Chapter 18 – Teamwork
Episode - Lucky
On the BAU jet
Dave steps into the jet, stows his bags after retrieving the file and grabs the solo seat next to the couch. A few minutes later, Prentiss and Morgan sit at the table on the same side as him, with JJ and Hotch on the other side. Reid makes himself comfortable on the couch.
The hatch closes and snaps shut. The engines whine as the jet begins to move. Dave sits back in his seat after strapping the seatbelt and closes his eyes for a moment. Though he sits separate from the team, there is a feeling of acceptance.
Once the jet is in the air and has reached altitude, Hotch pulls out his file folder. They all follow suit, it's time to work on victimology.
"So, what we do we know about these kinds of cases," Hotch asks.
Dave speaks up first. "We never found any evidence of a killer satanic cult. In reality, there are only two types of violent Satanic criminals."
"Uh, type one," Reid cuts in. "Teen Satanists assume the satanic identity to rebel. Minor crimes, theft and vandalism to churches, schools, symbols of authority. When combined with drugs and alcohol, they may turn violent."
Dave looks at him, impressed.
"Yes, in extreme cases, deadly." He pauses and frowns. "That was out of my book word for word."
"Oh, trust us, we know," Morgan says.
Reid continues his diatribe oblivious to Morgan's interruption. "Uh, killings are accidental, usually resulting from their hobby getting out of control. Killings won't turn serial…"
"Hey, Reid," Morgan says sharply.
Dave continues to ponder the younger man as he suddenly stops talking. Spencer Reid was an enigma that Dave had yet to study. However, it seemed the younger man had been studying him.
Reid glances at him nervously. "Sorry."
Dave makes a mental note to re-look at the younger man's file.
"Ok," Prentiss states. "So that's one type. What's type two?"
"The adaptive Satanist is the one you have to worry about," Dave tells the group. "The typical serial killer rationalizing his fantasies by blaming them on outside forces."
"Like Satan," JJ suggests.
"Yes," Dave replies. "He adapts Satanic beliefs to fit his specific homicidal drives. He doesn't kill because he believes in Satan. He believes in Satan because he kills."
"Well, let's hope it's the teenagers," Hotch interjects. "Whether you're religious or not, the presence of satanic elements can affect the most experienced investigators. And we're not immune, so keep an eye on the locals and keep an eye on each other."
"I hear you," JJ says strongly. "I saw the Exorcist."
"My Mother took us to church every Sunday until I moved out. This whole devil thing doesn't spook me at all," Morgan boasts.
"Maybe that's because you never truly bought the God part either," Reid speculates.
Dave watches the interaction. He doesn't move except for his eyes floating back and forth between the two agents.
"No offense, kid," Morgan says defensively. "But you don't know what I believe."
Reid continues undeterred. "Well, I mean, logic dictates that if you believe in the one, you have to reconcile the existence of the other."
Hotch cuts in before an argument begins. "People's reactions to Satan is what gives it appeal to these offenders. It has power, and it would be a mistake to underestimate it."
Morgan turns to stare out the window. Dave watches him for a moment, curious as to what set off the younger agent.
Bridgewater, Florida – On the Road to the Church
Hotch assigned Dave, Morgan and JJ to talk to the Priest and the grieving family. Though JJ wasn't a profiler, her calming presence and ability to connect with grieving family members was a welcome addition. In just the short-time Dave had known her, she had gained his respect. He decided to take her under his wing and teach her how to profile if she ever decided that she wanted to do more than liaise with the press.
"So, Dave," Morgan says trying to be casual. "Everything okay with you and Penelope?"
Dave feels JJ perk up in the back seat as he glances at the younger man. "Everything's fine. Why do you ask?"
Morgan sends him a sharp look. "Didn't seem "fine" when I saw you two in her office."
"What are you guys talking about?" JJ interjects.
"Nothing," Dave dismisses. "It was a simple misunderstanding."
"Uh-huh," Morgan utters, not sounding convinced.
Dave glances over his shoulder to see JJ staring at him with a questioning expression. He sighs inwardly and turns to the side window.
