On the Jet

It was bound to be a relatively short flight, and it was clear to JJ that everyone on board were certainly willing to take this case on, but it felt like this one was being spoon fed to the team. For herself, she kept finding her mind pulled away from the case and onto whatever it was that Barnes was up to this time.

There was, of course, the obvious answer; Lewiston was a picture-perfect example of the American Dream. Clearly this was, at least in part, about maintaining the veneer of that dream. Also, so far both victims were prominent members of the community; one a successful businessman and the other a popular member of Town politics. Kyle Bernstein had even been on the National News a few times; there was even some buzz that he would have had a decent shot at State Politics in the very near future – possibly even as Governor eventually. With all of that in the mix, this was obviously a PR case; Barnes was trying to make sure the FBI looked good. Knowing Barnes, however, there almost had to be something else going on; one thing was certain, the team could not afford to have this case go sideways on them

Garcia had joined them via the monitor on the on-board computer. She put photos of the crime scenes.

"So here's what we're looking at." Emily started. "We have two victims; one a well-to-do garage owner/operator, the other a highly influential member of the town's council. Both are white, and in their late thirties."

"Well, this UnSub certainly has a type." Lewis offered up. "He's targeting upper class white men of influence and power."

"I'm looking at these images and I can't help but think they look like lynching." Rossi commented. "Maybe we're looking for someone of lower income."

"Or maybe the UnSub feels these two have wronged him somehow." Alvez suggested. "Could be he's settling a score?"

"That's possible," JJ said. "Granted, it's a bit extreme, but we've seen small town rivalries get out of hand before."

"Garcia," Prentiss called. "See if you can find any overlap between the victims. Look specifically for anyone they have in common that may be unhappy with either or both of them."

"Lewiston is a town of just over 16 thousand people; there's a lot of overlap everywhere. As in, when you look at from the safe and warm glow of my screens it could almost look a little kinky. My point is that it will take some sifting to work through it all; which I will get right on top of like a prospector panning for gold in the river." Garcia replied. "I can tell you right away that Peter and Ellen Macintyre, the joggers who found Bernstein are both dentists; and both Bernstein and Cunningham use them. The employee who found Cunningham is a part time janitor for the garage named David Dayton; as he is only sixteen years old, his parents are with him at the Sheriff's office now."

"We can't really do much profiling until we see everything first hand." Prentiss declared. "Tara, you'll go to the Medical Examiner and look at the autopsy reports. Matt, JJ, you go to the Bernstein scene in the park. Dave, you and Luke go the garage to look at the Cunningham scene. I'll get us set up with Town Sheriff and get started on interviewing the witnesses that found the bodies."

As the plane began its descent, JJ noted that Matt was silent all through the flight; he seemed lost in thought. Since she was going with him to the park when they landed, she would have to get him to open up.

Lewiston, New York

"The cause of death of both men was strangulation." The Examiner told Dr. Tara Lewis. "I wouldn't be surprised if to you that might seem obvious given they were both found hanging by the neck, but that's not actually the case"

"The original cause of death by hanging was meant to be a snapping of the neck." Dr. Lewis confirmed. "It was all very carefully balanced out; the weight of the condemned balanced off against the length of the drop in order get the desired effect."

"Right," the Examiner said. "However in the case of our two friends here, they weren't dropped at all. They were in fact hoisted up off the ground and then left to hang; choking quite slowly. Look, you can see it in the ligature marks," She showed Lewis the necks of Cunningham and Bernstein, "and you can see here the rope fibers under their fingernails."

Lewis examined them. Indeed there were fibers, just as the Examiner said. Lewis had to wonder if perhaps the UnSub stayed to watch as they fought with desperate futility for their lives. It seemed likely; after all, the means by which he was killing them was clearly meant to make them suffer as they died.

"What can you tell me about the blows to their heads?" Lewis asked.

"The bruising is consistent on both victims with a monkey wrench."

