Cruel and cold is the judgment of man, Cruel as winter, and cold as the snow; But by-and-by will the deed and the plan Be judged by the motive that lieth below.--
Lewis J. Bates
The first leg of the flight, Dulles to Fairbanks International Airport, appropriately located in Fairbanks, Alaska was fairly routine. True, when they landed there was snow on the ground, but the flight itself was nothing out of the ordinary, even with Garcia, who truly seemed to enjoy her rare outings on the jet, aboard. The team reviewed the case files and all the notes Sheriff Lake sent down wit this request.
November 1994. Fort Yukon, now a comparatively bustling metropolis of 742 people, had a population of 487 people. On a cold, but sunny afternoon, two high school students, Peter Caffery and James Chigliak, had their day ruined when they happened upon the body of Ruth Keyes. Of course, at the time, they had no idea it was Ruth they had stumbled across. In fact, they hadn't even been sure the remains were human. Spooked, they had reported what they found to the sheriff.
Back then, Sheriff Michael Winchester had been the Fort Yukon Police Department. They didn't have a lot of crime, some juvenile delinquents a few domestic disputes and fights. Winchester hadn't seen a murder during the entire time he'd been sheriff, just a few accidental or natural deaths. What Peter and James had led him to changed all of that.
The body had been lying by a snow bank, naked and in a fetal position, a defensive posture that had obviously failed. Weeks later, after the FBI had been called in and brought with them a forensic pathologist (No offense to the ME of Fort Yukon at the time, but he was the towns doctor, not a specialist), it was found that the position of the body was actually due to muscle contractions caused by what must have been excruciating pain as Ruth and all the other victims were skinned alive. Small surface area of flesh by small area. With a belt sander. When enough of the skin was worn down, the UNSUB started in on his victims muscle tissue.
When the UNSUB finished with his victim, he would dump her in an isolated area, which there were plenty of. A few of his victims weren't found until the spring thaw, as the many severe storms that were so common of the region covered them before they could be located.
All in all, this UNSUB killed sixteen women before suddenly stopping. Four in Fort Yukon, four in Venetie, four in Kobuk and four in Bettles. November, December, January, February. Then nothing.
Until a pair of kids. looking for a secluded place to park so they could do a bit of fooling around, pulled into a field and their headlights illuminated a grisly sight. Another body.
The team spent most of the flight floating theories around as to the motives and drives of such a killer. They had brought with them copies of the FBI teams investigation, which Max Ryan, one of the founders of the BAU had been a part of. There hadn't been a glut of physical evidence, just the bodies and a few footprints, but they had been in the snow and not well preserved.
Landing at Fairbanks International, the team, laden with bags of equipment and cold weather gear, made their way across the terminal, far less of a mad house than they were used to, to the gate Penstlatala Air, Inc. departed from. Sitting at a small counter by the door were an pair of young people, a blond man and a tall, native woman. Both were in their twenties and seemed cheerful, despite the light snow fall visible through the window behind them. As was the plane that would take them to Fort Yukon.
"Ummm," technical analyst Penelope Garcia said, unusual hesitance in her voice, "where's the rest of the plane?"
The unhappy frown on the usually happy, quirky techs face let the rest of the team know that she was suddenly regretting coming along on this particular trip. The zaftig blond was already bundled up in a heavily lined tweed coat, scarf and gloves, but there was a slight chill in the air, even inside. This did not bode well for what the temperature was outside.
Beside her, helping lug some of her computer equipment, FBI BAU Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan smiled. "Baby girl, I think that's it."
Clad in heavy dark trousers and a black North Face parka, Morgan, a tall, athletic African American in his mid-thirties, looked like he might have been getting ready to pose for Powder magazine, not investigate a grisly murder. A grad of Northwestern Law, he was the teams specialist on obsessional crimes, he had been in the unit for a number of years and it was known that the Bureau considered him a candidate for advancement. But that would mean a transfer, something he didn't have an interest in at the moment.
"That's a Cessna 208B Caravan, which can carry 9 passengers or up to 2700 lbs. of freight. We should be okay," FBI BAU Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid piped up from where he and FBI BAU Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss were peering at the small snack kiosk.
The unit's youngest agent was a font of the oddest information. With big brown eyes and longish brown hair, lanky Reid looked more like an undergrad than any FBI agent should, but he had proven himself time and time again over the years. In a warm parka that looked, like most of Reid's clothes, as if it had come from a second hand store, his purple scarf tight around his neck and a knit cap snug on his head, he seemed unperturbed by the strange new surroundings they found themselves in.
Conversely, Prentiss wore a neat, emerald green Columbia parka and dark, water resistant pants. Her gloves, hat and scarf were all black fleece that nearly matched her long dark hair. A veteran traveler since childhood, this was her first trip above the Artic Circle and had listened to Reid's trivia about the place with some interest. Purchasing a small package of crackers, she looked at the plane and shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Garcia. I've been on smaller."
The final member of the team, FBI BAU Senior Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi, ignored the plane and made his way over to the counter. Fiftyish, his hair still dark and goateed, Rossi had been one of the founding fathers of the BAU, back when they called it the Behavioral Sciences Unit. He had retired and gone on to write wildly popular books about his experiences, but when Jason Gideon had suddenly departed, Rossi returned.
"Excuse me," he said, catching the attention of the two young people who were still chatting at the counter. "We called ahead about a flight to Fort Yukon."
"Oh, Yes," the young man replied, opening an old fashioned ledger book and thumbing through it. "You'd be the FBI folks then."
The woman, in jeans and a red fleece pullover with the company logo on it, stuck out her hand. "Hi. Abby Whirlwind. I'll be taking you out. We're refueling, so it'll be just a few minutes."
The fact that their pilot looked even younger than Reid made Rossi feel old.
"You're the pilot?" Hotch questioned, obviously thinking the same thing.
She grinned and traded looks with the guy. "Going on five years now," she laughed. "Family business, you know."
"Seriously, are we all going to fit on that?" Garcia still looked horrified at the prospect of getting on the small plane.
Their pilot nodded. "She holds nine, like your friend said. Plenty of room."
"Isn't there anything a bit bigger?"
Obviously, this was not an unusual reaction. "Despite having the word international in it's name, this place is petty small. About 60% of our flights are air taxi, 37% general aviation and 3% military. There are 16 aircraft based at this airport: 85% single engine and 15% multi-engine. There's only an average of 33 flights per day."
All right, so she knew her stuff. "You two from around here, or one of the towns you fly out to?" this question was from Morgan obviously in hopes of distracting Garcia.
"Here," they chorused, and the guy continued, "I could never give up big city life, ya know."
The city of Fairbanks had a population of 35,132 people according to the 2008 census. Compared to D.C., with it's 599,831, it seemed a bit small, but for rural Alaska, it was a hub.
And they were leaving that hub, bound for a tiny town with a big problem.
TBC
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