Morgan parks the SUV in front of the church where the parents were discussing funeral arrangements. Dave slides out of the front passenger seat, removes his sunglasses, putting them in his inside jacket pocket and walks to the front of the SUV joining Morgan and JJ.
"Rossi," Morgan states getting his attention. They stop and look at each other. "Do me a favor. You talk to the priest, all right?"
He squints, looking hard at Morgan. "You'd rather interview the grieving parents on the worst day of their lives than the priest?"
Morgan waves a hand nonchalantly. "If that's all right with you, yeah."
Dave doesn't reply. He raises an eyebrow and heads to the church. What the hell happened to this guy to make him practically beg to not talk to a priest, Dave wonders.
At the Church
They enter the church as a stocky, middle-aged black man comes down the stairs. "Good afternoon."
"Hi, Father Marks. Agent Jareau," JJ says warmly. They shake hands before she turns to introduce Dave and Morgan. "These are agents Rossi and Morgan."
"It's good of you to come," Father Marks says as he shakes their hands.
"We're sorry we have to be here under these circumstances, Father," Dave replies.
Father Marks nods. "Well, Abby's parents, Bob and LeeAnn, are in my office. We were discussing her services."
"Agent Morgan actually has some questions for you," Dave says blandly. He ignores Morgan's sharp look.
"All right," Father Marks nods. "Well, uh, they're upstairs, first door on the right, and they're expecting you." Dave smirks as he walks past Morgan and up the stairs. He hears JJ's footsteps right behind him.
At the top of the stairs, JJ grabs his sleeve. He turns around. He expects a scolding for throwing Morgan to the wolves.
"How do you want to handle this," she asks gently. She nods towards the closed door.
"You take the lead," he tells her. "Get them to talk about Abby, what she was like, who her friends were, what activities she was in. Just keep it general. I'll ease into the conversation when I feel they are comfortable with us."
She nods. "Okay."
"If, for whatever reason, they separate – stay with LeeAnn," he continues. "We don't want either of them to feel like they are alone right now."
She looks at him carefully for a moment, reading him. He waits for her to respond. Finally, she nods again. He motions for her to go ahead of him to the door. She steps forward and knocks gently before opening the door.
Dave follows her inside, closing the door softly behind him. JJ introduces both of them once again. Dave slides over to stand near the window. He is close enough to be part of the conversation and yet far enough to make them feel comfortable. It also gives Dave an opportunity to watch both parents at the same time.
JJ picks up a stack of pictures from the desk. "May I?"
"Help yourself," LeeAnn says in a friendly manner. She tries to maintain some sense of normalcy through her Southern hospitality, but the pain and raw emotion breaks out in her voice.
"We're so sorry for your loss," JJ replies. She thumbs through the stack of photos.
"They say we couldn't have an open casket," LeeAnn states without prompting. "So, we need to choose a picture. I didn't know which one to use, so I brought them all."
JJ smiles. "She's beautiful."
Dave moves closer, glancing over JJ's shoulder to look at a picture of a smiling toddler standing alone on her own two feet.
"Her first steps," he asks.
JJ hands him the stack as LeeAnn catches sight of the picture he is referring to.
"Oh, Bob took that," LeeAnn says proudly. Her voice clearly reflecting the fact that she had yet to process the truth of the situation. "Thank God. I would have missed it. I was at a church retreat for the weekend."
Dave glances at the man sitting next to his wife. The tears and pained look on his face key Dave into the fact that he is further along in the process of acceptance. Dave eases onto the corner of the desk and smiles warmly, he knows at any minute she will break. "Pretty young to be walking."
LeeAnn beams. "Youngest girl in the whole neighborhood to walk. First to swim too. That's Abby."
"When's her birthday," he asks, sounding genuinely interested.
"Uh. July 28th," LeeAnn responds.
"Leo," Rossi responds. "Headstrong, popular, generous, center of attention. Am I right?"
LeeAnn laughs sharply. "To a T. That's Abby. She was only 17 when she graduated. She's studying to be a nurse."
"Was," Bob mutters. It's the first word he has said since the two agents walked into the room. Dave looks at him knowing this is the moment things change.
