CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
GUILTY AS SIN
( aka 03x20: lo-fi )

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

THE CLICK OF DALLIS' new high heels echoed crisply off the walls as she marched down the corridor towards the door with the sparkly pink 'Penelope Garcia' spelled out across the front. She had eight paper coffee cups spread across two trays. They balanced precariously in each hand as she stopped in front of the door, struggling to figure out a way to knock without spilling coffee on her white silk top. Normally, she'd just let herself in, but knocking had become a necessity with Kevin Lynch around. Dallis had walked in on the two of them one time too many over the past few weeks, and she wasn't about to make that mistake again.

In the end, she settled for a swift rattle of her toe against the door. Garcia called out from the other side, "Who is it?"

"Santa Claus," Dallis scoffed as her extended arms started to ache. "Open your door, please, or I'll have Morgan bust it down."

Garcia, giggling, thankfully did just that, allowing Dallis to burst inside in a waft of coconut shampoo and floral perfume. She gave a sigh of relief as soon as she'd successfully placed the coffee trays down on Garcia's desk. "No Kevin today?"

"He's not here every day," Garcia rolled her eyes. She happily accepted the coffee Dallis offered her, pausing to take in Dallis' outfit of choice. "Hm, this is new. Am I missing something?"

Dallis glanced down at her clothes and shrugged. "My wardrobe needed an update."

"And there's no other reason?"

Dallis raised her eyebrows when Garcia sat down at her desk, crossed one knee over the other and gave Dallis her full attention. "...Should there be?"

"You tell me." When Dallis remained tight-lipped, she pried further, "Kevin mentioned something about seeing you and a certain colleague of ours in an antique shop alone yesterday. I didn't believe him, because I'm sure you would tell me if something is happening in your love life... wouldn't you?"

Dallis sighed. Damn Kevin. "You know I would, Pen, but I've got nothing to tell you."

Which was the truth. Somewhat.

"So you feel absolutely nothing for David Rossi?" It was hard to take Garcia seriously when she was glaring at her over the rims of her latest purple cat-eye glasses. She'd teased her hair into a half-up half-down style, showcasing two silver hoop earrings on either side of her face. "Don't laugh at me!"

Dallis pressed her lips together. "I'm sorry, okay?" She'd hoped Garcia would forget the question, but of course she didn't. She simply stared blankly until Dallis' chuckles faded into a sigh. "It's just a crush," she mumbled, grimacing when Garcia let out a gasp. "Don't act so shocked. You asked, I answered."

"I didn't think you'd cave," Garcia said. "Oh, this is great news!"

It really wasn't. Dallis hadn't had a crush in years. Literally. Troy had been a drunken mistake and nothing more. Before that, Dallis hadn't had a boyfriend in nearly three years. She'd forgotten what it was like to think of someone all the time, yet David Rossi never seemed to escape her notice, especially when they returned back from The Watcher case in Florida. One night at Maldini's alone became a regular occurrence, their latest was a trip to an antique shop that Dallis had seen in passing and Rossi had indulged. She looked forward to spending time together, to being the centre of his attention, but it wasn't as great as Garcia made it out to be. In truth, it was eating Dallis alive.

"No, this is not great," she covered her face with both her hands, making Garcia's smile drop. "I work with him, Pen. We'd be breaking about a thousand Bureau rules if we went there."

"Oh, please," Garcia scoffed. "Those rules exist because of Rossi. If you're serious about this, Dallis--"

"I really don't know if I am." Which wasn't a lie. Crushes were fleeting. Juvenile. They described an infatuation, not the deep longing for another person that Dallis held out for. "I won't ruin my friendship with him over something that might go away."

She knew Garcia disagreed but she was grateful when she let the subject drop. "Look, these coffees are getting cold. Take them to the others and let both Emily and JJ know we're having a girls night at mine tonight. Alright? No exceptions."

Dallis did just that, finding everyone except Rossi and Hotch in the bullpen. Morgan was busy teasing Reid (as per usual) but he was the first to notice the steam rising from the cups in Dallis' hands. "Cohen, you are Heaven-sent."

