Hotch hated cases like these. Hated them. Hated them, hated them, hated them. There was just nothing good about them and there was nothing he could do about it. Which sucked. They made his skin crawl, even after all this time and after all that he had experienced. His inner lawyer squirmed at the legality of it all, even though he knew and had proof that it helped catch their unsubs. It didn't mean that he had to like it. Or even be vaguely okay with it. Because he wasn't.

They had been dealing with a series of particularly odd murders, spanning nine towns across three states. Even by their normal standards this was odd. Not one of the victims was killed the same way but each of them had three puncture wounds, unrelated to the cause of their death, just behind their left knee. Except for that, the only thing that linked these murders together was the positioning of the bodies - which was all the same. They had yet to figure out if that was a compulsion or if it holds some significance to their unsub. But the three puncture marks had confused them. What was the point of them if they didn't cause the victim's death? All lab reports said that they weren't injected with anything.

Thankfully, Reid and Garcia figured it out with the help of a rather large map. The three marks lined up with the geographical locations of two of the murders that happened in one state with the third point, the longest point, being the location of the first murder in another state. Garcia, with her self-declared magic powers, had provided the coordinates of the projected next town that was going to be hit. With any luck, they'd get there and get their unsub before anyone else was killed. Remembering a serial killer from before even Rossi's time, Reid had informed them of a man on Death Row who had done something similar. Though, he was quick to add that their original guy was technically an assassin and promptly gave them a lecture on the differences and commonalities between the two until Prentiss cuffed him lightly on the arm to get him to stop. Well, Hotch hoped that it was lightly. It was sometimes hard to tell Reid's various indignant yelps apart and add Emily to the mix Hotch always got the feeling that he didn't quite know what was going on. But that was beside the point, the point was that they had a lead. And a lot more information on assassins than they had previously. Which, depressingly, would probably come in useful in their line of work.

There was also the likelihood that their new unsub was copying this serial-killer assassin from the past. He was even using the same towns though with more victims. Great a copycat. The best way to spread panic. Especially in small towns with long memories.

This is how they ended up staking out a car park with said serial killer, sorry, assassin. They were looking for their copycat's possible next target. Hotch felt slimy just sitting next to him, like he desperately needed to scrub himself down. To be fair, the guy was handcuffed, had been searched three separate times by three separate security guards and hadn't made one inappropriate remark. In fact, he was unfailingly polite. Which was a nice change from others like him, if a little bit surreal. All he had done was sit in silence and shaken his head at every person they had suggested so far.

Hotch would have felt more comfortable if the guy didn't have this strange sort of blank smile on his face. And, you know, he wasn't sitting next to an assassin. He shifted slightly in his seat, just wanting this whole thing over with so that they could all go their separate ways.

"Are you honestly nervous?" Their guy, Marcus Winston, asked incredulously. "You've done this sort of thing more times than I can count."

"Which isn't many considering the level of education you received before becoming an assassin," Hotch retorted shortly, not making eye contact and looking straight ahead.

He did not want to encourage any sort of conversation with him het he could feel Winston's smile widen. Dammit, he shouldn't have interacted with him like that. It gave him an opening. It made Hotch lose control of the situation and if there was one thing that Winston liked, craved even, was control. Particularly control that gave him more power over law enforcement. He was smart about it too. Infuriatingly smart.

"I think that you will find that my education was useful," Winston said almost absentmindedly. "I did achieve my goals despite some areas being, shall we say, lacking."

Lacking was an understatement. The man never got an education past third grade. His father had pulled him out and "taught" him at home. There hadn't been a lot of book learning going on in that house, let's just put it that way.

"You got caught," Hotch had the urge to point out, despite that probably not being a good thing to do.

Winston didn't appear too bothered by this and shrugged.

"I was done," and then he gave Hotch a knowing look. "Unlike you."

Okay, Hotch was done talking to him now. He didn't need, nor want, to hear anything from this man unless it was related to the case. They needed to solve this case before anyone else got hurt. And Winston was supposed to be the key.

Speaking of Winston, Hotch could feel his eyes on him. He tried to ignore it for as long as he could but the man simply didn't let up.

"Why do you do it, Agent Hotchner?" He asked as Hotch turned to look at him. "How do you do it when you know that for every man like me you put behind bars that there is another one out there, running free who you do hot even know about?"

Hotch let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.

"Starfish," he eventually said.

"Starfish?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't make any sense," he scoffed. "What sort of answer is starfish."

"A succinct one."

"Oh, big word."

"That is the problem with having a lack of education."

"No need to rub it in my face."

Hotch decided that he was done talking. It wasn't like Winston was one of the ones he could save. Unfortunately, Winston was not the type of person who enjoyed silence. Not when he had someone to monologue at, anyway.

"So, you've got something about starfish? Are they you're favourite fish or something? And what do they have to do with saving people? I don't know much but I know starfish can't save people."

"Even if I don't think you can be saved from the path you're on doesn't mean I won't throw you in the sea," Hotch threatened.

And now Winston looked confused.

"We aren't anywhere near the sea."

"Pity."

"Yeah, you won't be finding starfish any time soon."

"That's not what I meant."

"Well, how am I supposed to know if you won't tell me?"

"As long as you know that you aren't a starfish."

"That sounds like it's supposed to be an insult."

Hotch shrugged. "More like you aren't worth even the most mnimal effort."

"That hurts."

Why was he even talking to him again when he told himself that he wouldn't? At least Winston had still been paying attention throughout all this chatter and shaking his head as people walked passed. No one so far had been a possible target. Maybe they were in the wrong spot. Spencer had given two possible locations where their copycat was fooling his victims. Though this one had seemed more likely.

"Her." Winston interrupted his thoughts, nodding at a middle-aged woman wearing Garcia-esque jewellery.

Hotch moved quickly and made a gesture at the security guard who had been tasked to supervise Winston to come over.

"Time to be a saviour," Winston mocked as he was led away.

"Time to throw a starfish back."