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Assistant Sheriff Finn tilted his head to one side and let his question slide like a snake out of the side of his sneer.

"So, just how does a sick bitch like you get anywhere near the FBI?"

Catherine Willows saw a tiny muscle twitch below the suspect's left eye. Other than that the blonde woman on the other side of the table gave no reaction to Finn's question. Her blue eyes simply stared at him.

Catherine glanced at the man beside her. She'd never worked with Finn before, and already she hoped that this case would be the sole exception. As supervisor of the Crime Lab's night shift she couldn't avoid it this time. Delegating was not an option with this one.

Finn snorted noisily. His thin nose wrinkled in an unmistakeable expression of disgust.

"Come on, Agent. Tell us what greasy pole you slithered up. Or whose."

Catherine winced. This was getting out of hand. But the suspect in front of them was not taking the bait. To her credit, the FBI agent's face remained perfectly still.

But not impassive, Catherine realised. The eyes had long since transformed from soft blue to hard steel. They were the only part of Jennifer Jareau which gave her contempt away.

And it really was contempt, Catherine realised. Not for her, but for Finn. As much as the Assistant Sheriff might loathe Jareau, the Federal agent's contempt for him seethed tenfold.

Catherine wondered if that was a sign of guilt. She knew it didn't bode well.

Jareau was exceptionally pretty, but her right cheek bore a graze and the corner of her mouth was swollen. Catherine recognised the pattern of an unforgiving arrest. She wondered whether the ground or a wall had been Finn's blunt force weapon of choice. She looked at the suspect's wrists, nonchalant in handcuffs on the table. She knew that bruises like those were hardly mandatory.

And this interrogation was getting nowhere. Among the lewd insults she had yet to hear Finn ask a pertinent question. Maybe this case was too personal for him. So Catherine took a deep breath and asked one of her own.

"Agent Jareau, do you have an explanation for the blood on your clothes?"

Not just her clothes. When they brought Jareau in there was blood on her face too. Nick had taken photographs before washing it away. The pattern of the victim's blood on Jareau's shirt and skin was classic close quarters arterial spray. A bloody knife was on the floor and the vic had a severed carotid artery.

Jareau waited for several meaningful seconds before taking her stare off Finn and refocusing on Catherine. Her tone was level.
"I gave my explanation. Before you came in with your DNA results."
"It's Officer Baldwin's blood."

"I told them so."

"Then explain again!" said Finn.

"Why? Was it too difficult for you to absorb the first three times?"

Finn's chair scraped the floor abruptly. Catherine flinched as he leapt to his feet next to her. She noticed the veins bulging in his hands when he slammed his palms on the table.

"Shall I tell you what I think?" he said.

"Please don't," said Jareau quickly with belittling disdain. "You're bound to bore us."

"You take three short vacations on the Strip and each one coincides with a cop getting his throat cut." Finn straightened up, his voice rising. "My first request to the BAU goes unanswered, and when I do get through and you turn up again, this time in a professional capacity with your dupes in tow, you slip out before dinner to slice up victim number four!"

It looked suspicious, Catherine gave him that. Particularly the first official request for the FBI's involvement, which seemed to go walkabout somewhere between Las Vegas and the Behavioral Analysis Unit. One of Jareau's tasks was to sort through those and decide which cases the profilers would investigate. This one should have been a priority.

That was circumstantial, though. Catherine was far more comfortable with the forensics. Unfortunately for Jareau, the latex gloves dropped next to the body, with Baldwin's blood on the outer surfaces and Jareau's epithereals on the inner, looked very like the interrupted clean-up by the killer that Finn said it was. And so far Jareau had provided no explanation for that at all.

Finn strode around the table towards his prisoner. Jareau refused to acknowledge his presence as he tried to intimidate her by looming over her. She gazed straight past him and gave Catherine a slight smile instead. Finn scowled down at her, his temper barely under control.

"Listen to me, you sick freak. You made a big mistake when you chose my jurisdiction and picked my ex-partner for one of your murderous fantasies." He grabbed a fistful of her long hair and twisted, forcing her face up towards his own. "I'll be there when they strap you down and stick the needle in."

Catherine stood up quickly and moved to intervene, but Finn let go before she reached him and stepped away. He spun on his heel without another word and strode out past her, almost knocking her aside. Jareau glared at his back defiantly.

Catherine hovered. He'd left the door hanging open. Did he plan on coming back in to continue the questioning after he'd calmed down?
It was soon clear that he didn't. Jareau was clever, she realised. The agent had humiliated her interrogator by engaging only with her - that well-timed glance, the deliberate smile. You're bound to bore us... Catherine felt like she'd been drawn unwitting into a female conspiracy. She reminded herself that even though Jareau was not a profiler she worked with them every day. As their media and public liaison she must know more than anyone how to engage with people; and how to manipulate them.

Catherine let out a long sigh as the weight of her predicament descended. Vegas cops were dying at the hands of a serial-killer, and a high-ranking officer of the local PD was on the war-path. They'd arrested an agent who looked like butter wouldn't melt at the most recent crime scene, and two of the FBI team would be lucky not to face suspensions after their reactions when that went down. Meanwhile, Catherine and her own CSIs were now stuck firmly between them all, harassed by one side for not yet nailing a cop-killer beyond the need for a confession, and distrusted by the other who were about to accuse her of complicity in framing their colleague.

Catherine supposed things could be worse, but right now she couldn't see how.

~~

36 hours earlier:

Aaron Hotchner stood in front of assembled detectives and uniforms in the large briefing room. He could hear the AC battling the body heat rising around him. Metro was a big department, and only officers assigned to the Strip had been called in. Nevertheless it felt like half of Clark County was trying to breathe his air. The team had flown into McCarran early that morning and he could do with a break now, but he didn't let it show. He addressed the sea of waiting faces in his usual measured tone.

"The unsub's victims are all uniformed police officers on routine duties after dark, well within the resort corridor. He lures them out of their cars or away from others before killing them with a single cut to the carotid artery. The blade he uses is small - about three inches. The crime scenes are clean, so we believe he is forensically aware. He takes no trophies. He leaves wallets and personal effects untouched, even the victims' side-arms, which could be valuable. It's possible that he has military or law enforcement training. There are no records of related calls from the public immediately before the killings, so we think he approaches the officer in person."