"What's that, dear," LeeAnn asks.
He replies a little stronger. "She was studying to be a nurse."
LeeAnn freezes for a moment as she processes his words. Dave can see the grief return. For a moment; she had forgotten that her daughter was dead. She runs out of the room; JJ follows closing the door behind her.
Bob glances at Dave. Now that his wife was not in the room, he seemed compelled to talk. "I, um, I made the identification. There was a sheet over her. Doc pulled it down just enough to see her face."
Dave moves, leaving the photos on the corner of the desk and perches on the seat LeeAnn had vacated. Sadness pours off the man next to him. Dave waits, giving him the time he needs to continue. 'Parents weren't supposed to outlive their children,' Dave muses silently. He thinks of James and his heart aches, then he thinks of his own Father and wonders how many sleepless nights he had caused him over the years.
Bob looks up at Dave. "But I could tell – I could see from where the sheet laid over her body that something wasn't right. Detective Jordan won't tell me the details, says I don't need to know. And Doc says I don't need to see. This is Abby. This is my sweet Abby. And I trust Doc, and I trust Detective Jordan, but you're from the FBI, and if you tell me that I don't… I don't need to see or I don't need to know, I'll believe you."
Dave sees the desperation in the other man's eyes. There was a time to tell the truth and there was a time to lie, this was neither of those times.
"Trust me Mr. Kelton," Dave said gently. He points to the photos on the desk. "These are the memories you wanna keep."
A few moments later, JJ and LeeAnn return. The two agents repeat their condolences and leave the room. JJ proceeds down the stairs in front of Dave. "God that sucked," she whispers.
"It never gets any easier," Dave says reluctantly.
"I'm glad you were there," she says softly. She stops midway down the staircase. "Derek sometimes forgets that other people have feelings. You handled that very well."
Dave smiles at her. "So, did you. I'm glad you were there as well."
Her face lights up then she starts to smirk.
"What?" he questions.
"I never took you for the type to believe in astrology," she says.
"I'm not."
"Really," she replies raising an eyebrow at him. "You sounded pretty knowledgeable in there."
He sighs. "My sister Isabella is obsessed with tarot cards and horoscopes and such. She believes she can predict the future."
"Hmm," she nods. "Didn't you read your horoscope today?"
He takes a couple of steps and turns back to her. "Actually I did. You want to know what it said?"
She grins. "Hell, yeah."
"You will be annoyed by a petite blond and though you may be tempted to kill her, remember she is armed too."
She chuckles and shakes her head at him. "You are too much. But really, how did you know about Leo's and that Abby Kelton was a Leo?"
He takes a moment to glance around before settling on her. "I can't discount the fact that people do have certain personality traits based on when they were born."
He turns away, pauses then swivels back. "I'm a man of faith, I believe in God, but I also believe in science. To me, the future is completely unpredictable, however, I also believe that there are several scientific factors and natural phenomena that can shape people into behaving in certain manners. If I can understand how someone is personality wise, it can help me understand how they think and react in different situations."
"So, you think that by understanding astrology it makes you profile better," she asks.
"Yes," he nods.
"Huh," she replies. "I guess I should read up on astrology."
"You should. There will be a quiz," he smirks and continues down the stairs.
They say their goodbyes to Father Marks and meet Morgan outside. The agent leans against the front of the SUV, arms crossed. As Dave approaches, he pulls his sunglasses out of his pocket, puts them on and smirks while walking to the passenger door.
Bridgewater Police Department
Morgan parks the large, black SUV in a visitor's spot, quickly shuts off the engine and exits the vehicle. He is halfway to the door by the time JJ and Dave have gotten out of the vehicle as well.
"I think someone is not happy with you," JJ murmurs.
"Not the first time," Dave shrugs and pulls out his phone. "I need to make a phone call. I'll be there in a minute."
She touches his arm. "Okay."
Dave waits until she enters the police department before dialing the number, it rings once.
"Agent Rossi, how may I help you," Garcia says sounding very business-like.
"I need a favor," he says carefully. "I know I'm not your favorite person right now…"
"If this isn't work related…"
He cuts her off. "It's my Dad."
