𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

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𝟭𝟮:𝟯𝟲 𝗽𝗺
𝗚𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗣𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁


"𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑, nèe Trescott, was 32 years old, a neonatal nurse, and a Gemini," Penelope Garcia explained over speakerphone in one of the corner offices of Greentree Police Department that had been designated for the investigation. "She was married to Dr Julian Turner, a professor at Greentree University, go Jaguars," she waved her fluffy pen like a pom-pom before bringing herself back to focus. "From what I can gather, Mrs Turner finished her shift at Long General Hospital at 11:42 last night, and began the twenty-three-minute drive to her house in... can anyone guess?"

"Fortitude Hills," Morgan responded, leaning against the window-lined north wall.

"Correctomundo!" Garcia grinned. "Now, since the hospital is a little further away from the bright and shiny, well-lit bypass, Louise would have taken Fortitude Road, as it exits two streets away from the house she and her husband bought three years ago."

"How does she know all of this?" Cady whispered to Emily sitting beside her, who smiled.

"She has a magic mirror."

Garcia was still talking through Louise's last moments. "She should have arrived home a few minutes after midnight, and with Dr Turner already asleep, he sadly didn't notice her disappearance until 6am this morning. When he woke and her brand-new Mercedes was still not in their garage, nor was Louise anywhere in the house, Dr Turner called it in, reporting Louise missing at..." she checked the 911 log on her computer screen, "6:14am."

"How did police not know?" Morgan asked.

"Oh sugar, they knew," Garcia sighed. "But nobody linked the disappearance to your case as our UnSub was only considered a serial rapist at the time."

"Now he's graduated to killer," JJ noted, perched on the edge of the table. She and Reid had arrived at the station fifteen minutes earlier, revealing that both Eleanor Trevas and Eliza Woodstaff corroborated Dani's statement; the UnSub had all asked them who was worthless.

Agent Hotchner caught Cady's eye. "Detective, gather the remaining taskforce and your Captain. We're ready to give the profile."

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"𝐖𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 UnSub to be a white male in his thirties, possibly early forties," Agent Morgan began, addressing the handful of officers in the Greentree Police Department currently. "He's of regular height, slim build. He was able to flag down these women and get them to offer their help, which tells us he's non-threatening, possibly even handsome."

"He's likely been laid off from his job," Agent Rossi noted, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his blue jeans, "or has had a relationship break down recently, which served as his stressor."

Emily stepped in. "He explicitly asks these women 'who's worthless now?', indicating that he himself either feels worthless, or has been deemed worthless by someone important in his life."

"He most certainly has lived in Greentree Valley for most of, if not his whole life, but not in the Hills," Reid went on to explain, his hands moving as he spoke, fingertips tapping against each other.

"How do you figure?" Luther scowled, slumped casually within his chair.

But Morgan was ready with an answer. "By using Fortitude Road as his hunting ground and dump site, he's trying to sully the neighbourhood. He's grown to hate either the people who live there, the suburb itself, or both."

Reid then continued. "He knows the area, and knows that this road," he tapped the map behind him, "is less used nowadays compared to before Fortitude Hills was developed, and he wouldn't want to bring that kind of attention to the place that he lives."

"Don't shit in the nest," Cady mumbled, mainly to herself.

"Exactly," Reid pointed to her. "He's local, but he's putting public focus on the Hills. He could even be trying to bring down its value."

"His victims aren't what we consider preferential, but they do still fit a physical type," Agent Hotchner added. "They're between the ages of 25 and 35, physically attractive, well put together, and drive alone, meaning he's not trying to exact revenge on a certain person. He's more so wanting to spread fear."

"Guys," JJ interrupted as she entered the room, a TV remote in her hand. She pointed it to the monitor mounted on the far wall and it flickered on. The image of a dark grey building filled the screen, covered partly by the reporter in the foreground. She had sleek black hair, swept back over her shoulders, and her blood-orange top was contrasting harshly against her mocha-toned skin.

"That's outside!" Officer Dutton recognised, and a few of his colleagues leaned to glance out of the luckily tinted windows.

The reporter continued her script. "We have received word that the Greentree Police Department is now investigating a murder in the Hills. The body of a woman was discovered just this morning, but with no details on the identity or even the location, residents have to wonder, what are the police keeping covered?"

The subtitle read her name: 𝗝𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗮 𝗥𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴.

But the rolling feed beneath her name was what caught Cady's eye.

𝗛𝗶𝗹𝗹𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱. 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗶𝘁𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗞𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝘁 𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲.

They'd given him a monicker, a force to spread fear.

Agent Hotchner spun to JJ. "Go," he ordered, and the blonde hurried from the room and out the front door, knowing exactly what her boss had instructed her to do.

Cady was on her feet, turning in one spot, her hands on her head as she tethered herself to the investigation still present. Don't overreact, she was warning herself. Her hands dropped as she tugged down one of the blinds to get a clearer visual.

"Hey!" JJ called, meeting the reporter and her cameraman on the sidewalk as he was packing their equipment into their grey van. Jessana turned, her chin tilted up in superiority as JJ continued. "Who gave you that information?"