Hotch glanced at Spencer Reid beside him to give him his cue.

"He's calm, articulate, and probably neatly-dressed to appear non-threatening," said Reid. "It's unlikely that he feigns an assault or robbery to get the officer's assistance because that would put his intended victim on guard. He wants his victim relaxed enough so that he doesn't anticipate an attack, from anyone."

That caused a shimmer of unease. The officers were uncomfortable with the notion that they could be made vulnerable. Hotch saw that they did not like being identified with victims. He spoke again.

"Rigorous checking of duty rosters and call-outs over the last two years puts Metro in the clear. Believe me, we spent time ruling out that possibility." Hotch paused briefly, giving time for that assurance to sink in. A few would resent the fact that they'd ever been under suspicion before they came round to appreciate it, but they needed to know the work had been done. "Most officers have direct alibis for at least one of these killings, and those that don't have been otherwise eliminated. We believe one individual is committing these murders." He paused for clarity. "You are his targets - you and your uniforms. So keep calm and do your job as normal, but remain alert if you're approached by someone. Stay with your partners. Don't let yourselves get isolated."

The sea of faces rippled. Men were glancing at their partners, silently reaffirming their commitment to follow the advice. Good, the message had been accepted and absorbed. So now it was Emily's turn. He glanced to his left, and Emily Prentiss took a step forward to level with his shoulder.

"One more thing," she said. "Most serial-killers are male, but it's possible this unsub could be a female. A woman appears less threatening to a male officer. She could elicit his sympathy more easily and put him off guard. Don't rule out anyone who fits the profile we've given you, male or female."

Silence. Nicely done. Hotch decided to wrap it up.

"Remember, there are two hunts going on here – the unsub's for you, but also ours for him. Don't panic out there."

The cops drifted away and Hotch signalled for his team to gather round.

"As soon as it gets dark we'll get out there and observe what we can," he told them. "Reid will keep working here. Rossi and I will team with patrols on the north side. Prentiss and Morgan will pair up south. If the unsub sticks to his pattern we're due another killing any time now."

"He's been like clockwork so far," said Reid. "Three murders six months apart. If there's going to be a fourth it will be sometime over the next few nights."

Hotch turned to JJ.

"The only thing the cops have close to a witness is a priest at a chapel near the south edge of the Strip. He spoke with one of the victims shortly before he died. JJ, you go and talk to him. He's expecting you. Officer Baldwin over there will take you."

A stocky cop with a crew cut stepped forward and gave her a self-conscious wave. JJ nodded and crossed towards him. She smiled and offered her hand.

"Hi. I'm JJ."

"Baldwin, ma'am. The car's just outside."

"Agent Jareau?" A voice interrupted from the far side of the room.
JJ turned on hearing her name. A tall, freckled man in a dark suit approached. Hotch recognised him as Assistant Sheriff Finn from the many brief introductions earlier. He had kept pretty much in the background then, leaving a captain to do most of their talking, but now he had a confrontational look about him.

"Why did it take so long, Agent Jareau?"

JJ's brow creased at his question.

"Sir?"

"I sent you files four months ago, soon after our third officer died. You didn't even reply. Doesn't the FBI consider local law enforcement worth the effort?"

JJ's look of puzzlement deepened. "I don't understand. We got your request yesterday. I made it a priority."

"That was the second copy. Only this time I followed it up with a phone call to make sure." His expression grew accusing.

JJ shook her head, her confusion clear. She glanced at Hotch, then back at Finn. "I'm sorry, I didn't receive anything four months ago."

"Really?" said Finn, his disbelief evident.

JJ's tone cooled.

"Really."

Hotch intervened.

"Ok, we'll look into this misunderstanding later. We're here now and we have work to do." He looked at JJ pointedly, giving her the get-out. "Go."

From a quiet corner Special Agent David Rossi watched the chilly exchange. He noticed Finn's sullen gaze follow JJ's back as she left with the police officer. He waited until Finn left the room, then he wandered over to a small group of detectives who were discussing the case by a window.

"Captain Brass?"

Brass turned from the group and followed him when Rossi signalled that they talk in private. The detective's quiet, steady voice sounded similar to his own.

"It's Agent Rossi, isn't it?"

"That's right. I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure."

"Does Assistant Sheriff Finn have a personal interest in catching this killer?"

"Besides the fact that the psycho's cutting up fellow cops?"

"Tell me, please."

The dark detective looked Rossi in the eye.

"You're right. The first victim was Finn's ex-partner. A month after the murder the detectives assigned to the case still had no leads, so Finn came down and pulled in an ex-con who had a beef with them both back in the day. It got all the way to the DA, but they had to drop the charges when the suspect got an unexpected alibi. Turned out he was with a woman at the time."

"A girlfriend isn't that much of an alibi," said Rossi.

Brass smiled. "The girlfriend wasn't the only alibi. The girlfriend's husband caught them together. He said he threw some punches, and the suspect did have plenty of bruises. The husband provided a statement which exonerated his rival."

"Ah." Rossi nodded in understanding. "That is one you wouldn't see coming. Finn couldn't have been happy."

"Yeah." Brass slipped his hands in his pockets and glanced around deliberately. "It's heart-warming to know you can still find some honour around, even among love triangles."

Rossi's eyes narrowed. "Someone in the PD knew it was a bad collar?"

"It was moot a few months later anyway, when the next one died." Brass shrugged and said nothing further, so Rossi asked another question.

"Did any of the suspect's bruises come from fists other than the honourable husband's?"

The small smile Brass gave him indicated that he had no proof for his suspicions.

"You'll have to ask someone else that one. But I do have it on good authority that when we make this collar for real, Finn wants to be there in person."

 

"So who can't they find in Vegas that has a beef with the cops?" asked Morgan.

Emily nudged their unmarked car around a couple of well-oiled tourists who were wandering too close to the kerb.

"Garcia found plenty. Just none who fit the rest of the profile."
"The unsub's got balls," said Morgan. "He takes a big risk, using something as personal and limited as a three-inch blade against armed officers."

"You sound impressed."

"I guess I am, kinda."

Emily smiled. "And honest to a fault. But perhaps he brings backup. Perhaps he carries a gun too, in case he slips up."

