Work Text:
Prentiss: Jack Kerouac wrote, “Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.”
Driving at night is always a risk, but usually one can rely on the safety of their car to protect them from what is outside. The Faulk family had been driving back towards Madison, Wisconsin after a long but very enjoyable day with extended family celebrating the 73rd anniversary of a great-grandparents’ wedding. Presently, the Faulks had just driven through Janesville when Mr. Faulk had the need to use the restroom. The car pulled off at Rest Area 17 just north of the city. The rest area was almost completely abandoned; only one other truck was there and it looked like it was empty.
As the car pulled away from the rest area, Mr. Faulk yawned. It was, in hindsight, such a bad decision to stay so late and try to make it home tonight. They should’ve just sprung for the guest room or a hotel closer to their starting point, but there were only 45 minutes left in the drive now.
The street lights that were supposed to be illuminating the on ramp weren’t. Must be some maintenance issue. No doubt it was ultimately that new governor Scott Walker and his budget cuts to blame.
But suddenly, they encountered something much more unexpected than a few burnt out street lights.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. In very quick succession. Then came a flumpy rubbery sound at uneven intervals and suddenly their car was much lower than before.
Mr. Faulk got out of the car and turned on the flashlight held in the door compartment. Mrs. Faulk got out on the passenger side and used the flashlight on her phone. Both tires on the drivers’ side and the passenger side had quickly deflated.
“Dad, what’s going on?” asked Robby.
“I don’t know, son.” Mr. and Mrs. Faulk walked back closer to the rest area and their lights illuminated the source of their woes: a spike strip.
“Why would that be there?” asked Mrs. Faulk. “Aren’t those only used in police chases? Can normal people like us even own those?”
“Let’s call AAA,” said Mr. Faulk. “They’ll get us new tires and get us on the road again, and report it to the police in the morning. In case there’s trouble, that'll be the quickest way for us to get out of here.”
“Okay,” said Mrs. Faulk.
“This is AAA, 24 hour roadside assistance, how may I help you?” asked a middle aged male voice on the other end of the line.
“Yes, I’m at rest area 17 near Janesville, the weirdest thing just happened, we drove over a spike strip for some reason and now we’re without our tires. How quickly could someone get here?”
“We’ve got someone nearby. I’ll send them over to you in about five minutes.”
“Five minutes? That’s excellent! See you soon!” Mr. Faulk couldn’t have been more pleased.
“That’s lucky,” said Mrs. Faulk.
Why there’d be spike strips at such a hazardous place for drivers was almost but forgotten in the back of Mr. Faulk’s mind, but it kept gnawing away at him. It didn’t have to for long, because a tow truck pulled up from behind them, making sure to stop before the spike strip.
“Hello, are you the AAA roadside assistance guy?”
There wasn’t a AAA logo on the side of the truck, but Mr. Faulk wasn’t sure if contractors’ cars always had logos on the side or not. Maybe there was an official sticker on the back window or something.
A middle aged, midway through balding man got out of the tow truck.
“Yes, I am. Let’s have a look at your tires and see how much needs to be replaced.”
He pulled a flashlight out of his belt, knelt down next to the rear driver side tire, and inspected the damage.
“Yep, this’ll have to be completely replaced. Let me get what I need,” he said, and walked back to his truck.
“Well at least we’ll be going soon,” said Mrs. Faulk.
As the mechanic walked back towards them, a question was nagging at Mr. Faulk’s mind.
“Sir, do you have any idea why someone would put spikes there? It’s a public road, that’s a huge safety risk,” he asked.
The mechanic chuckled.
“I know exactly why…because I put them there,” he said, menacingly, and he pulled out a tire iron, but it looked strange, like it had been modified somehow.
Instantly, the situation changed, and Nolan Faulk retreated back to the car. He didn’t have anything with him but he was still going to defend his family from this foe.
“Please! No! I’ll give you anything! Anything! Don’t hurt us! Don’t hurt our children! I’ll…fight you!”