"Let me guess," Lewis commented. "Ken Cunningham was most likely the first victim." This made the most sense; the UnSub used a wrench from the garage to subdue Cunningham, killed him, and then took the wrench with him when he left to get to Bernstein.

"That's right; by at least an hour or two." The examiner confirmed.

Dr. Tara Lewis was starting to get a good picture of what this UnSub was like. The fact that he likely used a weapon of opportunity from the garage would suggest an unorganized killer, but it was likely he brought a noose and whatever rig he needed with him; that said organized killer. Also, he was almost certainly a local, or at the very least very familiar with the town; he knew when to strike without being detected. As a local, he could move around easily without raising any suspicion. Taking the wrench to appear unorganized for the first kill could very well have been deliberate; he could be using the tools of Cunningham's trade against him. That could be part of some revenge play.

SSA's David Rossi and Luke Alvez arrived at Cunningham's garage, showing their credentials to get past the police tape around the parking lot and into the garage. One thing that had to be said for the cops and techs on this scene; they were taking their job seriously. The Techs had set up a path of contamination so as to mitigate corrupting any evidence, and they were wearing their space bunny suits on top of that. The Deputy on the scene was waiting at one end of the path for the techs to finish their sweep.

"Well, the town is sparing no expense in making sure they get this one right." Rossi said to Alvez as they approached the Deputy. "This guy must be important."

"At least they're keeping the scene intact other than removing the body for examination." Alvez replied, pointing out the noose still hanging high overhead. It was thrown over a beam that ran across the garage about half way up to the roof. Rossi followed the trail that Alvez pointed along to where the other end of the rope was tied to the front bumper of an older model Ford Lincoln. The Lincoln was at the far end of the garage and the rope was very nearly pulled to its limit. By David's estimation, the UnSub was lucky the bumper didn't fall off while he backed the car up after setting up this lynching.

Dave introduced himself and SSA Luke Alvez to the Deputy as they showed their badges.

"I thought you guys would be going to the Sheriff's office first." The Deputy commented. "Not that it's a problem; I just figured you'd have to set up or something."

"Our unit chief is taking care of that right now." Rossi said. He gave the garage an almost casual looking over. "So what do we have here?" He asked.

"David Dayton, who works here part time as a janitor, came in early to start his shift this morning; that was at approximately six am. He parked his car in the staff parking lot, which is around back and adjacent to the pay parking service provided by the garage. He unlocked the door and entered the garage and found Kenny... excuse me, Mr. Kenneth Cunningham hanging from his neck in that noose." The Deputy pointed up at the noose. "We left it as it was until you got here, but thought it best to take him down so we could get you an autopsy report."

"That's probably a good idea." Luke said agreeably, studying the set up. He indicated the Lincoln. "Do you have any idea whose car that is?"

"Yes, sir," the Deputy replied. "I know that car, but we ran a check to be absolutely sure. It's registered to Kenneth Cunningham."

"He's using whatever he finds on site." Rossi said to Luke. "He's disorganized and opportunistic."

"I'm not so sure," Luke countered. "If the guy's a local, then he'd know that everything he needs, other than the rope, will be here. He won't need to carry around a lot of gear, and there are fewer items left behind that can be traced back to him. Besides, if this is some kind of grudge, this could be the UnSub's way of turning Cunningham's success against him."

Rossi pursed his lips and nodded his head appreciatively. Cunningham was killed in his own garage with his own tools and his own car. It made sense. "That's pretty smart, actually." He said. "Not only does it get the job done, but it covers the UnSub's tracks twice over; as you said, it's harder to trace anything back to the UnSub, and second, it leads an investigation down the wrong path."

"Wait a minute," the Deputy interrupted. "Are you saying the freak that did this lives here in Lewiston?"

"We're saying it's possible." Luke answered. "Whoever this is certainly knows the town; who's who and their habits and routines. This is how he was able to move about town undetected and murder two people in one night; nobody would have seen anything suspicious because seeing him around wouldn't raise any alarms."

Seeing that the Deputy was having a hard time accepting this idea, Rossi asked him to show them more of the scene.