"What happened," she asks, her voice full of concern.
"Nothing that I know of," he assures her. "It's just, I don't like to call them when I'm on a case. I don't want them to know what exactly we are working on here."
"Okay," she drawls. "What does that have to do with me?"
"I was hoping that you could call them," he says. "They know you and I work together. Just tell them I'm in the field and I asked for an update. Can you do that for me?"
The line is silent for a moment. He hears her sigh.
"Please," he adds.
She snorts. "Fine. I'll call you later."
Bridgewater Police Department
Dave wanders into the police department, his heart singing. He got Penelope to do him a favor, one in which, she will have to talk to him again.
"Hey," Hotch calls out from across the room. Dave moves in his direction, wipes the smile off his face. No need to get Hotch riled up. "You find out anything?"
"Not really," Dave replies. "You?"
"He made her eat her fingers before she died."
"Well, that's unusual," Dave frowns. "Any thoughts on why?"
"Not a clue," Hotch responds. His phone rings, he answers and walks away.
Dave saunters into the conference room and settles at the table. He leans back in the chair and relaxes.
"Hey," Emily says in greeting as she enters the room.
"Hey," he replies in kind. He looks up as Morgan walks in. The muscular agent gives him a brief glare as he walks over to the coffee station.
"You guys find out anything," Emily asks. She sits in the chair next to Dave.
Morgan pours himself a cup of coffee. "There's no evidence that any of the local kids were into devil worship or the occult."
"No," Prentiss agrees. "This is not a group of teenagers."
"It's a serial killer," Morgan says definitively.
Prentiss nods. "And considering what he did with her fingers, a sadistic one."
"That I wouldn't say just yet," Dave tells her.
"He cut off her fingers and he made her eat them," Prentiss says incredulously. "If that isn't sadistic…"
"If it was, that's the only sign of sadism present in the crime," Dave points out.
Prentiss nods again. "If he was purely a sadist, there would have been more signs of torture."
"The fingers are a message," Dave muses.
"What the hell's the message," Morgan asks.
Hotch walks into the room. "She's not my first. None of the fingers found in Abby Kelton's stomach were hers. And six of them were index fingers."
Dave glances at Emily and notes that she has paled slightly. "You okay?"
"I thought the alligators were bad," she moans.
Bridgewater Hotel
Dave steps out of the shower, wraps a towel around his waist and walks out of the bathroom. He grabs his phone, a cigar, and his lighter before going out onto the balcony.
The sun recedes in the distance and a cool breeze kicks up as night begins to fall.
"I don't really want to go," Reid states from the room next door.
Dave sits on the chair and places his phone on the table as he preps the cigar.
"Come on, kid," Morgan pleads. "I need a wingman."
"Take Emily with you," Reid whines.
"Dude, you know she's not anybody's wingman," Morgan laughs.
Dave chuckles as he lights the cigar. He watches the smoke trail off towards the room the two men are bunking in. Dave was supposed to bunk with Hotch, however, he spoke to the hotel manager and arranged for a separate room on his own dime.
Flying on the jet, sitting in cars with these people was as close as he wanted to be. And, he surmised, Aaron could use some space as well. Dave knew the signs, oh too well, a marriage was falling apart and there was nothing anyone could do.
A knock at his door stirs him from his reverie, he lays the cigar on the corner of the table, stands, and adjusts the towel before heading inside.
Morgan smirks as he takes in Dave's attire. The whole team, minus Hotch, have gathered in the hallway.
"Yeah," Dave says. He's aware of the eyes on him but chooses to ignore the looks.
"We're headed down to the bar," Morgan explains. "Want to put some pants on and join us?"
"Or just join us," one of the women murmur quietly but not quiet enough.
"Sure," Dave replies. His phone starts to ring. "Let me get the phone then I'll dress. I'll meet you in the bar."
Morgan smiles. "See ya soon, Playboy."
Dave lingers a moment watching them walk to the elevator before closing the door and heading back to the balcony. He picks up the phone and answers. "Rossi."
"Did I wake you up," Penelope asks.