The mechanic suddenly became completely silent and uncaring, like he’d heard people beg for their lives all of his. He held up the tire iron like a gun, and shot Mr. Faulk in the heart. He then quickly shot Mrs. Faulk as well. Finally, he turned to the children, who had been frozen in fear despite their parents’ screams. Quickly, and almost while looking away because he didn’t want to see their faces, the man fired the gun two more times and ended two more lives. Because he wasn’t really looking at his target, the motion from his own gun caught him slightly off balance, and he had to steady himself on the frame of the car. After that he put one shot underneath one of each of their ears to guarantee the kill. Quickly, he used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe up potential fingerprints. It was difficult to tell whether he’d got them all, but it was a risk he’d have to take. With his grim work done, he pulled up what was left of the spike strip and left the scene.
This man had known sanctioned violence all his adult life; he was Tony Mecacci, also known as Bosola. For a long time he’d worked as a mafia hitman on Long Island and around New York City, Philadelphia, New Jersey, and Connecticut. A few months after a mistrial led to his release, the judge, Boyd Schuller, had gotten into contact with him. Schuller had asked Mecacci to take out hits on people who had slipped through the justice system, and ultimately the judge himself so he could avoid both prosecution for conspiracy to commit murder, and the painful upcoming death he would no doubt face from cancer.
The BAU had hunted Mecacci for his involvement in the case, even knowing who he was, but he had gotten cleanly away from them. He’d been more successful at avoiding capture than almost any other unsub the BAU had dealt with, he’d never even been in the same room as any member of the team. A few months later, an Irish mob associate named Sean had tried to get the drop on Mecacci at a golf course, out of revenge for killing his father figure Ray Finnegan, but Mecacci had managed to reverse the situation on him and kill him, too. He was forced to flee Florida to avoid prosecution for the rather public killing, albeit in self-defense for once, and now suddenly was in need of money again.
As he thought about all that had brought him here, he felt a vibration on his cell phone in his pocket. Mecacci pulled off onto the shoulder, and checked the message. The message had geographic coordinates.
“Won’t an address do?” he texted back. He was a professional, but he didn’t have intimate knowledge of the exact latitude and longitude. His contact sent him to a road intersection instead.
It was a few miles to his south towards the medium-sized city, but still not in Janesville itself.
Mecacci drove south to the point indicated, and once he got there, he turned off his headlights and waited. About five minutes later, an SUV with government plates drove up, and John Curtis stepped out of the driver’s seat. He was alone. Mecacci stepped out as well.
“Why’d you want to meet me? I thought your instructions were clear,” Bosola asked. “People don’t usually meet me twice and live, you know.” His mind went to the tire iron zip gun in his car, ready to use it if necessary like he did on Ray Finnegan.
“They are clear. Almost all preparations have been made to break Tatham and the others out of prison. Greenaway didn’t want to help, so we’re doing it without her.”
“Surely she’ll have told your targets what you intend to do?” Bosola asked. “In my line of work, you don’t tell someone something unless you trust them or you kill them.”
“Nothing more than what I’ve already told them myself,” Curtis said confidently. “I’m going to need you to pick up the pace. The BAU should have their eyes fixed on you and not me.”
“It takes a lot of time to scout people out that fit the victim type I’m pretending to be pulled towards. How long do you need?”
“A week. Once Tatham and the others are out, everything springs into action and we need to be absolutely certain we’re ready and don’t make any mistakes. Rossmore and Smith tell me they’re all prepared to do what is necessary, but I need to inspect Rossmore’s strategy before we put them into action.”
“So, my target is to be anyone late at night?” Bosola asked.
“Yes,” said Curtis, and he handed Bosola a large wad of cash, worth tens of thousands of dollars. “As frequently as possible. We need them to be as focused on this as possible. I hope you weren’t too afraid to leave some graffiti at the scene.”
“I understand, Curtis,” said the hitman. “And I can go back and do as you instructed.”
“We won’t meet again,” said Curtis.