With Rossi and Alvez at the garage, and JJ and Simmons at the park, once SSA Emily Prentiss was certain that everything they needed was set up and ready to go at the Sheriff's department, she went into the room where Dr's Peter Ellen Macintyre were waiting for her. As to be expected, they both looked shocked and miserable.

"Hello, my name is Emily Prentiss. I'm a special supervisory agent with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI." She started. "First I'd like to offer my condolences for the loss of your friends, and I understand that the police have already questioned you, but all the same I have a few questions to ask that may help determine what exactly happened here. Would that be alright with you?"

"Yes, that would be fine." Peter agreed.

"You said friends, not friend." Ellen interjected. "What does that mean?"

Peter tried to hush his wife, but Emily raised a hand to assure him that it was perfectly alright for Ellen to have asked such a question."My apologies," she replied. "I thought you already knew. In addition to Mr. Bernstein, police have also identified Kenneth Cunningham's remains in his garage. I understand you two knew the both of them as patients in your practice?"

Ellen whispered Kenneth's nickname of Kenny with a whimper.

"There was two in one night?" Peter asked. "Then it couldn't have been suicides; could it? What are the chances of that?"

"Forensic evidence does suggest that neither man committed suicide." Prentiss agreed. "That is why we're here. Now, if I can ask you, what can you tell about them? What kind of people were they? Did they have a lot of friends or anyone that may have disliked them, that sort of thing?"

Puzzled, they tried to answer; often talking in tandem. They had a tendency to finish each other's sentences. This suggested to Emily they had a good marriage; a strong synergy. They told her that everyone loved them both. Both Bernstein and Cunningham were pillars of the community; in many ways they were iconic of what Lewiston was as a town. Ellen mentioned that the two of them had been close friends since grade school. Peter allowed that he supposed there may have been people who might have secretly resented them – and yet loved them at the same time.

"I would guess that sort of thing exists for anyone like Kyle and Kenny, though." He said in an attempt at levity.

Prentiss was about to ask if there were any other long time friends they shared, or perhaps if anyone specific might come to mind that may have held a resentment, when the there was a sharp rapping on the door before it swung open and a man with curly blonde hair and a build that looked like an athlete gone slightly to seed stepped in. Judging from the suit he was wearing, Prentiss could guess what was happening; this guy was a lawyer.

"Agent, this interview is over until I have time to confer with these witnesses, and I advise them both to say nothing without me being present." The lawyer announced. Evan as Prentiss began to stand up, he handed her a card. "I'm Eric Chapman, Public Defender."

Prentiss didn't like it; Chapman's timing practically screamed at her that something deeper than what was apparent was going on. She looked over the card; it certainly looked legitimate. As little as Emily liked the scenario, there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it except give Eric Chapman time to confer. She turned to leave the room.

"Oh, and agent," Chapman said after her before she got out the door. "I've already advised young master Dayton and his parents to wait for me before saying anything to you, so you may want to cool your heels for awhile."

Prentiss took a deep breath before leaving the room. From outside the room, she could see that Lewis had returned from the Examiner. At least she'd have someone to discuss what she's found so far with.

"So what did you make of that message on the rock?" Simmons asked JJ on their way back from the park. SSA Jennifer Jareau knew he was referring to the word written on the rock that the other end of the noose rope was tied around. On it, written in lipstick, was the word 'TOUCH'.

"I'm not sure," JJ replied. "If I were to guess, I'd say it's a message or a taunt of some kind. I have no idea what it might mean."

"If we can figure that out, we can catch this guy." Simmons said.

For about a minute or so, Jennifer said nothing; then finally she asked. "You've been pretty quiet since we took on this case; are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Matt replied. "It's just on the jet Rossi said the killings looked like lynching, right? What if he's right on the money? Maybe these two pillars of the community are the start of some kind of punishment the whole town is meant to endure?"

"Do you mean for an injustice or a crime that went unpunished?" JJ built on what Simmons was working with. "I guess that would fit. It may even involve these two personally; maybe they got away with something and the UnSub wants to see to it justice is served."

