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While the BAU’s current case seems like it should be closed easily, it is never that simple for them. The most recent killer seems like a typical rage-based killer, the unsub would drag their victims into an isolated area, hit them over the head, and then kill them. The unsub didn’t even bother to hide the bodies, leaving them out for anyone to find. The areas weren’t even completely isolated, more like alleyways or abandoned buildings.
“What’s bothering you, kid?” Morgan leaned forward, breaking Reid out of his confusion.
“It’s just… odd. The unsub is so reckless, it’s not incredibly rare but how is he so sure he won’t get caught?” Reid mulled, baffled by how the killer had only gotten away by chance.
“Maybe he thinks no one would ever suspect him? He probably wears gloves and hat to keep his hair and fingerprints off of the crime scene, and knocking them out keeps them quiet,” Morgan pondered, and then differed to Rossi who had sat down next to them.
“He might be physically weak and unintimidating, all the victims seem like low-risk targets and he has to catch them by surprise. He could be killing them to feel a sense of superiority,” Rossi began, “Bastards like that are always compensating for something or another”.
Hotch chimed in from one of the opposite chairs, “So, here’s what we know. Male, likely young, aggressive, closed off, most likely an absent or cruel mother, and physically intimidating".
When they arrived at the crime scene, they noted a few things. Firstly, dragging someone into this building would take some knowledge of the area as it doesn’t distinctly look abandoned from the outside. Secondly, from the dust on a dresser, the unsub likely placed back things that fell on the floor, taking time to clean up the room but not the body or blood.
The local cop turned the them, “We picked up a kid in the area, doubtful it’s a tyke but you never know, yea,”
“He might’ve seen something,” Hotch raised a brow, “Can you bring up to him?”
“Sure, we were waitin’ for you fellas,” the cop laughed, “He’s down at the station, we haven’t questioned him yet.”
“Reid and Morgan, ride with the police officer to the station,” Hotch ordered, “I’ll drive the rest.”
Once they arrived, Hotch announced that he would speak to the boy first.
Right as he walked in, the first words of the boy came out,
“Are you bastards big fans of arresting people with no reasoning? Do people not have rights where you come from, or maybe your peabrains don’t even know of such things,” The boy smiled, leaning forwards in his chair with wide eyes.
“I am from the BAU. Apologies for the lack of explanation, there was a crime scene nearby,” Hotch articulated, purposely short on details.
“Ah, the FBI! You are big fans of people not having rights! So, you think I shanked someone or something?” The boy laughed, oddly calm but irritated.
“Why do you assume so?” Hotch questioned, noting the boy’s angry manor.
“Well, in case you couldn’t comprehend, I am currently handcuffed and clearly a suspect in some crime,” the boy ground out, “Mind telling me who you think I killed?”
The boy seemed… jaded, but he seemed like he wasn’t jumping around a topic or trying to hide something.
“A woman was stabbed near your area,” Hotch began, “You fit the profile but you could also be a possible witness.”
“A stabbing! You think I spent my free time going around playing with knives? That’s low on my priorities,” The boy smirked, but appeared to appreciate finally knowing why he was arrested.
He was sizing up Hotch, but didn’t seem like he was going to attack him. He did mostly fit the profile, but for his age, he isn’t exactly unintimidating. Most people don’t off the bat act with anger in an interrogation room, especially not someone trying to hide their rage-fueled murders.
“Show me the crime scene, whatever photos you have. I have nothing better to do,” the boy ordered, confidently. He leaned back in the chair as far as he could while his arms were handcuffed to a metal pipe attached to the table, acting strangely used to the situation.
While Hotch was quite sure this wasn’t their unsub, he was willing to humour him for whatever strange input he might have, and did pull out the crime scene photos.
“Here, we only have photos from one scene currently,” Hotch explained, wanting to observe the boy’s reactions, “but please give me your name.”
“Five Hargreeves,” the boy said, while accepting the photos.
He took a few minutes sifting through them, but showed no reaction to any of the gore. He had a clinical eye to him, inspecting every detail.
“Definitely left handed, look at the slants on some of those stabs. Also, look at those scratches on the victims face, it looks like the killer grabbed her face, and I doubt that lipstick is the victims. The killer grabbed her face and applied it, it looks way too perfect for being murdered and also the scratches do imply her face was grabbed. Unconfident neck slicing, this could have been so much more efficient! Either way, you’re looking for a woman,” Five concluded, letting out a breath after he finished his rant.
“Impressive,” Hotch praised, while nothing was groundbreaking, they hadn’t yet noticed the lipstick.
“Yea, yea, not my forte. More of an assassinations kind of guy personally, Charlotte Corday-” Five began, before he was cut off by Hotch.
“Where does your obsession with murder come from?” Hotch inquired, mildly baffled why he is telling this to an FBI interrogator.
“Well, when some strange lady tells you to kill a few people in exchange for your family’s lives, it gets a bit complicated. She’s no longer around, so to speak, so don’t get your trousers in a twist,” He gained back his off-putting smile and leaned forward again, explaining as if he was talking to a child and not the other way around.
Hotch sat and pondered over this for a moment, a flash of rage filling his expression at such an idea.
“Who is this lady?” He pressed, but while attempting not to irritate the boy.
“Buried with a few bullet holes, not from me, surprisingly,” Five let out a genuine smile at The Handler finally getting her due.
“You mentioned your family, where are your parents?” Hotch continued pressing the boy for answers, confused.
“Well, the old bastard killed himself and who even knows who my mother is, heard she’s Irish!” Five swung out his palms like he was trying to throw his hands to the side in a small sarcastic cheer, but was limited by the handcuffs.
The tale keeps getting worse, a boy who looks in his early teens with a dead father and no mother being forced to possibly kill people with his family’s life held above his head. A whole separate crime than what they came for, but horrifying nonetheless.
“Did you end up killing anyone?” Hotch went back to a more important question, while he was forced to kill, murder is a tricky scenario.
“Well, my family isn’t dead!” Five stated a sour implication of what he did without directly saying, “Not for a lack of them trying.”
“Anyways, do you people have any coffee? Free DNA for you because if I don’t get coffee I think I will shove this chair leg so far up your- let’s not go there, just want a coffee,” Five squinted his eyes in anger, but ended with a very false smile.
“Sure, we can get that for you. Also, did you see anything pertaining to the case?” Hotch placated, quickly after handing him a cup of coffee which Five thoroughly chugged in a swift motion - as well as he could while cuffed. Hotch was somewhat confused, but he’s dealt with a lot of strange characters over the years.
“What time and area was the murder, in comparison to where I was picked up?” Five questioned, with a serious look finally on his face.
“7:00 and a block down from where you were picked up, right near the intersection,” Hotch confirmed, not fully sure they would get much out of him.
“Saw a lady, brown feathered hair, straight nose, brown deep set eyes, white, had a tattoo of flowers down her arm,” Five began, “Her eyes looked off, so I noted her features.”
“Her eyes looked off?” Hotch inquired.
“She looked like she was going to try to kill someone, and someone died - connect the dots from there,” Five snarked, “So can I go now?”
“You’re not a suspect, so… yes,” Hotch said begrudgingly, but not even wanting to address his backstory and freed him from his handcuffs.
“By the way, George Foyet is a piece of shit,” Five warned with a barking laugh, as he walked away and was never seen again.