𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐧

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𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 the dark and dank room as Sophie's skin was torn open. He was yelling, reverberating off the stone walls, almost to the point that she couldn't recognise them as words. "You'll never leave me!" he cursed, slashing into her flesh again, met with another cry. "Never!"

A sudden flash of white blinded her and Sophie was weeping, begging for him to stop.

"Just like her," he spat. "You're all just like her."

The girl's naked body contorted as his blade met her again, the chains around her wrists and ankles binding her in place. Let me die, she thought. Let me die and let it be over.

"I loved you, little fawn." His nickname for her was a taunt. "I'm the only one who will ever love you. You can't leave me," he leaned in, his breath hot on the bloodied skin of her neck, "my Deer."

A hand ran over Sophie's hair, his other still holding the blade to her bare thigh. Then, another flash.

"My Georgina."

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𝗧𝘂𝗲𝘀𝗱𝗮𝘆, 𝗝𝘂𝗻𝗲 𝟴𝘁𝗵, 𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟬
𝟴:𝟭𝟰𝗮𝗺
𝗠𝗲𝘀𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁


𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐓 felt like home to Cady, from the smell of the paper running through the printers to the sounds of ringing phones left unanswered. Hell, even the glaring overhead fluorescents gave her some comfort. But there was something missing. Mesa didn't have Pete, or her dad, or even Luther. Never in a million years did she think she'd miss Liam Luther, but he still reminded her of the safety of home.

Exhaling, she found her team in the same room they occupied yesterday, and set to join them. As she appeared, she was greeted with a polite array of 'good morning's, aside from Agent Morgan.

"Hi," she gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry, slept through my alarm." That was a blatant lie. She had woken for all three of her alarms, staring at her phone screen each time as the minutes ticked by without her. "Anything new?"

Hotch's silver credit card was pincered between her middle- and fore-finger as she handed it over to him. He raised his brows for a second, as if asking her a question. Did you eat?

She gave a single grateful nod, turning herself again to the rest of the room.

"The other car involved in Georgina's accident was a 2003 Dodge Ram," Emily explained. "Garcia did a search. Guess who bought a 2003 Dodge Ram, December last year."

Cady shrugged, but she had her suspicions.

"Ashton Ventworth."

JJ handed Cady a paper cup, warm and filled with coffee. "Oh, thanks," she muttered gratefully, holding it close to take in the familiar scent.

The laptop on the table beeped twice, and the team saw Garcia's bright smile on screen. "Hi pretties!" she greeted.

By default, Morgan was first to respond. "Hey mama, what you got for us?"

"Oodles, sweet prince," she smirked. "But sadly, nothing you want to hear."

Cady took a sip of coffee as she listened to the woman continue.

"Something felt strange about Shaun Tuttle," Garcia began. "I mean, do you know how hard it is to proper, fully, actually disappear?"

"No," Morgan smiled, "but I'm guessing you do."

"It is super hard! So it got me thinking, did he really disappear? Then I did some digging." The screen changed to a surveillance video from an ATM. "This is the moment Shaun's bank account was drained in June," Garcia explained.

Cady's eyes narrowed to try and clear the slight blur from the footage, but JJ was the one to say what they were all thinking. "That's not Shaun."

The face was half-covered by a pair of sunglasses and the shadow from the green hoodie that the figure wore. The image only revealed the lower half of the face, and even then, the grain disguised them even further. "How can we be sure?" Cady asked, glancing to the only photo they had of Shaun, pinned to one of their boards. It was close enough; white, slim build, thin lips.

"I ran my Height and Distance software on a later frame," Garcia explained, and the footage sped forward slightly. A green vertical line appeared next to the figure as it was retreating. "Shaun Tuttle was five foot nine. Your withdrawer? Between five eleven and six two."

Cady looked to Hotch, comparing herself to their new UnSub. He met her eye, noticing her gaze as her mind ticked over. She didn't know Mr Ventworth's exact measurements, but he was almost as tall as Hotch, who stood at six foot two inches. "Ashton's about that height," she noted, looking to the team again.

"Anything else?" Rossi asked to Garcia.

"Actually yes," her face reappeared. "I continued dig, dig, digging, and came across a John Doe found in the Colorado River, a mile or so north-east of Bluewater, last July." The screen changed again, now the image of a pale, bloated face, laying on a silver autopsy table. "Meet Shaun Tuttle."

Cady grimaced, her eyes closing momentarily. Another lead dissolved.

"So he didn't go off-grid," Emily sighed, tossing her pen down and leaning back in her chair.