"That's a new one," she grinned, snatching up the one she knew was Rossi's but leaving Hotch's where it was. "Someone make sure that gets to Hotch, please? Oh, and Em, JJ? We've been summoned to Garcia's apartment tonight."

"I'll bring the wine," Emily said without missing a beat.

JJ, however, hesitated. She quickly plastered on a smile and muttered an 'I'll be there' but it hadn't escaped Dallis and Emily's notice.

Dallis left Morgan complaining to the others about being 'excluded' from girls night, making her way upstairs past Hotch's empty office to the one occupied by Rossi. She didn't knock this time, having gotten used to letting herself in now, and Rossi barely batted an eye when she came in, hips swaying, to sit on the edge of his desk.

"Black coffee?"

"As always," she nodded.

"You're the best," he said.

She smirked. "Morgan called me Heaven-sent, but I'll take 'best' I suppose."

He let out a laugh but he was completely serious when he moved to face her. "He's not wrong."

Oh.

Dallis flicked her eyes down to where his legs now caged in both of her knees. She swallowed, searching hastily for a distraction in the cup she raised to her mouth. How was she meant to get over this crush when he said thoughtless things like that?

"This is nice," she ran a hand over the smooth edges of a vintage clock-face now taking up the corner of his desk. He might've only agreed to their antique shop visit because Dallis had wanted to go, but he'd left with more purchases than she had by far. "Where'd you get it?"

"Some back-alley store," he seemed pleased with himself when she rolled her eyes. "Nothing too special."

"I'll remember that."

Rossi shrugged. "Just as long as you also remember that it's my turn to pick where we go next. Are you free tonight?"

She shook her head. "It's girls night tonight. Garcia's orders."

"Well, damn. I would never want to get in the way of girls night," he grumbled, making Dallis smile. "Another night, then."

"I wouldn't miss it."

Somebody knocked on the door, waiting for Rossi to let them in. On the other side was Reid, whose face went bright red when he realised Dallis was also in the room. "Uh, sorry to interrupt. We're needed in the conference room..."

Dallis groaned. Well, there went girls night. "I only just saw JJ downstairs? She didn't say anything."

"This didn't go through JJ," said Reid, surprising her. "The case went straight to Hotch."

Huh. Interesting.

"Don't get comfortable, guys. There'll be time to debrief on the plane."

Dallis knew from the second she entered the conference room and Hotch greeted them with a curt warning that the impending case was a bad one. He stood with his back to the door so he didn't see each of them pause and share a 'here we go again' look. Dallis slumped her head on Emily's shoulder, allowing herself a second to sigh and dread the days ahead before she shook the feeling away and braced herself.

"Where are we headed?" she asked.

"New York."

Now Hotch's reaction made more sense. He moved to join the semi-circle they'd formed around the table, revealing the photos displayed on the screen of the recent shootings occurring in New York, each a single bullet to the back of the head as the unsub walked past the victim on the street. The unsub would keep on walking, the victim would take their last breath. Nobody noticed a thing. It was interesting what that said about life. How easy it was to rip another person's whole existence out from under their feet, and at first their actions seemed to have no echo.

"Five shootings in two weeks," Rossi remarked. "It's about time we got the call."

"I want to take Garcia with us," Hotch said, which Dallis knew would not impress their technical analyst. "Hopefully, they'll give us access to their surveillance systems."

"So what do we know?" Emily asked.

"All the killings are midday. Single gunshot to the head with a .22."

"Any witnesses?"

"No."

"A .22-calibre pistol's only 152 decibels," Reid informed them. "New York streets and subways are routinely well over a hundred. It could be people aren't even registering the gunshot until the unsub's already leaving the scene."

Frowning, Morgan pointed out, "They sound like mob hits."

"Except none of them have ties to organised crime," Hotch countered.

"Do they have any connection to each other?" Dallis wondered.

"None they've found."

"How about communication with the police?" Morgan questioned. "Has the unsub tried to make contact?"

Hotch shook his head, but then said, "Surveillance cameras have captured video of three of the murders. This is the latest."

