pm

When Officer Skip Petrie and his partner Dan Oakland arrived at the Hummel-Hudson house they were engulfed in the kind of swarm that develops when a house four people live in suddenly has to hold ten more people than usual.

A short girl with long, shiny brown hair answered the door, speaking very rapidly. "Hello Officers, we're very glad you're here. I hope it's because you have good news. Please come in. Please take off your shoes. As you can see all of Kurt's friends from McKinley are here to support the Hudson-Hummels in their time of need and also to answer any questions you may have."

"And you are?" Skip asked. His voice seemed slow, but maybe that was just in comparison.

"My name is Rachel Berry and I'm one of Kurt's closest friends and also the captain—I mean co-captain—of the McKinley Glee Club "New Directions". We can tell you all about Kurt's time in New Directions or rather I should say his time at McKinley and also I happened to know quite a bit about his boyfriend, which I hope you realize by now Kurt had nothing to do with his injuries, the idea is just absurd, and—Finn, come here! The police are back!"

Burt had mentioned his new wife and stepson at the shop, but Skip hadn't met him before. The tall boy who shuffled forward was polite, but wary. "The cops before acted like Kurt hurt Blaine."

"He would never do that," Rachel told them passionately.

"Those guys were from out of town," Skip said. "They don't know Kurt. I do. I know he's a good kid. Actually, I know Burt too. Is he here?"

"He's in Kurt's room," Rachel said. "I can show you where it is."

As she led them through the house, Skip paused and observed the group of teens who had overrun the living room. A black girl and an Asian girl with blue streaks in her hair were holding hands and whispering to each other, sniffling a little. A lanky Asian boy was rubbing the Asian girl's back: brother? Boyfriend? A tall blonde in a red and white cheerleading uniform wandered up to the crying pair and asked if they'd been watching The Neverending Story. The black girl said, "No Brittany, we're just really worried about Kurt."

"I know," said the girl. "If he takes much longer he's going to miss this party and it's even at his house."

In another corner of the room, a boy in a wheelchair was offering the use of his van to go out looking for Kurt. Kurt's brother—Flynn? No, Finn—had joined wandered over there and said it was a good idea. A tough-looking boy with a Mohawk disagreed. "Screw looking for Kurt, we should look for Karofsky. We beat him up until he tells us what he did to Kurt, and then we beat him up some more." He leapt to his feet, and Skip would have gone over there to calm things down, but a hefty girl pushed him back down into his chair.

"The last thing the pigs need is you idiots running around getting in their way," she said. She obviously saw Skip and Dan, and her unconcerned use of the slur for cops made him raise an eyebrow.

The blonde cheerleader from before had also joined the group. "I wanted to get a pet pig," she said vaguely. "But Lord Tubbington didn't like all the mud. It made the litter stick to his toes." No one seemed to know what to say to that; a pretty Hispanic girl, also in a cheerleading uniform, took her arm and led her away, allowing the conversation to resume.

"We wouldn't be in the way," Mohawk protested. "We'd be, like, heroes."

She ignored him and asked Finn, "How do you think Burt and your old lady will feel if you take off on them too?"

Finn's shoulders slumped. "You're right Lauren, we should probably just stay here."

Lauren nodded decisively. "Duh, of course I'm right."

The two cheerleaders were now sitting on the floor. The blonde looked hard at work on a crayon drawing. The Hispanic girl asked what she was drawing for Kurt, and she took a moment to answer. "I'm drawing Kurt with the leprechauns. He promised if he ever got to the end of the rainbow you said he's got that he'd bring me back some gold."

Rachel was looking impatient, but Skip glanced in the kitchen too as they went by. He saw a frazzled-looking woman who had to be Carole juggling a platter of snacks. A tall blonde boy was hovering nearby saying, "Are you sure I can't help you with that?"

He looked hurt when she snapped, "No Sam, for the fifth time, I've got it." Skip glanced at Dan, sending him a silent message, and Dan slipped into the kitchen to help Carole manage her would-be helper.

As he climbed the stairs, Rachel said authoritatively, "I told Mr. Hummel I didn't think it was very healthy for him to just sit in Kurt's room, and that if he needed any more help here I would be happy to call my dads, and that they also know some lawyers just in case, and if this turns out to be because of Kurt's sexuality I really think he should consider speaking to the ACLU and oh, here it is. Mr. Hummel?"

"Don't come in," said a young female voice with a trace of annoyance. "He doesn't want you to sing to him."