"I hadn't thought of that. Do you really think a couple of darlings of a town this size could have that kind of skeleton in their closet and still be so beloved?" Matt asked.

"You'd be surprised." JJ answered. She knew all too well how a small town can move heaven and earth to keep unbelievably dark secrets all in the name of protecting their local heroes and their image. "At any rate, once we hear what the others have, we may want to put that theory on the table."

Later that night

Stan Evans was still in great shape. Though he never spent any time in the military, he liked to call himself 'in fighting form'; for even retired from the League, he certainly still had a lot to offer on any gridiron. That was his battlefield; the place where two opposing generals placed their warriors and pitted them against one another. It was the field in which Men were made and trained for life; to combine mind and muscle to overcome every obstacle, every opposition, to learn to be victorious. He definitely had learned all that. Now it was his turn to pass that tradition on; to train the next generation of soldiers. It was his turn to be the general. What better place for him than the place where it all began for him?

"I'm home." He said, taking a deep breath as he stepped out of the school and started his march towards the practice field.

In the wake of Kyle and Kenny getting killed, the school staff and the organizers of the class of '98 reunion had an emergency meeting to determine if they should proceed. Why that was even a question that needed to be asked was offensive to Stan; the only reason he could see anyone wanting to either cancel or at least postpone was because a few weaklings couldn't handle it. Stan even said so in the meeting; though not in so many words. Rather, he took a more strategic route; he politely validated the concerns of the wimps, and then pointed out how both Kyle and Kenny would want to continue as scheduled. Neither of them would want to see their class surrender or back down; they were Paladins, after all, just as he was. Of course, Eric Chapman was there, and he backed Stan up a hundred percent. Finally, the issue was settled, and the reunion would proceed on Monday as scheduled. There would be a memorial display set up specifically for Kyle Bernstein and Kenny Cunningham in addition to the display of the '98 Paladins football team; State Champions three years in a row.

Back then, Stan, Eric, Kenny and Kyle made the team what it was. They were the toast of the town. They were invincible. They were untouchable. Stan, Eric, and Kyle had to keep Kenny's head in the game and push him a little to stay in fighting form. But even so, even Kenny was a key factor in their winning streak. Of course, after graduation, Kenny really let himself go; he got soft, complacent. Sure, he made a success story out of his garage, but he also turned into a soft tub of lard.

That thought brought Stan up to tonight. Much like Kenny Cunningham, the Paladins had gotten soft since his departure. It was a disgrace, and Stan Evans could not stand for it. Starting this year, he would whip the Paladins back into fighting form...

Now on the practice field, he stopped dead in his tracks; both physically and in his thoughts. On the east end of the field, just beyond the goal post, a pickup truck was idling; some heavy metal garbage tune blaring from within it.

"What the hell is this?" He asked himself. Of course, he already knew; it had to be a couple of punk kids either high on dope or trying to score with some bimbo or another – possibly a combination of both. Stan hustled over to the truck. Ignoring the extra long coil of rope in the back, he slammed on the roof of the truck in the hope of trying to startle the kids.

"HEY!" he shouted. "WHAT DO YOU KIDS..."

There was nobody in the truck.

That was when someone clocked in the back of the head with something heavy and hard, putting his lights out.

As quickly as he acted, Stan Evans was already starting to stir by the time he had finished setting everything up. He was just adding the final touch by unbuttoning Stan's shirt. He pulled the lipstick from his pocket and wrote the word 'TOUCH' on Stan's muscular chest.

He was standing over Stan when the old jock tried to sit up, gripping at the noose around his neck. He mumbled something that sounded like a question; most likely asking what was going on. As if he didn't know what this about. He kicked Stan in the face, knocking back onto his back. With Stan stunned, he ran back to the still idling truck and got behind the wheel. Driving forward, he watched through the rear-view mirror as Stan Evans rose up off his feet beneath the high cross bar of the goal post. He savored as he watched the former quarterback struggle in vain for air or for purchase to save his miserable life.