The two men exchanged a handshake, and parted ways. Across America resided a number of individuals willing to help Curtis, and every one of them would be needed to take down the BAU.
For a split second, Mecacci wondered if this was really worth getting away from an early retirement and 36 holes a day in Florida, but the money Curtis was paying him was worth it. Mecacci returned to the scene of the murder. If it was up to him, he really would prefer not to draw more attention to himself, but that’s what he was getting paid to do.
He pulled out a spray paint can, and painted onto the hood of the car. He didn’t know what he should do; Curtis hadn’t specified what would attract their attention the most. So, a basic skull and crossbones later, and Mecacci left the scene. The sun was starting to rise over Wisconsin, and Mecacci returned to a motel he’d checked into earlier.
He needed a long day’s sleep; tomorrow night would bring another murder, like as not.
Criminal Minds
Behavioral Analysis Unit
Quantico
FBI
Starring:
Joe Mantegna
Paget Brewster
Shemar Moore
Matthew Gray Gubler
A.J. Cook
Kirsten Vangsness
and Thomas Gibson
With:
Jhoanna Flores
Mark Hamill
Tom Ohmer
Kurtwood Smith
Created by Jeff Davis
2011 was shaping up to be a stressful summer for the BAU. Not only were they facing a killer who’d talked a big game, but their careers might be in a dire financial nightmare soon. The federal government had been infighting for a few months about the debt ceiling, and if an agreement could not be reached soon, the federal government would not be able to pay its bills and employees, like FBI agents. There’d been a lot of tension because the FBI itself was at risk of shutting down. While that would be bad for Emily and JJ’s ability to afford an apartment in Washington, it would be significantly worse for all the victims of cases that would not be able to be solved in the meantime. All their efforts to track Curtis and anybody working with him would be ground to a halt.
At present, Emily Prentiss and Jennifer Jareau had just finished their dinner for the evening and were getting ready to go to bed for the night. They’d probably watch a bit of Top Chef, shower together, and do the other things married couples do, but tonight had unexpected complications. And not the usual BAU-style unexpected complications, that over their years in the bureau, were anything but unexpected these days.
Emily’s phone rang in her pocket, and she pulled it out. The caller ID said Carrie Ortiz, and the photo was one that she and JJ took with her at the Lincoln Memorial just after she had moved to DC.
“Hey Carrie, what’s up?” said Emily.
“Mom, there’s something I want to tell you, and JJ too.”
“JJ’s in the bathroom, but she’ll be out soon.”
“I want to tell you in person. Can we meet at the Lincoln Memorial in half an hour?” She was already there herself.
Emily was surprised, but rolled with it.
“Yeah, of course, Carrie. See you soon.”
“Thank you. I love you,” Carrie said.
“Love you too,” Emily replied. Carrie stayed on the line to hear the beeps as the phone hung up. That always felt comforting for her, even while her birth parents were still alive.
JJ left the bathroom and washed her hands, and saw Emily putting her phone back into her pocket.
“Hey, sweetie? Carrie wants us to meet her at the Lincoln Memorial. Something she wanted to tell us, but she wanted to do so in person,” Emily explained to her as soon as JJ opened the bathroom door.
“Ok, let’s go,” said JJ. “She didn’t give you any clues?”
“None.”
JJ took a long but shallow breath in and said, “okay.”
JJ didn’t say anything more as they left their 7th floor apartment, the home they had made together these past few years, and they hopped in a taxi across DC to the edge of the National Mall. Dusk had fallen across Washington, DC and Carrie was relatively alone near the edge of the Lincoln Memorial steps. Most tourists had returned to hotels or gone out to bars for the night. The bright lights illuminated the grand marble structure.
Carrie’s face lit up as her adoptive mothers arrived.
“Hey,” JJ simply said as they got to her. They each gave her a hug, and sat down next to one of the columns of the Lincoln Memorial.
“Hey moms,” Carrie said, with a clear weight of something unknown to them on her mind.
“So, what’d you want to tell us?” Emily asked.