"No," he replies casually. He sits down on the chair again and picks up his cigar. "I just got out of the shower."
"Oh," she responds. "I can call you back, give you time to dress."
"What for? You can't see me, can you?"
"Well, no," she stammers. "If it was me, I'd want to get dressed first."
"I got nothing to hide," he chuckles. He picks up the still smoldering cigar. "Besides, I'm not completely naked. I still have my towel."
"Oh – okay. Uh, ummm, well, I, uh…"
"Penelope," he says softly.
"Yes," she says.
"You've seen me naked," he points out.
"I remember." Her voice is so soft he can barely hear her. "Boy, do I remember."
He smiles and takes a puff from the cigar. "Did you talk to my Mom?"
"OH MY GAWD! How did that amazingly, wonderful woman raise you," she squealed.
He laughs. "With a lot of patience and a wooden spoon."
Penelope laughs as well. "She is so sweet! I'm so glad I've had the chance to talk to her. She keeps insisting that I call her Momma."
"Of course, she does" he chuckles. "She likes you. My whole family likes you."
"You haven't told them about your actual girlfriend?"
He groans internally. "She's my manager."
"Still?"
Dave stares at the ceiling as he processes her words. "For the moment," he says quietly.
"Huh," she huffs. "Momma's fine. Poppa is doing better, he's still having some trouble getting around and he grumbles about using a walker, but he uses it. Reeni is there every day to help with the cooking and cleaning. Your Momma grumbles about that, but said she is grateful for the help. There were a bunch of other names that I don't remember. Remind me, how big is your family?"
"Big," he replies. "Each of my sisters have been married and had kids. Some of those kids have spouses and kids. And a couple of those kids have kids. Even I have a hard time keeping track."
"I can imagine. I bet the holidays are rowdy," she muses.
He laughs. "Yeah, sometimes. Momma has a schedule for Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. If you show up on a day you are not scheduled for, you don't get to eat."
"I doubt that she wouldn't find something for you to eat," she replies emphasizing the word you.
"I don't show up on non-scheduled days."
"Mm-hmm. Oh! I almost forgot. I'm supposed to tell you that JD bought a new glove and can't wait for you to come home. Who is JD?"
"That would be Reeni's grandson," Dave smiles. "He's named after…"
"Yes?"
"Never mind," he says quietly. He contemplates the cigar in his hand. "He's my favorite nephew."
"Don't you know, you're not supposed to have a favorite," she scolds gently.
"I have been told that," he agrees. "Doesn't matter though. I love all my nieces and nephews, JD however, is extra special."
"Hmmph," she snorts. "I need to go home."
"You're still at work?"
"Yeah," she sighs. "Just running that last bit of info through my babies. Hoping to find something you guys can use to catch this sicko. This case really sucks. I mean, all the cases suck, but this one really sucks."
He thinks about Abby Kelton's parents. "Agreed. Go home, get some sleep."
"You need to get some sleep too. Have you eaten yet?"
He shakes his head. "No. I have to meet the team downstairs in the bar. I'll grab something there."
"A little late for a team meeting, isn't it," she inquires. "Should I stick around in case you guys need something?"
"No work stuff," he replies. He takes another puff from the cigar before rolling it around in the ashtray until the end is no longer smoking. "I think there is some drinking happening."
"Okay. Good night, David."
A smile plays at his lips. "Good night, Penelope."
They hang up. He continues to sit there for several minutes thinking about their conversation. She hadn't called him sir or Agent Rossi one time during their phone call. That was a good sign, he thought. A text message dings on his phone.
You want a drink? Emily
Whiskey neat. Be there in five. He replies.
Gotcha. Food?
Dave chuckles, wondering if Penelope had texted the team about eating. Or was Emily just being the team Mother and looking after the chicks?
Steak – medium, baked potato with everything. Or a cheeseburger and fries.
One salad coming up.
"I will murder you myself," Dave mutters. Emily had a strange sense of humor – he liked it. She was an attractive, independent woman and would one day, make a great boss. Dave grabs his phone and lighter then heads inside to dress.
End Chapter 18