The current photo changed to the video in question. The victim was a middle-aged man standing alone on the subway. The unsub appeared behind him, barely breaking stride as he lifted his arm, placed the barrel on the back of the man's head and pressed the trigger. Down the victim went, a pool of blood smearing across the concrete. The unsub walked up the subway stairs and disappeared into the lunch crowd.

"That's the best image they have?" JJ couldn't help but frown.

"They're all the same," Hotch said. "He wears a hood and keeps his head down."

"He could be scoping out the area beforehand or he could be local and know the area," Dallis suggested. "Figuring out where the cameras are to avoid police detection. How many times can you commit a murder without revealing something about yourself? Without anything going wrong?"

"One thing's for sure, this guy's bold," Emily said. "Crowded areas, broad daylight."

"So they're completely random?" Rossi couldn't seem to believe it. He had that sharp glint in his eye that Dallis had long gotten used to. Like he was looking at a puzzle and fuming that someone had hidden all the key pieces, the ones that made the picture clear.

Hotch nodded. "Seems that way."

Reid's smile was grim. "It's Son of Sam all over again."

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

"HOW COME I ONLY get to travel with you guys, like, once every two years?" Garcia said as she filed onto the plane with Dallis, Morgan and Emily in tow. She whirled her head around, slack-jawed, looking like a fish out of water as she acclimatised herself to the familiar but nonetheless foreign territory. She typically only saw one part of the jet and that was through her computer screen, which was nothing like the real-life comforts it provided.

"Trust me, mama," Morgan said as he followed her with her bright purple carry-bag hooked over one arm. "It can get old."

"'Ain't that the truth," Dallis mumbled, slipping her blazer down her arms. With the jet's heating system on full blast, Dallis had little use for the sage green linen that matched her pants. She hung it over the back of Rossi's chair, not that he noticed with the photos of the victims taking up his attention.

"Right," Garcia scoffed while carefully watching Morgan unload her bag into one of the overhead compartments. "Like the way that spa treatments and five-star hotels can get old."

Emily, grinning, tapped Dallis' arm. "Remember the time we got on board and they hadn't chilled the Cristal?"

"Oh, I almost quit the BAU that day," Morgan deadpanned.

"Almost?" Dallis scoffed. "I had my resignation letter typed and ready to go."

Garcia rolled her eyes. "Okay, you know what? You guys can joke all you want 'cause I am never leaving this plane. Come on, Dallis. Show me the coffee machine."

"Yes, ma'am."

By the time she'd successfully managed to distract Garcia with the different types of coffee available, the others had settled in to go over victimology. Dallis took the empty seat beside Hotch opposite Rossi and Reid, leaving Morgan, Emily and Garcia (when she got around to leaving the kitchen) to take over the couch. JJ was sitting on her own in the corner, seemingly trading personalities with Rossi as she stared vaguely through the window.

"... Each killed in a completely different neighbourhood. Hell's Kitchen, Murray Hill, Lower East Side, Chinatown, East Harlem."

"It doesn't make any sense," Reid frowned, subconsciously dragging his fingers along his jawline. "There's no common victimology, no sexual component, no robbery, no geographical location. I mean, do the police have any leads?"

Hotch shook his head, making Dallis sigh. "He's killing roughly every two days. The press is having a field day and it sounds like the mood on the street's getting pretty edgy."

"That doesn't surprise me," Dallis muttered. "What kind of life can you live when you're forever looking over your shoulder and treating everyone around you as a threat?"

"And this is a joint FBI-NYPD task force?" Rossi asked Hotch.

"Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office. She's running point on the case and called me personally -- JJ, would you tell them we're ready to go?"

JJ visibly flinched at the sound of her name, unwrapping her arms from their comfortable spot around her stomach. "Right..."

Weird, Dallis thought, watching her shuffle up front to where the pilot was waiting for the go-ahead to take-off. Something was clearly on her mind, but it had been over three months since the case in Miami where they'd last seen JJ caught off guard. As far as Dallis and everyone else knew, she and Will were going steady. So what was wrong?

"Kate's starting to butt heads with the lead detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes," Hotch continued.

"Joyner," Morgan repeated her name slowly. "I know her. She's a Brit, right?"