“Yes,” Carrie said, pausing and stalling for just a moment. “I…I want to join the FBI academy.”
Emily and JJ hadn’t been sure what Carrie had called them to tell them, but this…wasn’t unexpected.
“You really mean that,” said Emily. If she didn’t know her daughter as well, it would be a question.
“Yeah,” said Carrie. All of the stress on her face faded to a smile.
“Oh, Carrie,” said JJ, who wrapped her in another hug.
“You’re accepting it that quickly? You’re not skeptical?” Carrie asked into JJ’s shoulder.
“After what you’ve been through before and since we’ve known you, only a fool would be skeptical of you,” said Emily.
“Really. I had this whole heroic speech prepared about how I felt the best way to honor my birth parents and my brother was to do the best I could to make sure nobody ever did it again, and I’d be honoring you as well since it’s what you do,” Carrie said as she leaned back out of JJ’s hug, almost laughing.
“To paraphrase the man in the statue up there, you’re a woman so conceived and so dedicated, that you must endure,” said Emily. This also wasn’t a question, unlike the tone of the Gettysburg Address.
“Carrie, we’ve been expecting this might happen since you moved here,” said JJ. “We’re profilers, after all.”
“Shoulda known,” Carrie conceded.
“You know we can’t ethically do anything to help you get in, right?” Emily made sure to state.
“I know,” said Carrie.
“We’ve been testing the boundaries of the bylaws by being together at all,” said JJ. “But I’m sure you’ll do well, Carrie.”
“Thanks, mom. That means a lot, coming from someone who’s been there as long as the two of you have.” She leaned into JJ’s arms, and JJ kissed her on the top of her head. Emily reached around both of them as well, and leaned her forehead against JJ’s. They stayed there for a moment, then let go.
“Is there anything else you needed to tell us?”
“Ivy and Steven got engaged the other day; that was fun to help with,” said Carrie. Ivy and Carrie were two of four roommates who called themselves the RICE girls, the other two named Rachel and Ellen.
“Wouldn’t know a thing about planning an engagement,” said Emily, who had surprised herself just as much as JJ by popping the question out of nowhere the previous March.
“No, no you wouldn’t,” said Carrie, who giggled. “I think I’ll be going now; I’ve got some summer reading to work on.”
“It’s great to see you, Carrie,” said JJ. “You know you can call us any time.”
“And I will whenever I need to…and also when I don’t.”
They all half-chuckled at that. It really was an excellent sign for Carrie’s mental health that she’d made such improvements, and that she had friends close enough that would trust her with helping with a wedding proposal.
“Well, it’s really good to see you, and we’ll see you soon,” said Emily. “We love you.”
“I love you, too,” said Carrie. She gave her moms another hug, not as tight as the others, almost perfunctory in nature, but still meaningful. She then left the Lincoln Memorial and took the unusual move of walking east to the Washington Monument, then north to the edge of where the public could go near the White House’s south lawn. This wasn’t at all the way back to her Foggy Bottom apartment, but she needed time to think about things. She knew DC well enough by foot at this point.
Carrie hadn’t let on that she was worried about the Replicator case; she knew the fates JJ almost met in Atlanta and Emily almost met in their apartment and didn’t want something like that to happen again. The summer reading thing was true; she hadn’t read any of her assigned copy of Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye in like five days, but she needed a plausible excuse before it was clear how much this was bothering her. She was really glad she had her plans to join the academy to lean back on and be proud of to paper it over. It’d be okay; there were barely ever any killers that got past them indefinitely. They’d get the bastard. They have to.
“Did I manage to keep a smile on my face?” Emily asked as they walked back to their apartment.
“I was going to ask you the same question; guess we both did. Somehow.”
“Our girl’s all grown up.”
JJ got a text from Garcia.
“ Janesville, WI. Another entry in the HSK database; looks like the same M.O. we’ve been keeping an eye on. Can you brief the team tomorrow? ”
“Yep. Can you tell the Janesville PD and the Wisconsin Highway Patrol about our interest in the case?”