"Told you it was hard," Garcia commented. "Obviously, that's where the trail ends."

"Let us know if you find anything else," Hotch said.

With a salute came Garcia's reply. "You got it, boss," and the video feed ended.

Emily turned her head to Reid. "How far away is Bluewater?"

"From Mesa?" he clarified, but didn't wait for an answer. "A hundred and seventy-four miles. About a three hour drive, depending on traffic."

"Ashton's looking more and more appealing for this," Cady muttered, fiddling with the rim of her paper cup. "Motive, means," she met Hotch's eye, "murder."

"Go with Detective Morrison," he instructed, looking over Cady's head to Morgan. "Bring Ventworth in for questioning."

"I'll go with you," Emily said, her hands pressed flat to the polished tabletop as she stood.

Watching as Morgan and Emily left the room, Cady stepped to Hotch, lowering her voice. "I want to go over the evidence again," she whispered, seemingly seeking approval. "It just feels like I'm missing something."

Hotch took a moment before answering. "Okay."

JJ stepped out to give another scripted press release to the dozen reporters that crowded the front steps, leaving Reid, Rossi, Hotch, and Cady now the only occupants in the room. Dropping into the seat next to Reid, Cady exhaled. "Okay," she muttered to herself, turning to see the timeline spanning one of the boards she and Reid had completed yesterday.

After almost twenty minutes of running over the events again and again in her head, Cady finally spoke up. "Why the letters? The photos?"

"You said they were mementoes," Reid reminded her.

"Yes, but why?" She was locked in, but unsure as to what. "Ashton's not sentimental."

"It's a means to spread fear," Hotch advised. "It's his way of prolonging his thrill."

Cady was fidgeting now, scratching a bare-bitten nail to the back of her neck. "With all due respect," she couldn't stop herself, "I don't think that's Ashton." She lifted one of the letters between her thumb and forefinger. "Someone like Ashton wouldn't write this. He's..." she sought the right word, "showy. He flaunts his wealth, he wants people to know he's smart. This isn't smart. Rhyming 'persist' and 'kiss', it just..." Dig up, Cadence. "It just doesn't feel right."

Luckily, a beep from the computer halted Cady's derailed train of thoughts, replaced with Garcia. "I'm back."

"What'd you find?" Hotch asked, his arms returned to their usual place, crossed under his chest.

"Well, I was looking at Georgina's MySpace..."

"MySpace?" Cady questioned. She hadn't even thought of her own neon pink and black hodgepodge of thoughts for years, let alone heard the word.

"This was 2004, sweet-cheeks," Garcia reminded. "So, obviously her own posts stopped when she was in a coma, so it's pretty flooded with comments of well wishes and such. Now, I scrolled back and found something. On May 3rd, she posted that her 'dreams came true', and that she would be moving to Switzerland in June."

Cady's attention snapped to the timeline next to her. The crash occurred on May 31st. "28 days," she muttered.

"Also," Garcia continued, "she was super creative. Like, constantly scrapbooking and posting photos of her collages. She was blogging almost before blogging was even really a thing." The computer screen filled with Georgina's MySpace profile, and Garcia was right. It was carefully curated with travel photos and mirror-selfies.

"There's your answer," Rossi nodded to Cady.

The polaroids were a part of Georgina, and the UnSub had twisted them in their own sick way to be part of the crime. Cady's stomach threatened to lurch.

"Thanks Garcia," she heard from Reid.

There was a knock at the door, taking the rooms attention. Trev, one of the officers they had met yesterday, appeared in the doorway, and was looking directly at Cady. "There's a woman here," he explained, "wanting to speak to 'the girl'." The four looked through the glass to the just-visible foyer, which held the woman they recognised as Kristen Ventworth.

Cady's mind was cursing. "That's me, isn't it?" She hated meeting with civilians, even when she was a detective; she always managed to say the wrong thing. Sighing dejectedly, she stood, caught by Hotch's hand on her arm before she crossed the threshold.

"Can you handle this?" he asked, his voice low, recalling to their conversation the night previous.

Cady nodded. "I can handle it." She stepped out and put on her most insincere smile. "Mrs Ventworth," she greeted. "You wanted to see me?"

Kristen had her fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of her Louis Vuitton handbag, a sour expression across her brow. "In private," was all she said.

Cady could feel herself tensing in merely her presence but she obliged, leading Kristen to one of the precinct's interview rooms. "Take a seat," she offered, gesturing to one of the metal chairs tucked under the table, facing directly to the mirrored wall.

As they sat, Kristen had dug into her bag, retrieving a slim cigarette and an ornate lighter. She had already managed to perch the cigarette between her lips by the time Cady reached across to stop her.