"Dual citizenship. Her father's British, her mother's American," said Hotch without thinking. Dallis blinked, unable to hide the twist in her expression from Rossi and Emily, who both had to hide smiles with Hotch's eyes on them. "She was a big deal at Scotland Yard before coming to the Bureau."

"I heard she can be a little bit of a pain in the ass," Morgan commented, and Dallis couldn't tell if he meant it or if he'd also noticed Hotch's unusual interest in the woman and was just trying to test the waters.

"I didn't think so," Hotch frowned.

"You know her?" Emily asked.

"We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard."

"And she's good?" Rossi confirmed.

Hotch's nod was earnest. "I think we're lucky to have her."

Liaised, Dallis could've laughed. She found that hard to believe. There was either history there -- unspoken or otherwise -- or Hotch just had a major crush on the woman in control. Not that Dallis would blame him. She didn't know Kate Joyner to prove otherwise, but powerful women had a tendency of leaving people either starstruck or uncomfortable.

About an hour later, they were in the elevator on the way up to meet the woman in question. The freshly polished toe of Hotch's Oxfords tapped an impatient rhythm into the ground. As soon as the doors started to slide open, he led the charge towards a blonde woman dressed in an impeccable pantsuit. Just by breathing, she commanded the attention of everyone in passing, but she only had eyes for Hotch.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Morgan leaned in to whisper in Dallis' ear.

She was almost positive she was. She gave a quick nod, careful to angle her head away from Hotch as she mumbled, "That Haley has a twin and Hotch has the hots for her?"

The others wore similar expressions of disbelief, sharing quick glances as they listened to their boss and this woman greet each other like long-lost lovers.

"Kate," he smiled.

"Aaron." Her strong British accent savoured his name. "How've you been?"

"Well, thank you." Finally, Hotch remembered the rest of them waiting behind him, clearing his throat as the faintest red hue crept up the side of his neck. "This is my team. Kate Joyner, this is David Rossi, Dallis Cohen, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid."

"Thanks for being here," she nodded, matching each name to its corresponding person. "Anything that you need, just tell me. Please don't stand on protocol."

Garcia took this to heart, jumping straight into it, "What can you tell us about the city's surveillance system?"

"Well, it's run by the NYPD. It's still in the infant stages, it's been rather controversial... American privacy laws... But they have had some success."

"And I'll have complete access?"

Kate nodded. "They're already expecting you! Shelly, if you please--"

The mousy-haired woman who stood in Kate's shadow jumped to attention at the sound of her name. She was quick to show Garcia the way, the two disappearing into a room further down the hallway. As they left, two detectives joined the group -- both middle-aged, both male, both gaping at Reid like he had three heads as he started off on one of his signature tangents.

"I'd like to get a map of the borough. I want to do a comprehensive geographical profile of the area in order to ascertain the unsub's mental map before it's clouded by our own linkage blindness."

"I see you brought your own computer," one of the detectives -- the shorter of the two with thinning grey hair -- muttered snidely.

Reid went quiet. Dallis raised her eyebrows at the two men. "And you are?"

"This is Detective Brustin and Cooper," it was Kate who answered with a close-mouthed smile.

Suddenly, Detective Brustin's attitude made a lot of sense. If Dallis remembered right, Hotch said that Kate was butting heads with the lead detectives on the case. Just from first glance, Detective Brustin looked like a man who wanted to prove himself. With his head held high, he glared down the bridge of his nose at anything that breathed. He stood with his feet spread wide apart, overcompensating for what he lacked in height, Dallis was sure.

"You caught the first shooting?" Rossi asked them.

"They've all been in different precincts," it was Detective Cooper who answered. He was taller than his partner by nearly a foot, a few years younger, dark-haired. Dallis already respected him much more than Detective Brustin. "It wasn't until the third murder that anyone even made the connection."

"I guess this is where we play nice and ask you what you need," Brustin sighed.

Kate's laughter was awkward as she slowly took a step back towards the exclusivity of her office. "I'll let you all figure out what that is. I just ask that you run everything back through me. It's been my experience that having one butt on the line is enough."

Nobody had a chance to answer before Brustin rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

She must've been used to it, though. She barely looked his way. "Can I have a word with you in private, Aaron?"