“Can do. See you tomorrow.”
“You too.”
Since JJ had been taunted about highway serial killers by John Curtis, she’d had Garcia keep the same passive technological eye on the HSK database as she had for the cases that led her to get shot. And she’d dutifully informed JJ of each time it had happened since then.
They arrived back at Apartment 710 in their complex and went to bed more quickly and chastely than they had expected, with the only delay packing some newly clean clothes into a go-bag. They were probably heading back out into the field tomorrow.
But for tonight, they were safe in each other’s arms, their bed, and the apartment they’d made a home out of together.
The next morning, the sun rose on an uneasy BAU headquarters in Quantico.
“So, fellas, what are you going to do if Congress can’t figure out how to pay us?” Rossi asked, attempting to sound casual as he, Reid, and Morgan walked into the bullpen the next morning.
“I’ve got a couple of clients interested in my services helping fix up their houses. But they know I’ll only take up the job if the debt ceiling is breached. And you?”
“Probably start writing another true crime book; I’ve got tons of unused notes that’d make a pretty decent monograph. Reid?”
“I don’t know. Almost all the best research firms are funded through grants, and any good universities to give lectures at would also be shut down.”
“So let’s hope against hope that doesn’t happen,” said Hotch, very seriously, to the three incoming men. “If that happens we lose all ability to track Curtis and everyone else looking to hurt people.”
“For sure, Hotch,” said Morgan. “But what happens to you then?”
Hotch hesitated for a moment, considering his answer.
“Probably spend all that time with Jack.”
“Good choice,” said Rossi.
“JJ and Garcia have found a case that they think requires specific attention from us,” said Hotch. They and Prentiss are already waiting for us.”
As they entered the room, JJ handed out dossiers she and Garcia had put together and Hotch had approved.
“Two nights ago in Janesville, Wisconsin, the Faulk family was on their way back to Madison from visiting extended family in Rockford, Illinois at the end of a long weekend when they were killed near Wisconsin Rest Area 17,” JJ explained. “Their car was found in the road leaving the rest area with all four of its tires blown out, and all four members of the family were shot in the head and the heart, in and around the car.”
“Jesus,” said Morgan.
“More noteworthy still, the unsub left almost a literal signature at the scene; a skull and crossbones was found painted on the trunk door.”
“Does this match any previous HSK cases?” asked Rossi.
“The spray paint is new, but everything else has appeared multiple times in the Midwest in recent months. Kentucky, Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, and now Wisconsin have all seen at least one highway serial killer case over the last six months, most but not all of the victims drove over spike strips. And the other thing that’s of note, John Curtis taunted me with this back just after we captured Heinrich Sauber in Maine. He mentioned additions to the HSK database in Michigan, Indiana, and Illinois. Emily and I think there’s a very real chance this is connected to him.”
“So if this is connected to Curtis, it makes some sense that the killings are more visible than they used to be,” said Hotch. “You said the first one was in Kentucky?”
“At a rest area between Winchester and Mt. Sterling, Kentucky back in December 2010,” said Prentiss. “Before that one, any other highway killings in the midwest had definitively different signatures.”
“There’s half a dozen other highway killing incidents since then that don’t have any matching elements of the signature, so we’ve made a judgment call to rule out the rest as linked, at least for now,” said Garcia.
“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. Morgan and I will go to Kentucky to learn about the earlier signatures, and the four of you will go to Wisconsin to find out about the most recent cases, and be closer to the unsub if any further killings crop up. We’ll attempt to establish any connection between the cases, and if there are, bring the unsub down,” Hotch planned out. “JJ and Prentiss, I want you to talk to the extended family of the Faulks.”
“What for? They weren’t at the scene; they won’t know anything about the killer,” said Prentiss.
“The police said it would be best for them to hear it from us,” said Hotch.
JJ sighed. It was always difficult to do, but she was the most adept at this sort of thing, still being the communications liaison. And she’d have her wife with her.