"Maybe. Doesn't feel right, though."

The police radio chattered briefly. Emily circled a plaza and took the vehicle slowly a little way off the Strip. All she could see were couples on romantic vacation and groups heading for the casinos. Few people were out alone. She sighed.

"Yeah, I don't know what the hell to look for either," said Morgan.

The radio chatter grew louder. Emily listened.

"911 call from All Saints' Community Chapel, Russell Road. Report of an intruder, possible hostage..."

Emily turned to Morgan. "Isn't that where JJ was headed?"

Morgan's eyes widened. "Go!"

 

Emily burst through the chapel's front door with her weapon drawn, straight into a fresh crime scene. So fresh the blood was still running – a crimson lake expanding, rivulets slowly filling up cracks in the grey floor. Her eyes darted across the stark images. There was blood on JJ - on her blue shirt, on her pale skin - more darkening her pants where she knelt by Baldwin. There was blood on glinting steel, blood on white latex, blood still seeping from the man's narrow neck wound. There was even more blood sprayed across the textured wall behind them.

Emily scanned the room for hostiles as she ran and dropped to the fallen officer, knowing it was already over for him. The term 'bled out' took on its full, exsanguinating meaning in her mind. This was what it meant to spill out your life in the most literal sense of the words.

JJ was speaking: more words that snapped Emily back to objectivity.

"He was here!"

"Are you hurt?"

JJ held up fingers sticky with the blood she'd tried to seal in, hopelessly.

"It's not mine."

Morgan ran past them, a flash of Glock and dark muscle. He sped to a doorway left of a small altar.

"We never found the priest," JJ called after him urgently.

"I'll check," said Morgan without turning. He disappeared into a dim corridor.

Emily stood up again, urging JJ up beside her.

"What happened?"

"The lights went out. Seconds later I felt... this!" She indicated the spray of blood on her face with an abrupt wave. "I heard him gurgling and by the time I switched on my flash-light he was on the floor."

"The unsub?"

"I never even saw him. It was pitch black."

Emily glanced around swiftly. "You put the lights back on?"

"No."

"Where's the switch? Which way did he go?"

JJ shrugged helplessly.

"Who made the 911 call?"

"What 911 call?"

There were just the two doors, Emily realised. The front door and the one Morgan went through. There were light switches by both. No one had come past her.

'Emily," JJ blurted, "this just happened a minute ago! He could still be inside!"

"Morgan!" Emily yelled suddenly. But before she could follow him he reappeared in the doorway.

"It's clear. No back doors, just an empty kitchen and a window – half open."

"That's the only way he got out then."

Morgan turned back but suddenly paused. He looked across the altar. "Do you hear that?"

Emily listened, willing her breathing to quieten. She caught a faint rattling sound. A pause, then more rattling. She looked towards the noise and noticed a heavy velvet drape suspended from a brass rail on the wall, about the width of a door. She stepped towards it with her gun raised. Morgan raised his own weapon and moved behind the altar. Emily edged round to cover the drape and keep him out of her line of fire. He halted when he reached it and glanced at her. She nodded once, and he tugged it aside.

The solid wooden door behind it was closed. Emily saw a thin piece of flex tied around the handle and hooked tight to the wall, holding it shut. The handle was twisting. Someone was trying to open it.

"FBI!" Morgan shouted.

Muffled sounds came through the heavy wood.

"Stand away from the door!"

Morgan waited a few seconds, then unhooked the flex and turned the handle, pushing the door inwards. An elderly man in a clerical collar appeared.

"Oh thank you, that was fast! I only called a few minutes ago-"
The friendly relief on the priest's face turned to shock and then horror when he saw the bloody scene before him. "Dear God no..."

Las Vegas PD radios leapt to life seconds after Morgan called it in: "Officer down. Suspect close by. Federal agents at the scene."

As she exited the front door, scanning the street for any sign of the unsub, Emily realised every cop on patrol would put two and two together instantly. They all knew the FBI were here for one thing – to hunt down their serial-killer. Soon the block would be crammed with flashing lights and blue.

What she didn't expect was the swarm of uniforms and drawn weapons that stormed past her into the chapel, Finn in the lead.

"The building's clear!" she said urgently, following him in. "Keep your men back, it's a crime scene."

It was as though he didn't hear her. Finn took in the sight of the dead officer, his throat cut and blood everywhere. The moment his eyes landed on JJ he pointed his gun at her.

"Get down on the ground!"

Emily was stunned. "What the hell?"

JJ put her palms in the air quickly. "Federal Agent!" she declared.

"We know what you are. Get down on the ground!"

Emily couldn't believe what she was seeing. She leapt between Finn and JJ.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Finn moved, trying to keep JJ in his sights. "Step aside!"

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Morgan return through the door at the back. She heard his gasp.

"This is crazy!"

A tide of uniforms and weapons overwhelmed the small chapel. They were surrounded. Emily raised her hands in a calming gesture. "Listen-"

"Agent Prentiss, get out of my way or my officers will arrest you too!"

Emily glanced at Morgan. He was like a coiled spring. But there was nothing they could do. She backed out of Finn's way slowly and looked at JJ.

"We'll fix this," she reassured her.

JJ nodded and dropped to her knees. Finn didn't wait any longer. He lunged at JJ, pushing her down with such force that her right cheek slammed against the floor. The air was knocked out of her lungs. She gasped for breath as he seized her wrists and jerked them back to cuff her.

Emily started forward but uniforms closed in on either side of her and blocked her path. Another officer reached down and plucked away JJ's side-arm. Finn hissed JJ her rights and pulled her up harshly by the handcuffs.

"Hey!" Morgan yelled, charging towards them. Two officers grappled him and held him back. "You bastard!"

JJ searched through the wall of uniforms and found Emily as Finn dragged her away.

"I swear on my life, I didn't do this."

"We know that, JJ!"

Then she was gone.

Emily and Morgan stared at each other, their faces mirroring the other's horror. For a few seconds they were lost for words. Then Emily took out her cell phone and hit the speed dial.

"Hotch," she said a moment later, "we have serious trouble."