Rachel huffed. "I heard you the last time, Quinn. There's a police officer here."

The door swung open and Skip saw a third girl in a cheerleading uniform. As Skip stepped inside, Rachel asked if she could bring them anything, some bottled water maybe. "No," said the cheerleader. "Now go away."

Burt was sitting on his son's bed, his head in his hands. When Skip said his name Burt jerked to attention. "Skip! Any news?"

"Did you hear he's been officially ruled out as a suspect? Just like I told you. The prints didn't match, of course."

Burt shook his head a little like he was trying to clear it. "Anything else?"

Skip cleared his throat. "We've got people going to find that Karofsky kid and talk to him right now. We're taking it real seriously Burt, we've even got FBI coming up from Columbus to work on this." He knew it wouldn't help matters to mention any connection to Ohio's feared serial killer. Burt gave him a searching look, then dropped his head back into his hands.

The cheerleader's gaze was clear-eyed and assessing, and she extended a cool, dry hand for him to shake. "Quinn Fabray."

"Skip Petrie."

"Officer Petrie, I don't know if you believe in the power of prayer. I know Kurt doesn't. But I do, and Mr. Hummel has given me permission to pray for Kurt. Would you like to join me?"

"Yes, of course." Skip laced his fingers together, but didn't bow his head or close his eyes. He wanted keep an eye on Burt.

Quinn sank gracefully to her knees and steepled her fingers, closing her eyes. "Dominus pascit me nihil mihi deerit." Skip was surprised when she spoke in Latin, and wasn't sure what prayer she was reciting.

"In pascuis herbarum adclinavit me super aquas refectionis enutrivit me." Still, the soft, even tones of the prayer were soothing.

"Animam meam refecit duxit me per semitas iustitiae propter nomen suum." Burt's body slumped as he relaxed ever so slightly.

"Sed et si ambulavero in valle mortis non timebo malum quoniam tu mecum es virga tua et baculus tuus ipsa consolabuntur me." Now Burt was crying without embarrassment. He'd talked to Skip before about his fears for Kurt, how he carried the memory of that Matthew Shepard movie with him at every football game, hardware store, or siren wailing by.

There were tears glistening on Quinn's cheeks too, Skip realized. She paused, then repeated part of what she had just said. "Non timebo malum quoniam tu mecum." She bowed her head until her lips brushed the tips of her fingers. "Non timebo malum quoniam tu mecum."

She finished, "Sed et benignitas et misericordia subsequetur me omnibus diebus vitae meae et habitabo in domo Domini in longitudine dierum. Amen."

As the quiet settled around them, Burt whispered, "Thank you," his voice thick with emotion.

"What prayer was that?" Skip asked.

"The 23rd Psalm."

"And the part you repeated?"

She murmured again, "Non timebo malum quoniam tu mecum," then translated, "I will fear no evil, for thou art with me."

No one called, though Rachel tried to coax them out for food. After a while, Quinn started the prayer again.

3:47

The officers who went to the Karofsky house met his mother Ann, a pleasant but nervous woman who assumed her son had gotten into some trouble involving drugs. Her husband was at work, and she said her son was with his girlfriend Victoria and she wasn't expecting him home until that evening. She hesitated at first, but then allowed them to take fingerprints from her son's room. When she tried calling him at the officers' request, the phone went straight to voicemail, as did his girlfriend's.

4:00pm

Two officers arrived at Victoria Fredrick's house. No one was home, but a neighbor came out and talked to them and thought Vicky was probably at cheerleading practice. He also gave them the name of the bank her parents both worked at. They reached Vicky's parents at work, and confirmed that her father was fine. Everyone in the family was fine.

Upon hearing that news, Ann Karofsky's eyes filled with tears. She called her husband and asked him to come home right away.

4:10

Penelope opened the email from the coordinator of the hotline in the serial case and downloaded the audio file of Kurt Hummel's call to the hotline. The call was placed March 30, two days after Caitlin Cornelius was found and the case became public knowledge. As she listened, Penelope transcribed the call.

"Thank you for calling the Citizen Response Line," said the officer. "Please state your name. If you don't wish to give your name, please say "Anonymous.""

"Kurt Hummel." His voice was surprisingly high-pitched, but sweetly young.

After confirming the spelling of his name, the officer asked about the nature of his call.