"Ma'am, you can't smoke in here."

Rolling her eyes, Kristen put it away. "My husband's a murderer and you won't let me smoke," she scoffed.

First bomb drop.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, don't be coy with me," Kirsten snapped. "It's what you and those men were sniffing around for yesterday." She had her arms crossed, with one knee over the other, and was leaning back in the cold chair. "And you're right. He killed Georgina. She was his little whore, and he couldn't face her moving to Switzerland, so he killed her."

Cady's heart was pounding, and she was wishing she had the foresight to ask officers to record the interview. "Why didn't you say anything yesterday?" She lifted the black pen that lay on the pad in front of her, clicking it once, ready to take notes.

"While he was there? And risk him killing me too?" Her eyes narrowed, seething, watching Cady like a hawk. "Are you really that dumb?"

"I'm just trying to understand, Mrs Ventworth--"

"What's there to understand?" She sat forward. "My husband killed that girl, and you're here doing nothing."

"Actually, two agents are en route to your house right now."

She scoffed again, looking away. "They won't find him," she stated. "He's already gone. Left at the crack of dawn."

Second bomb drop.

"Where?"

Kristen's face tried to contort, but made little movement. "God knows. I only pray that you lot find him and put him away so this can be put to rest."

Cady made an effort to not show her emotions, lest her suspicions of Kristen be visible in her expression. She was sure Kristen wouldn't be able to interpret them, but she already seemed to surprise Cady in ways unimaginable. Sliding across the pen and pad, Cady gave a short smile. "We're gonna need to know everything you can recall."

There was a contempt silence that settled over the two as the pen scratched along the paper; Kristen thought Cady incompetent, Cady thought Kristen volatile. Only one of them was correct.

"Are you just going to sit there?" Kristen asked, glancing up after only a few words being written.

"Yep."

"Yes," Kristen tried to correct her.

"Yep." Cady knew what she was doing. Someone as tightly strung as Kristen with a secret to hide wouldn't be able to handle someone like Cady getting under her skin. If she wasn't telling the truth, she'd crack, let something slip if she hadn't already. "Did Ashton have a pet name for her?"

Kristen's pressed lips tightened, the pen-tip hovering over the paper. "Excuse me?"

"Did Ashton," Cady repeated, slowly, "have a pet name for Georgina?"

"No." She seemed pretty sincere. "She was an employee."

Not his Deer, then. "What about you?" Cady tried another angle, even tilting her head. "What does he call you?"

"I don't see how that's relevant."

Silence fell again as Cady simply stared. She knew Kristen would be compelled to fill the dead air, and she was right.

"He's always called me 'Kris'," she answered. "Or 'darling'. Happy?"

Her jaw clenched but Cady still didn't reply. Six girls were dead with another close to it, and Kristen Ventworth had the gall to ask if Cady was happy.

A sharp tap placed the last period, and Kristen tossed the pen down. "There," she stated, grabbing for her bag and standing. "Are we done?"

"Mhm," Cady nodded, getting up to open the door. "Thank you for coming in."

Seeing Kristen out of the room and into the foyer of the precinct, Cady's eyes began to narrow as she frowned. She didn't even need to consult Hotch; she had a hunch, already having her phone dialled and pressed to her ear.

"Welcome to the land of all that is holy," came the voice of Penelope Garcia, "how can your goddess serve you today?"

"Uh, goddess, could you check Kristen Ventworth's finances for anything suspicious in the past twelve months?"

"The wife?"

"The wife," Cady confirmed. "I think she's involved. She just tried to sell out her husband."

"Ugh," Garcia scoffed, already beginning her search, "this is not a joyous day. Fear not, I'm on it, angel. Mwah!" The line clicked as Garcia hung up.

Tucking her phone back into her pocket, Cady didn't notice the smile that tugged at her lips, a genuine one that hadn't shown itself for a long time.

"Kristen Ventworth just threw her husband under the bus," Cady announced as she returned to the room, her smile since faded. "She practically just handed him to me on a silver platter."

"You think it's her?" Rossi questioned.

"Not sure," she replied candidly. "There's definitely something odd going on. Garcia's looking into her finances. Kristen was fervent that Ashton murdered Georgina, yet had nothing to say about the other girls. But she did tell me he's in the wind."

Hotch nodded. "Morgan called; the house was empty so they're going to search his companies." He looked to the yellow writing pad in her hand. "Did you get anything else?"

"Mhm," she almost smiled, handing it instead to Reid. "Her handwriting."