~~

Reid figured that everyone inside Las Vegas Police Headquarters was straining in vain to hear the two men in Finn's office. Hotch never really raised his voice, and Finn clearly felt he was in control enough not to need to. After all, it was Hotch who'd been forced to come to him. But waiting just outside the glass, Reid was close enough to hear their angry exchange.

"Your agents interfered with an arrest," said Finn.

"They protested. They did not obstruct you."

"Agent Prentiss put herself between officers carrying out their duty and a killer. Agent Morgan had to be restrained."

"You arrested one of my agents!"

"That agent is a murder suspect!"

The rest of the face-off was just as unproductive. Reid fell into pace with Hotch as he stalked out of the building, hurrying to keep up with the other man's swift strides.

"The priest didn't see who locked him in his vestry," said Reid. "He was already inside it with the door closed and heard nothing. He simply dialled 911 for help when he realised someone had locked him in."

"Finn won't give us access to JJ," said Hotch, his anger simmering. "He's keeping tabs on Morgan and Prentiss as 'material witnesses', whatever the hell that means, and you and I are to stay out of his way. As far as he's concerned, our investigation's over."

"What are we going to do?"

"Keep investigating," said Hotch sourly. "Right now I'm trying to find out what grounds the police think they have for holding her. Finn claims JJ was in Las Vegas at the time of all the murders. Find out what the hell he's talking about."

"Oh my God, it's true!" Penelope Garcia's shocked voice pierced Reid's ear half an hour later. "She was."

"You're kidding!"

"I wish. She took a one week vacation there with family members six months ago. A year ago she attended a two-day conference in Vegas on... some media thing. Six months before that, a weekend break with girlfriends. Her credit card is all over the hotels, the theatre. Each time-frame covers one of the cop murders."

Reid rubbed his forehead, calculating the odds. "Those visits are very short. Such a series of coincidences is possible but extraordinary."

"The Las Vegas police have access to the same records I'm seeing," Garcia told him. "That includes the flights she took in and out of McCarran Airport." Confusion seeped into her voice. "I just don't get why they would investigate JJ in the first place."

 

"You arrived at the chapel with Officer Baldwin, you locked the old priest out of the way, and you sliced open the police officer."

JJ looked Finn straight between the eyes. "No," she said firmly. "We didn't see the priest. We were looking for him when the lights went out. Someone else killed Baldwin."

"You were still staging the scene when your own people got there early and surprised you, before you could finish it."

"I staged nothing!"

"You did this. I know."

Finn pushed photographs across the table towards her. Some were of Baldwin's body – lying in a pool of blood with a bloody knife beside him. There were several close-ups of his neck wound and shots of the wall and floor. Others were pictures of her, taken before they let her wash the blood away and made her change. JJ looked at them all, despite not wanting to.

"The Crime Lab have confirmed direct blood spray from Baldwin's spurting artery on you," said Finn, emphasising his words. "They've confirmed the murder weapon at the scene. We also found the clothes you planned to change into in Baldwin's patrol car." A self-satisfied smirk crept over his face. "Your own colleagues swear that they saw no one else there."

JJ looked at him coldly at his mention of Emily and Morgan. "That's because they're telling the truth about what they saw. So am I."

"But you say you saw nothing! So who did this if not you? A phantom?"

"He killed the lights!"

"And swooped in like a vampire before turning the lights back on again," mocked Finn.

JJ looked away. He'd made up his mind, that was clear. This was pointless.

Finn leaned forward. His sinister expression matched his menacing tone. "No, Agent Jareau. You're the only killer here. You used your FBI status and your sweet smile to get these four police officers alone, and you murdered them. And I'm going to make sure you pay."

 

Catherine snapped some pictures of the void on the wall, then put down her camera and moved in closer. She studied the blood around the blank area. Definitely arterial spray, just as Nick had already concluded. Nothing that looked like cast off either.
She heard footsteps.

"Don't get too close, please." She looked around and saw it was Brass. "Sorry. I didn't realise it was you. There have been so many uniforms stomping around."

"Is it compromised?"

"No. The priest confirms that the kitchen window is usually open when he's in the building. We got no prints other than his from the frame." She indicated the chapel in general. "And this place gets so much regular traffic there are no useful footprints either."

"None in the blood?" Brass sounded surprised.

"Oh sure. Las Vegas police boots. Well-heeled FBI." She glanced towards the two agents who were lingering on the far side of the room. "What are they still doing here?"

Brass lowered his voice slightly. "Agents Morgan and Prentiss. I understand Finn wouldn't let them accompany his collar."

Catherine winced as she imagined that scene unfolding. It couldn't have been pretty. "How did that whole thing go down?"

"From what I hear, very badly. There were... scuffles. And plenty of yelling."

Catherine's wince grew into a grimace. "I'm not surprised. But that was over an hour ago."

"Want to know what I think?"

"Always."

"They're hanging around now to keep an eye on you."

Catherine turned to peer at the FBI agents. The very attractive man with his arms folded in a threatening stance was actually scowling, and the dark-haired woman's gaze on her felt little short of demonic.

"Ow," she whispered.

Brass smiled at her. "Oh come on. I know you're not intimidated."
Catherine took a ruler out of her kit and began measuring the void.

"You know," she said grimly, "whatever we find and whichever way this goes, it has to end badly."

"For someone," Brass agreed.

 

Brass left and Catherine decided that if these agents were going to keep her under scrutiny she might as well make use of them.

"Did either of you put on gloves when you got here?" she asked.

"No," said Morgan. "We were chasing the unsub. We had other priorities."

"Why?" asked Prentiss. "Do you want us to help you process this?"

"No. I want to know if these belong to you." Catherine crouched down and showed them a pair of latex gloves that were lying on the floor.

"Not mine," said Morgan. Prentiss shook her head.

"What about your colleague? Agent..?"

"Jareau," said Prentiss. "She wasn't wearing gloves. She was trying to save Baldwin's life, not process a crime scene."

"So whose are they?"

"One of your guys?" said Morgan.

Catherine refrained from pointing out that the arresting officers weren't hers. The agents knew that well enough.

"So did you see any of the uniforms wearing them?" she asked, persevering. "Did you see anyone drop these?"

Prentiss peered at her oddly. She had the look of someone searching for a specific memory.

"No..."