"Sure," he said, and then to his team, "Excuse me."

"So," Emily muttered, watching the two of them walk away. "They 'liaised' while she was at Scotland Yard, huh?"

"I call bullshit," Dallis scoffed. "Unless liaising means something else in Britain."

Hotch didn't look to be returning anytime soon so the team got to work setting up without him. They were met with some resistance from Brustin but he went ignored most of the time. Cooper accepted their presence pretty much without question, offering up any general information they needed. He paid extra attention to the women of the group, but Dallis didn't miss the pale band of skin on his finger where a wedding ring would normally sit. She wasn't about to get involved with Troy 2.0.

"Hey, so what's your partner's problem?" Reid asked when Brustin was out of earshot.

His question caught both Dallis and Emily's attention and they came to stand on either side of him. Cooper's throat bobbed with a visible swallow. "Well, by the fourth murder, the FBI was brought in. Good. We can use all the help we can get, but all of a sudden she's--" He angled his head towards Kate's office. "Taking meetings with the mayor and calling in you all without us knowing anything about it."

"We're only here to help," Emily insisted. "Think of us as a resource."

The corner of his mouth curled into an amused smirk. "Okay, so profile me. What am I thinking?"

Emily burst into knowing laughter. "It's never gonna happen."

"No offence, but we've had five murders," he shook his head. "I hope it gets better than that."

He went to turn his back on them but Dallis wasn't done. "When you take off your wedding ring, do you put it in your breast pocket so it's closer to your heart or your pants pocket, so it's out of sight and out of mind?"

Coopers froze, instinctively bunching his left hand into a fist that hid his empty ring finger, then retreated to the other side of the room. From behind them, someone made a point of coughing. Dallis whirled around, cheeks pink, to find Rossi had witnessed the entire exchange.

"If you're done terrorising the detective--"

"I can't help it," she said, unintentionally interrupting him. "Cooper's a womaniser but he loves his wife and Brustin's a sour-faced man-child who doesn't like being proven wrong. It's just too easy."

Rossi shook his head but something about the action was fond and forgiving. "Well, Morgan and I have managed to convince Brustin to take us to the latest crime scene. I wanted to see if you'd come with us, if you can keep your mouth shut."

"Sure thing," she agreed. Reid had his geographical map to begin and he'd have more than enough help from Emily and JJ, so she was eager to get started somewhere she'd be useful. She headed for the door. "But I'm making no promises."

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

"WHO THE HELL THINKS they can get away with murder in the middle of the day in New York City?" Morgan said as he finished pacing the length of the train tracks.

There were several people milling around in wait for the next train. They watched the three profilers and the detective at work with visible interest, but there was an unshakable silence that blanketed the space and swallowed it whole. The blood might've been washed away but the crime in the light of day was jarring.

"Someone patient," Rossi answered Morgan. "He waits for the one who gets separated from the flock." Dallis stopped at the feeling of two fingers suddenly pressing softly against the back of her hair. "Bang."

As he mimicked the gunshot, she stared into the blinking red light of the surveillance camera right above them. "And this is the spot where it happened?" No answer. Why was she not surprised? "Excuse me. Detective Brustin? I asked you a question."

"Hm?"

He didn't even look at her. Dallis gritted her teeth. "Is this the spot where the victim was shot?"

Dallis didn't think she was expecting too much of him. There were only two answers; yes or no.

Brustin sighed and gave a brief nod, then started to wander off in the opposite direction, "Thereabouts."

"So helpful."

"Are we boring you?" Rossi scowled, making Brustin turn back. "Look, I know you don't like SSA Joyner. Fine, I get it. But we're here to do a job."

"Have any of you people ever been cops?" he asked.

"Chicago," Morgan spoke up.

"Well, then you'll understand. I take it real personal when something like this happens in my city," he said, his voice rising, for once, with something other than petty anger. "I was a beat cop during the Son of Sam. This is worse. He's not just going after one type, he's going after everybody. And I need everybody who's working on this case to take it personally."

"You have that," Morgan insisted but Brustin wasn't quite ready to let his frustrations go.

"We'll see."