"I was wondering if there's any chance at all the killer would go after a boy," Kurt said, sounding embarrassed. He haltingly tried to explain how he was thin and pale and brunette, and how a bully had made him nervous, had gone beyond "normal" bullying. The officer was dismissive, and Kurt said he was sorry for wasting the officer's time. "I told my boyfriend it was crazy, but he said with how much they look like me that I should call. But you're sure that's not it? OK, that does make me feel better." The call ended with a soft click.

Penelope stared at the blinking cursor on her screen. The team wouldn't blame a local cop for missing a connection that ran so counter to the original profile. The call didn't have any of the hallmarks the team had the officers looking for. But it still upset her that the answer had been so close, but unrecognized. She sighed and with a few keystrokes sent the audio file and the transcription to the rest of the team.

4:20

When officers Vang and Wallace arrived from Vicky's house to McKinley, cheerleading practice was in full swing. In other locations, they would probably have been able to stop the practice and take the person they wanted to interview to one side. But Officer Vang had been the instructor of a self-defense class Sue Sylvester had once dropped in on (eventually he'd regained feeling in his arms) and Wallace had met her when her neighbors complained about the spitting cobras. They managed to not tell her why they wanted to talk to Vicky, but when her lips twisted into a thin scowl they agreed they could wait until the end of the song.

"Sorry," Vicky told them. "Three Cheerios decided not to come today and they didn't tell her beforehand. So she's in kind of a bad mood." They could hear Sylvester telling an unfortunate girl to do 500 pushups.

Vicky was a pleasant if slightly dim girl who was brunette and athletically slender, though not as pale as the unsub's usual type. She readily admitted to lying on her boyfriend's behalf, but didn't have any idea where he was.

4:40

Paul Karofsky was home when Morgan, Reid and Callahan arrived. When Callahan introduced him, Paul said, "The FBI? This isn't just about some drug bust, is it?"

"No," said Callahan. "I'm afraid it isn't."

Paul looked at them carefully and then said. "I've seen you on the news. You're here because of that serial killer. You… you don't think Dave had anything to do with that?"

The agents exchanged glances, and Reid said, "Actually, we were hoping you could tell us anything you know about Dave and Kurt Hummel."

Ann looked confused. "The gay boy? He made up some story about Dave to get him into trouble. He got Dave expelled even though there wasn't any evidence."

Paul on the other hand looked uncomfortable. "I'm not convinced he made it up," he told his wife. "You weren't in that meeting. That boy was afraid of Dave."

"Did Dave ever mention Kurt, other than that incident?" They didn't think so, but Dave didn't talk much about school. "Do you know how Dave feels about gay people?"

"Why," Ann asked, "would we talk about something like that? That's not polite conversation."

Were they aware that when Dave's expulsion was overturned, Kurt Hummel had transferred out of district?

"No," said Ann, "but that's probably for the best. He seemed to like antagonizing Dave."

At once, all phones of officers and agents in the room beeped with an incoming message. Prints in David Karofsky's bedroom matched the prints at the murder sites and on the tire iron. They'd been all but convinced before, but now they were wholly confident in their suspect.

When the Karofskys, particularly Ann, continued to avoid their son's behavior, talking about how much he had turned around in the last few weeks, Morgan said in a level voice, "Mr. and Mrs. Karofsky, we believe your son is a latent homosexual who killed five women before attacking Kurt Hummel's boyfriend and abducting Hummel himself. If you have any idea, any at all, about where your son is, tell us now."

Ann physically rocked back as though the words were literal blows. She cried and shook her head. Her husband had gone pale at Morgan's recitation, but he said, "The only place I can think of is our cabin on Indian Lake. It's in Russells Point, I can get the address."

"How long will it take to get there?" Reid asked.

"About 40 minutes?" Paul wrote down the address on a notepad, and hesitated before giving it to Callahan. "I just can't believe my son would do… those things." His eyes said otherwise.

For all his large vocabulary, Reid couldn't think of any words of comfort, and Morgan wasn't inclined to offer any. Callahan said, "We appreciate your honesty. Keep trying to think of places he might go, if we get to Russells Point and he's not there."

"But don't try to call him," Morgan warned, speaking more to the uniform cops than to the distraught couple.

"He only kept the women as long as it took to kill them," Morgan thought as they went out to the car and programmed the GPS. "Less than an hour apiece, once you consider how much driving back and forth he had to do. It's been over four hours since Kurt Hummel disappeared. He's been the object of pursuit all along, so he'll come in for different treatment. But what are the chances that he's still alive?"