"Well, they're turned partly inside-out. Someone was wearing them, took them off, and dumped them here."

Prentiss looked at Morgan suddenly. Apparently she'd found the memory. "They were there when we arrived."

"You're sure?" asked Catherine.

"I'm positive." Prentiss turned back to Catherine and pointed. "Right there on the floor where they are now, next to the knife and the body."

Morgan unfolded his arms and gestured. "Then they must belong to the unsub. Maybe he had to abandon the gloves and the weapon when he heard us coming in. We got here quicker than the cops, sooner than he anticipated."

"If that's what happened we just caught a huge break," said Catherine. She picked up one of the gloves with tweezers and dropped it into a plastic bag and sealed it, then collected the other one. "I'll process these asap. I should get DNA off them."

She got plenty. The insides yielded more than enough epithereals for a DNA profile. Catherine stayed in the lab throughout the process and then ran the profile straight through CODIS, but turned up nothing. She widened the search and crossed her fingers, whispering a prayer-like mantra that it was somewhere in the system.

It was. The profile was filed in a law enforcement database. Catherine stared at the name on the screen: Special Agent Jennifer Jareau.

She uncrossed her fingers.

"Crap."

 

Catherine brought Finn his good news. He was in the middle of questioning Jareau. The agent had no explanation for the gloves and it didn't look good for her. They took Jareau to holding and Catherine went straight over to the BAU's incident room to bring the same bad news to them. She dreaded it, but it felt only right to tell them face to face.

It turned out to be as bad as she feared. Almost. Morgan didn't accuse her of fixing the DNA result, but she could see the accusation lingering uncertainly behind his outraged glare. He did demand that she run the whole process through again.

Catherine refused. She knew she'd been meticulous.

"You can understand why the cops suspect she planned it," she told them. "We also found the change of clothes she brought to the scene. Her bag was in Baldwin's patrol car."

"That means nothing," said Prentiss. She sounded exasperated. "The way we work we don't know when we'll get a chance to go back to our hotel. When a case is moving like this we routinely keep spare clothes and a toothbrush. Reid carries toilet paper!"

"Ok." Catherine tried to keep her tone conciliatory. She didn't think it was working. "But the gloves? My findings are conclusive. They're hers."

"Planted," said Morgan.

Catherine looked incredulous. "You're serious? You confirmed their presence at the scene before the cops arrived. They planted nothing."

"Not by the cops. Planted by the unsub. He took some discarded gloves from trash somewhere and left them at the crime scene to implicate another person."

Catherine took a breath, absorbing this convoluted notion. It wasn't impossible, but something about it didn't make sense.

"That's quite a scheme you're giving the killer credit for," she said slowly, "because your team arrived in Vegas less than 48 hours ago. Have you seen Agent Jareau wear latex gloves since she got here?"

"No," said Prentiss. "She's had no cause to." A light dawned in the woman's dark eyes. "Which means he must have singled her out for this, much earlier, before we came to Vegas."

"Oh God," said Morgan suddenly, "JJ has some kind of stalker. That's the explanation."

A silence hung in the room as this new avenue of investigation took hold in the profilers' imaginations. Catherine watched the agents' faces. Their gazes seemed to defocus, and she could sense the fresh patterns and profiles dancing before their minds' eyes. It was fascinating to witness.

"Well," she said eventually, her tone glum, "that's not Finn's explanation."

"You were present during her interrogation?" asked Hotchner sharply.

Catherine forced herself to meet the lead profiler's piercing stare. It made her uncomfortable.

"She didn't ask for a lawyer. You should get her one. Finn's style is... ugly."

 

As soon as the CSI left the room Morgan voiced his feelings. "Can we trust these investigators? We can get our own lab people from Quantico to take over the forensics, do their own processing."

"We have no reason to suspect this team," said Rossi from his corner. "Willows knows that we could bring in our lab, and any reluctance to co-operate with the FBI would look suspicious. Besides, she came to us with this in person. We should continue to trust her."

"I agree," said Hotch. "Let's get back to work. We have to come up with a new profile."

Morgan flipped open his cell phone. "Garcia?"

"About time!" Garcia's voice on the line sounded impatient. "My fingertips are itching. Say the words. Now!"

"New direction. We need to know who might hold a grudge against the BAU, with the focus on JJ. Someone who had casual access to acquire her surface DNA, before we flew to Vegas."

"You think someone set her up?"

"Yes. And we have to find our unsub to prove it."

 

Al Robbins peered over the tops of his glasses.

"Are you profiling my legs, Agent Hotchner?"

The agent smiled slightly. Al concluded that it wasn't a smile that appeared very often.

"How did you lose them?"

"Don't you have more pressing questions?"

"I do," said Hotchner, without missing a beat. "Is it possible that the killer attacked Baldwin from behind?"

The Medical Examiner looked down at the body on his table. He'd already been through his findings with Finn – a less than amiable experience which he'd put down to the Assistant Sheriff's distress at losing another cop, though on reflection he decided something more was going on. Then Brass warned him that the FBI would be turning up. Brass need not have bothered. Al had seen enough jurisdiction clashes to know to call the lead FBI himself given the circumstances. As it turned out Hotchner arrived before he got the chance to pick up a phone.

"Certainly possible," said Al. "The victim was killed with a single incision, which can be done from that position. But there's no evidence that the attacker was behind him. If his vocal chords were damaged I could conclude that he was held from behind so that deep pressure could be exerted, but they're not. I can tell you that the cut was swift and efficient."

"But there's nothing to prove that the attacker was facing him either," said Hotchner. It was a statement rather than a question.

"True. The knife was probably wielded by a right-handed attacker standing in front of him, striking with the blade forward from right to left. But it could have been wielded by a right-handed attacker standing close behind him, striking with the blade twisted back from left to right." He mimed the motion with his hands. "Or, less likely, a left-handed person standing behind him, striking with a blow from left to right..." He sighed heavily. "Please tell me you've got the picture."

"Too many possibles."

"Exactly. But... if the attack came from behind I would expect the killer to exert more pressure than he did. To do a firmer job-"

"Unless he wanted to make it look like the attack came from in front," said Hotchner.

Al paused. He gave the agent a brief shrug. "That's an unlikely scenario, but not impossible. Like I told Assistant Sheriff Finn - despite his vehement insistence that I do a better job of putting a cop-killer away – there's no conclusive evidence for either position."