Jessana scoffed out a laugh. "I'm not discussing this with you."

Dropping open her ID cover and exposing her badge, JJ asked again. "FBI. I need you to name your source."

"Too bad," Jessana was firm, her slim arms crossed over her chest, her microphone still cradled within her fingers. "I know their rights. You're too late anyway, this has already spread to the next three counties by now."

She had to think fast to contain the wildfire threatening to spark. "You need to..."

"I don't need to do anything, Fed," Jessana retaliated, almost directly in JJ's face. The nickname almost sounded like a slur, drenching in distaste. "You need to do your job." She turned in her knockoff heels and climbed into her van, the door slamming to end the conversation.

Not an ideal response. Cady shook the thought from her mind as she walked back to the investigation room, Agent Hotchner on her heels. Removing herself from a space was her tried and true method of holding herself together, with no-one to witness her faults, but Agent Hotchner seemed eager to keep her and her department in line, leaving no chance of derailing the investigation.

"Fuck," Cady muttered under her breath, pacing the length of the room. "This is not..." She groaned in frustration, her hands back in her hair.

"Detective," Agent Hotchner began, but didn't get a chance to finish his thought.

"A fucking name!" She threw her hand towards her board. "All of this, all this fucking work, and they've given him a name! You think he wants to spread fear? Mission fucking accomplished!"

He reached behind him to pull the door shut, aware of the few prying eyes in the precinct directed towards the noise. "Did you talk to the press?"

The breath was knocked out of her lungs, offended as she stared at him. "Did you?"

His arms folded over his chest as he glanced at the board, taking a step towards it. "Our teams were the only ones to know of the latest victim."

Cady scoffed, rolling her eyes. "And you're implying the leak lies on my side?"

"I'm not implying anything, Detective," he warned, "I'm asking if you trust your team."

She dropped in a vacant seat, her head stooped and her hands once again tangled in her hair, urging herself to not pull at it. "How the fuck did this happen? What made him turn to murder?" She was asking herself, but Agent Hotchner still took the initiative in answering, even if she had no want for it.

"It was only a matter of time until he escalated," he explained, now seemingly trying to relieve some of the weight from her shoulders. He had his back to her, still surveying the board. "He's devolving."

"Yeah, probably because he's found out that the fucking FBI's here." Cady had reached her breaking point, her teeth grit and her nails taking over her scalp.

He turned finally. "Is that what you think, Detective?"

"You wanna know what I really think?" She lifted her head, a scowl tightly fixed to her knitted brows.

Agent Hotchner didn't answer, but Cady continued anyway, the words spilling from her after being locked away for the past two hours.

"I think you wear Gucci ties but not their shirts, which tells me you're either faking your pretentiousness by only splurging on the cheaper item, or that they were a gift and you still never bothered to complete the ensemble, opting instead for generic un-tailored suits, that are hardly even ironed." She crossed her arms tightly, leaning back in her chair. "The faded lack of tan on your left ring finger suggests you were married for some time and are now divorced, and your unpolished shoes show that you don't have a lot of spare time to keep up your aforementioned pretentious appearance, so I take it you probably have children as well. Am I getting warmer?"

Agent Hotchner's lips stayed pressed in a thin line, making every effort to not change his expression in an attempt to dissuade her from pushing further.

"Basic haircut, low maintenance," she continued, "so I'd wager you focus more on your job than you do on yourself. Is that why your wife left you?"

"That's enough," he snapped. "Detective, you are way out of line."

"You overstepped this line," she spat, sitting forward again, "by waltzing into my investigation and acting like you fucking own the place."

"We have a common goal here, Wilkinson, need I remind you of that?" He pointed his finger to her. "Whatever your personal vendetta may be against me or my team, you need to put it aside. I am not your enemy." He changed his direction to point towards the window next to them. "Your enemy is still on the street while you're in here arguing with me."

"Cady," a voice interrupted, and she turned to her boss, who was now standing in the doorway with a stern frown upon his brow, his hand wrapped tightly around the brass doorknob. "Out."

She squeezed her eyes shut before standing with an exasperated sigh, heading towards the door. Captain Browne grabbed her arm as she passed, dragging her to his office. She knew it was all for show; his fingers were barely pressing into her, but she played along.

He closed the door behind them and drew the blinds closed. "Look," he started, gesturing for her to take a seat, "I know how badly you want to prove yourself right now. But your bruised ego is not the focus here."

Cady's gaze landed on the files on his desk, biting at the skin of her bottom lip. Right on the top of the pile was the one she dreaded, the one that caused a lump to form in her throat every time she saw it, 𝐂. 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 scrawled across the front in thick, black marker. She looked away quickly, meeting his eye.

"You don't have to like it," Pete continued, "but you do have to work with them. For the sake of these women and their families. Understood?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, sir." Her response was almost unheard, her energy having been beaten out of her by her rage and fear.

"Stay in here, cool off," he ordered, pointing again at her seat. "When you're ready, come back and let's catch this son of a bitch."

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A/N: huge shoutout to -windwillows for constant support and suggestions, really throughout this whole fic, but for this chapter in particular