Dallis shook her head. "Well, personally, I think that's going to get you nowhere. You want us to work with you? To take this guy down? Stop trying to make us hate you."

"It's not about hate," he argued, then sighed and waved a hand at her. "Look, just forget it. You found what you're looking for here or not?"

"To start, this guy's definitely not afraid to get up close and personal," Morgan redirected the conversation.

"Or be visible," Dallis agreed. "But is it the attention he's looking for?"

Rossi considered this, gazing across the station as if a train was pulling in right in front of them, painting them a picture of the unsub. "He ducks his head the second he steps off the train."

"We've had glimpses of him," said Brustin. "But the descriptions have been sketchy. Some people have said he's a light-skinned black man, Asian, Puerto Rican. Basically, every homeboy in the city."

Odd. There was always a chance details would be confused when dealing with multiple witnesses but if there was one unsub it wouldn't be this easy to mix up what stood out about them.

"Ballistics were the same for every shooting?" Morgan asked just to be sure.

"Yeah, and we've checked the records back ten years, the gun's never been recycled."

".22's aren't exactly the weapon of choice these days..."

"Unless you're Israeli intelligence," Rossi remarked. "It's what Mossad uses for all their political assassinations."

"This doesn't scream political assassination to me," Dallis bit down on her lower lip. "These are just everyday people. Garcia hasn't found anything in their backgrounds indicating criminal records or anything even remotely dodgy, which I'm starting to think is deliberate."

"All I know is this guy's organised," said Morgan. "He studies the cameras, carries a gun that's easy to conceal. He knows what he's doing."

And while they were at one crime scene, their unsub was out there establishing another. The four of them joined Hotch, Kate and Cooper on the busy corner of a main road. Traffic had been blocked off by an influx of first responders, clearing the road enough for them to assess the fallen body.

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses," Cooper told them. "Doesn't seem like anyone got a clean look."

Dallis lifted her chin towards the camera. "Anyone want to bet what we'll find on that?"

"It's over in a flash," Morgan sighed. "He's probably gone before anyone even realises what's happening."

"Is this what it felt like during the Son of Sam?" Kate asked Brustin as the whispers of terrified onlookers started to build.

"First we realised that if the violence was truly random, there was almost no way of stopping it," his answer was blunt, cold. "Seems like these people have figured that out."

Morgan pointed up to the camera again. "Dallis is right. From the placement of that camera, odds are the only view they're going to get is the back of his head."

Kate's eyes narrowed. The even set of her features -- hazel eyes, narrow nose bridge, a full upper-lip -- suddenly twisted into something ugly. Fierce. Protective. Furious. "Let's not be too quick to decide what we do or don't have."

With that, she brushed past him, making sure her shoulder collided with his. Brustin let out a low whistle, "The Duchess of Work has spoken." Then he and Cooper made themselves scarce.

"You mind telling me why I'm catching attitude from her?" Morgan rounded on Hotch, who'd said nothing in defence of Morgan.

"I'm gonna leave you both to it," Dallis muttered, deciding to go find Rossi.

He was standing aside as two first responders prepared to wheel the body away in a black canvas bag. In his gloved hand was a plastic-wrapped card.

"What's this?" she asked, peering over his shoulder. "A message?"

Rossi nodded, holding it out for her to get a better look. "Six murders and he's finally communicating with us."

Overhearing them, the others gathered around for a better look.

"Isn't that a little on the nose, even for a psycho?" Cooper frowned.

Brustin's expression was bemused, doubtful despite the evidence staring back at him. "So we think this guy's into spiritual garbage?"

"Well, if he is, he certainly doesn't know tarot," Hotch said. "The death card doesn't actually signify physical death. It's more of a transformation from one place to another, a job promotion or a marriage."

"So if he's not telling us he's into fortune telling, what's with the card?"

"The DC Sniper left the exact same card at one of his scenes," Rossi said.

"So this unsub must see himself in that role," Kate pieced together. "He's thriving off creating a panic."

"More importantly, he studies other cases. He's telling us he knows we're here."

"He could be here right now, too," Dallis gazed into the faces of dozens of strangers. "And we've got no way of knowing."