"Thank you for your candour."

"You're most welcome."

 

Morgan flipped his cell phone as soon as it rang.

"It's me," said Garcia.

"Tell me what you got, baby."

"Zero on unsubs with grudges. Surprise surprise, JJ isn't that hot on making personal enemies."

Morgan sighed at the ceiling. "Of course she isn't."

"We've pissed off plenty, and don't get me started on the BAU as a whole. But no one leaps out, and I can't make any connections to the situation in Vegas."

"Crap. We have nothing here either." Morgan's frustration was starting to creep towards depression.

"I come to you feeble, but not empty-handed," said Garcia. "Since they claim they sent files to Quantico four months prior to the only request we have on record, I checked the relevant couriers for that time frame."

"You found something." Morgan seized upon the glimmer of progress.

"A report of a theft. No one was hurt and nothing of apparent value taken – just a few legal documents that the owners could replace, plus a package marked for our office. The company flagged it as a minor incident and LVPD gave it low priority, but it was logged less than twenty four hours from the date they claim they sent us the files."

"JJ didn't lose it. The damn thing never made it out of Vegas."

"That's my guess too. Witnesses saw nothing. It was shelved. But it's just the kind of thing that could make the cops there wonder what she did with it and check her further."

"Thanks Garcia."

"You're welcome, sugarplum."

Morgan was about to end the call when she interrupted. She sounded worried. "How's JJ doing? Is she ok?"

"They won't let us see her."

"What? Can they do that?"

"It's screwed up, Garcia. Hotch is with the Sheriff now, making a noise. This Finn guy isn't right. Both a captain here and a senior CSI have dropped hints for us."

"You want me to look into him?"

"It can't hurt."

"Then he's all mine. And not in a good way."

 

JJ refused to let the featureless walls get to her. She didn't like them, but they were just inanimate objects, unworthy of emotion. She didn't like the handcuffs either. She didn't like the artificial lights and she didn't like not wearing her own clothes. Whatever.

"I see you shot a man," said Finn.

JJ could see him wandering in her peripheral vision. He was flicking through her file. He must have pulled some strings to get that. She kept her gaze straight ahead. There was a time for facing an interrogator, and a time for refusing to make eye contact. They'd reached the latter.

And he hadn't asked her a question, so she said nothing.

"Why did you shoot him?"

"It was in the line of duty."

"You killed him."

Not a question. Silence.

"Why did you kill him?" Louder.

"It was a hostage situation," she said simply. "I'm a Federal Agent."

"You're their PR girl. Is it protocol for you to be armed and in the field?"

"Is it protocol for you to be an ass-hole?"

The file trembled. His fists were clenching as he clung on to his composure. He must really want to hit her.

"And you've killed animals too," Finn said. "I see you turned your gun on someone's dogs."

Not a question. Good. She sensed his growing impatience at her tactic.

"Why did you shoot them?" he demanded.

"That pack of dogs had torn a woman to pieces. If I hadn't shot them they would have killed me."

"Got off on it, did you?"

Not a valid question. More silence.

He smacked the file down on the table in front of her. She didn't flinch. He seized her jaw in bony fingers and tried to make her look up at him. She kept her gaze firmly on the ceiling instead. He hissed in her face.

"My point, Agent Jareau, is that the BAU's blonde isn't the harmless pretty face she presents to the cameras. I bet you had some fun slaughtering animals first, then moved on to humans."
JJ concealed a smirk. He could make all the sick points he wanted. Points weren't questions.

Finn lost another piece of his composure at her lack of response. He grabbed her arm and unlocked one of the cuffs, then jerked her wrists behind her chair and locked them again, securing her to the back. He shoved the table aside hard.

This can't be good.

Suddenly the door was flung open and Hotch strode in. Finn spun around, startled by the intrusion.

"Get out!"

Hotch ignored him. He looked down at JJ, his rigid expression concealing his emotions. Her eyes met his.

"You ok?" he asked calmly.

"Yeah."

Hotch introduced a slender woman in a smart suit who wasted no time putting a briefcase on the table.

"This is Ms Winters. She's your lawyer."

 

Catherine invited the profilers into the Crime Lab. She'd already decided that the only way to proceed was to show the FBI they were doing everything possible to get to the truth. They believed Jareau was innocent, and if they were right a killer was still on the loose. There could be a world of difference between doing something and being seen to do it. This affair needed all the help it could get.

"You have something for us?" Rossi asked.

Catherine gathered herself. Morgan and Prentiss seemed calmer now and the senior agent appeared genuinely glad of her help. She just wished she had more for them than she did.

"First off, you have to know it's not conclusive. There's too much margin for error for this to stand up as evidence in court. If the implication were the other way round it's the kind of thing we'd use to press a suspect in questioning, but-"

"Just tell us, please," said Rossi patiently.

"Ok. I spent some time experimenting with liquid of a similar consistency to blood and measuring projections at arterial pressure."

"And?"

"And the void on the wall behind Agent Jareau is a little too narrow."

"What does that mean?"

"It may mean nothing. But it may also mean that when Baldwin's carotid was severed, Agent Jareau was standing a little more than arm's length away from him."

"How far is a little more?" asked Prentiss.

"Six inches."

The three agents stared at her, calculating.

"Like I said," she added, "the margin for error is too wide for that to be conclusive."

"But it supports JJ's version of what happened," said Morgan. "She couldn't have reached him with a three inch blade. You can present that as evidence of her innocence."

"No. I can't. We can't specify that closely where Baldwin was standing when he was struck, or how fast she may have moved back after striking him."

'She didn't strike him," Morgan reminded her.

"If this is no help then why are you telling us?" asked Rossi.

"Because I want you to know that I'm looking for evidence that she's telling the truth, and the blood forensics don't rule that out so far. A killer could have hidden in the chapel as Jareau and Baldwin arrived, killed the lights, run in behind Baldwin and attacked him, then run out the way he came in."

"He put the lights back on again as he ran out," said Prentiss. "The switches are by the doors."

"His timing would have to be perfect," said Rossi, "but it could be done."

"Nothing I've found excludes that, and nothing incriminates her further," said Catherine. "If anything, it's moving the other way."

"But only by inches," said Rossi.

"I'm sorry I can't give you more." She meant it.

Prentiss smiled at her. "Thank you for putting in the time, Catherine. We appreciate it."

As they left she caught Morgan's whisper to Prentiss.

"First name terms now?"

"Doesn't hurt," said Prentiss.

 

It didn't take long for word of their meeting at the Crime Lab to reach Finn. Catherine didn't waste the time trying to figure out the route that information took. He came down to the lab himself and accosted her in the corridor.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

She feigned surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"You told the FBI you have evidence Jareau isn't the killer!"

"Not exactly. I briefed them on my latest findings."

"Not exactly isn't sticking to your job, it seems."

Catherine took a deep breath. She wasn't about to let him walk over her, despite his rank.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is still an open investigation. You called the FBI in the first place."

She could have sworn she heard his teeth grating. He was beyond pissed, obviously.

"We have the killer in custody," Finn growled. "And you're trying to score points with the Feds by bringing comfort to the enemy."

Oh give me a break...

"Remind me of the name of the war you think we're engaged in," she said. "I don't see the enemy's flag flying anywhere."

After he'd stalked off round the corner she put her fingers to her temples and began massaging slowly.

"Ass-hole."

 

"They're bringing charges," Hotch announced as soon as he walked through the door.

Morgan threw a stack of papers down on the desk.

"Dammit!"

"Just Baldwin's murder, or all four?" asked Rossi.

"All of them. The lack of forensics at the first three crime scenes isn't in JJ's favour. It points to someone who knows what they're doing."

"Well that's twisted," said Emily.

Reid stood up quickly, his momentum taking him half way across the room.

"So let's move!" he said. "As soon as she's arraigned we can post and get her out of there."

"Rogue FBI?" asked Rossi. "A serial cop-killer?"

"Spencer," said Emily gently, "she's not going to make bail."

Emily had never seen Reid throw anything so hard before. She knew Morgan's coffee cup wasn't aimed at her, but she ducked instinctively as it smashed into a nearby wall. It missed the window by a foot and stained the paintwork with a dripping brown smear.

She said absolutely nothing to Reid. It would have been pointless. She felt like kicking the wall down.

 

But it wasn't long before more than one metaphorical wall came crashing down. As night fell across Las Vegas a cacophony of sirens could be heard, wailing across the city in mourning, converging on another horrific crime scene.

The BAU team followed in their wake and arrived moments before the CSIs. The two teams stood together in the darkness, their badges and faces alternating blue and red in flashing lights, looking at blood-soaked uniforms sprawled around a single piece of blood-stained steel.

The unsub hadn't kill one cop this time. He'd murdered three.
Catherine pulled her whole shift onto processing them. Two of the new victims' throats were cut – exactly like the other four murders. The last one had been stabbed in the thigh and then in the chest. Taking down three men had been a lot more difficult than taking down one. He was the only officer who had managed to draw his weapon. He didn't get to fire it before he died.

And a three inch knife was there again, carefully placed in the centre between the three corpses. Only this time it lay directly on top of a folded pair of latex gloves. The knife had blood on the grip and blade – the murder weapon; the gloves were pristine inside – never worn. If the killer's message weren't already clear, Catherine's tests put it beyond doubt.

"The killer did more than shift suspicion away from your colleague. He left evidence that exonerates her."

The profilers waited for her to continue. She had their full attention. She held up a clear sealed bag containing the bloodied knife with her left hand.

"This is the knife that killed Baldwin," she told them. She held up another bag in her right hand. "And this one is the knife we found at the chapel crime scene."

The profilers' eyes flicked between them.

"Two identical knives," said Morgan, his voice little more than a breath of air.

"The earlier one has been kept secure here," said Catherine, "and I think this other one was used to commit the murders." She shook the left bag. "And I mean all seven of them."

"Please explain," said Hotchner.

Catherine put both bags down on the lab table.

"The one we found at the chapel does have Baldwin's blood on it, but I think that was a deliberate plant, like Agent Jareau's gloves. The most recent knife also has Baldwin's blood on it – very visible blood. There was no attempt to clean the blade. I think it was the one really used to kill him, and we were meant to find out."

"You're sure it's Baldwin's blood? There must be more than one man's DNA on that blade after the latest killings."

"Oh there is," said Catherine. "But Baldwin's blood is much drier than that of the latest three victims. I was able to distinguish it from the other profiles quickly."

"Wait a minute," said Rossi, "am I following you? The unsub plants items to implicate JJ in Baldwin's murder; but he doesn't clean or dispose of the real weapon. He preserves the evidence so that he can use it to kill again and leave it behind to exonerate her?"

"Hey." Catherine spread her hands. "I'm telling you what the forensics say. You work out the guy's motives."

"Then he's planned very carefully. He's meticulous."

"The only other explanation is that she has an accomplice."

"That won't fly since they filed charges," said Hotchner. "Finn will have a hard time switching horses midstream. He's already publicly profiled her as a lone psychopath who had everyone else fooled."

"So are we looking at an unsub with a conscience?" asked Prentiss.

"More than a conscience," said Rossi. "This isn't merely remorse. He had to design this well in advance. He had to buy two identical knives and bring them both to the chapel. He had to watch JJ's trips to Vegas and carry out murders over two years. That's another agenda."

"It doesn't make any sense." Morgan was shaking his head, baffled. "He frames JJ for all this, but he doesn't want her punished for crimes she didn't commit?"

"That's it!" Reid exclaimed. "Because he was."

They all looked at him.

"It explains everything! Why Vegas, why he chose JJ. Why he set her up only to exonerate her. JJ isn't his target, she never was. We've been searching for the wrong motives, for a grudge or stalker that doesn't exist. Our unsub's target is Finn!"

Catherine knew that her mouth was open. At that moment she didn't care much. She couldn't wait for him to go on.

"The killings are in Vegas because Finn is in Vegas," said Reid, his words tumbling even faster. "The victims are cops because Finn is a senior cop and he's responsible for them. The first victim was chosen because he used to be Finn's partner. He's set up Finn for a fall, not JJ."

Catherine stared at the slim, agitated man who rattled out his insights like a stream of consciousness on acid. She didn't know which unnerved her more – the fact that he imagined a killer conceiving such a long-term, elaborate plan, or her own growing sense that this scary kid was on to something. Her cynicism struggled to find purchase. How often did the far-fetched shack up with plausible?

But Reid's colleagues weren't struggling to keep up. They were right there with him.

"The two knives serve two equally important purposes," said Hotch. "They protect JJ and they prove Finn wrong."

"Horribly wrong," said Prentiss. "The unsub waited until now to kill three officers at once – more than you'd expect a lone woman to be capable of. Now we have carnage."

"Which explains the break from the pattern," said Morgan, as though he were kicking himself for not realising all along. "Finn screws up catching a killer and maximum loss of life is the consequence."

"So Finn is persona non grata," said Rossi. "He's pissed off the BAU by turning on one of our team; he's threatened the local Crime Lab for not backing him with more certainty than forensics can provide; and he's lost all credibility with the Las Vegas PD because three more officers die while he pursues an agent who came here to help them."

"And the agent he's pursued is JJ, of all people," said Reid. "The one least likely to be suspected of psychopathic traits by laymen."

"The pretty girl from a small town," said Prentiss.

"The sympathetic girl next door," said Morgan.

"Finn doesn't just look like a thug and incompetent," said Prentiss, "he looks like a dangerous imbecile. It's professional humiliation."

Catherine got a word in. "His career is over," she said simply. "But why? What's it all for?"

Hotchner turned to her, his face glowing with renewed vigour.

"That's how we find him."

 

After that they made it look so easy.

"Our unsub has a profound sense of justice on his own terms. He is most likely someone wronged by Assistant Sheriff Finn in the past – a man wrongly convicted of a crime or a close relative of such a person..."

"Las Vegas Police officers are expendable therefore he sees them as guilty in some way, but no one else. The killings carry no risk of collateral damage - no explosions, no crossfire. He risks capture or injury or even death to ensure that there's no chance of civilians being harmed..."

"He is fit and agile. He may have access to night vision equipment and it's likely that he is still armed. Depending on whether he believes he has achieved his objective, he may or may not kill again..."

Catherine listened to their tech on the speaker phone reeling off possible names. She could hear the rapid typing beneath the hurried words. They homed in on one who had been released after fifteen years for a rape and murder when DNA proved he was the wrong man. Sergeant Finn had put him away.

"Wow," said Garcia, "his sister never gave up on this poor guy. She spent every cent getting him lawyers and an appeal. She and her husband both work two jobs, they re-mortgaged their house, spent their children's college funds..."

The tech soon had an address for him.

 

The place was dark when they burst in wearing body armour, their weapons drawn. It was immaculate – floors swept, surfaces clear. It looked as though the unsub had done more than clean. It looked like he'd put his affairs in order. He was waiting for them.
They found him sitting in an armchair in his living room, a glass of bourbon in his hand and a Heckler & Koch pressed against his temple.

"Mr Harris?"

The man looked up as Hotch entered cautiously. "Thanks for not disappointing me."

Emily and Morgan also trained their guns on him. He acknowledged their presence with an almost imperceptible nod.

"You've killed seven police officers," said Hotch, quietly.

"But is that seven crimes?"

"We think so."

Harris shrugged his eyebrows. "Think about all the crimes a cop commits when he puts an innocent man away," he said calmly. "Think about the life he destroys. The family members he puts through hell."

"But you're not innocent now, Mr Harris."

"He also denies the victim justice," Harris continued. "He lies to the victim's family. He lies to the community, leaving a killer amongst them to strike again. He leaves more victims unprotected to be raped and slaughtered. He snuffs out those lives. He puts their families through hell. It's an endless catalogue of evil perpetrated by a police officer sworn to protect them, and it benefits no one but him and those he mentors... Finn. I had to make sure he couldn't do it again."

"He won't," said Hotch. "You succeeded. You can stop now."

"You put one of us through hell," said Morgan.

"For a couple of days. Try fifteen years."

"She was innocent."

"I was too. I regret I had to... even for just a few days. And I regret it had to be one of you, but that was how I made sure she'd be ok. You see, Finn has a temper. He'd find it harder to explain smacking a Fed around. She was a lot safer than a civilian."

"He's had his moments," said Emily.

"Then tell her I'm sorry. But that's all I'm sorry for." Harris stood up, the gun still at his head. "There's a document on the kitchen table. It's my life insurance policy. Please see that my sister gets it." Then he aimed his gun at Morgan.

Their bullets hit his chest in unison. He fell back into the armchair, still.

Emily picked up the Heckler and Koch from the floor where it had landed and checked it. She sighed.

"It's not loaded."

 

When JJ was released later that night Emily and Morgan hugged her. The three of them clung together without speaking. Their words weren't important.

"Welcome back," said Rossi. JJ smiled at Reid and Rossi over Emily's and Morgan's shoulders. Then her eyes found Hotch.

"Thank you," she whispered.

~~

Assistant Sheriff Finn's body was mottled and bloated by the time it was discovered on a bright, hot day. He'd taken leave, under protest, and no one was inclined to check on him. Even his neighbours didn't get close enough to notice the smell. A mail man reported that in.

Catherine and Nick paused in the kitchen doorway, their kits in their hands.

"Messy," said Nick.

"Yeah. Someone emptied a clip in him." Catherine indicated the splintered pieces of bone on the linoleum. "Elbows, ankles, kneecaps... I'm guessing the two in the chest were last." Her tone grew sardonic. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy."

"LVPD cleaning up their trash, maybe?"

Catherine shrugged. "Good odds on that one."

"But you know, Catherine, that slug in the groin does kinda look like the work of a woman."

Catherine rolled her eyes at him. Nick grinned back.

"I'm just saying. Someone should check whether any beautiful Feds flew in recently."

"She would have taken the bus, Nick. And worn a very mousy wig over that blonde."

Nick's gaze roamed over a floor devoid of casings and wiped clean of footprints.

"You think they left us anything of use here?"

Catherine shook her head, not hopeful. "Nope. And I doubt we'll match a gun to these bullets."

"We don't want to, do we?"

Catherine shot him a warning look, then nodded towards the corpse. "He made the mistake of walking that path. Let's not go there."

~~~