“Okay,” JJ said glumly. “Let’s get moving, prevent any more of these, and see if Curtis is behind it.”
Wheels would not be up in 30 today. Strauss had called a long meeting in the bullpen for everyone who worked there (even the janitor and Frida, the pilot) for what preparations would need to be made for if the government breached the debt ceiling, and what, if anything, could continue to operate afterwards. There was still more than a month to go, but they weren’t going to be caught unawares by this external political crisis. And unlike the government shutdowns that the Republican delegation (including Elle’s nemesis Hugh Donovan) had threatened, this would mean all government functions would cease, not just the non-essential ones like the national park service. By the time the BAU team was finally able to board their jet, normal working hours were close to over.
The BAU jet first took Hotch and Morgan to Blue Grass Airport in Lexington, Kentucky where they would rent a car and drive to Winchester, and then flew the other 4 to the Southern Wisconsin Regional Airport, near Janesville. Here, they would almost immediately have to turn in for the night due to their delayed departure. At that point, Frida took the jet back to Lexington where she could pick up Hotch and Morgan once they were done with their investigations of the evidence from Kentucky and return to the present crime scenes in Wisconsin.
The present members of the BAU checked into the Baymont Inn south of Janesville for the night. As per usual, one room for each of the men, and one shared room for JJ and Prentiss. The two of them had gotten into the habit of waiting for the others to book rooms in hotels so they could book one on a completely separate floor; they didn’t want to risk being too loud near their teammates. Not every hotel afforded such opportunities, so they had to take those chances to not fear being overheard when they got them. The case where they had to double up in Alaska came to mind.
“Let’s see, the last time we were in Wisconsin…” JJ started, making small talk.
“I got hit in the head with a 2 by 4. I hope you’ve got better plans for us than that.”
“And you were almost off the team completely, and that wouldn’t have been good for either of us, now would it?” JJ flirted.
“No, because then I wouldn’t be able to do this,” Emily said, and then walked over, put a hand on JJ’s head, and pulled her in for a kiss.
“Or this. Or this,” Emily said as she and JJ kept kissing and the room got hotter and hotter. The rest of what happened in that hotel room was a hundred times better than their last experiences in the state. They’d gotten a late start, but tomorrow would bring more of the grim work they’d tried hard not to get used to.
The next morning, the 4 team members in Wisconsin decided to make up for their late start and go directly to their assigned scenes. Rossi and Reid arrived at Rest Area 17. One of the Janesville PD and some highway patrol officers were waiting for them.
“Morning,” said one of the patrol officers.
“Morning,” Rossi said back. “This is Dr. Spencer Reid; my name’s Agent David Rossi.”
“Heard a lot about you,” said the Janesville officer. “Logan Yates. I accidentally kept one of your books overdue from the library for like a month.”
If this were an actual book signing, Rossi would’ve said something like “you could’ve just bought a copy”, but now wasn’t the time for humor.
“What did you find?” asked Rossi.
“The forensics determined the spray paint was added at least two hours after the Faulk family was killed. Something compelled the killer to come back to the scene and add the spray paint.”
“Are we sure it’s the unsub who did this at all then?” asked Reid. “None of the other kills had spray paint at the scene.”
“I challenge you to profile someone who would find a scene like this, vandalize it, and not call the police.”
“That doesn’t feel like we could ever rule it out, though”, said Rossi.
“So why would the unsub leave the scene, come back, and do something that makes the crime more visible, not less? If he’s got spike traps at his disposal, he’s probably not an idiot,” said Reid.
“Maybe he’s tired of being unobserved? Maybe he wants the chase more?” Rossi asked, “he wouldn’t be the first and won’t be the last.”
“There was no rifling on the bullets, either,” said Officer Yates. “I don’t know what the hell it all means; I’m still quite new in this job, and I’m no detective.”
“That means we’re probably dealing with an improvised weapon,” said Rossi. “Could be anything.”
“Anything?” asked Yates.
“When you know what you’re doing, a piece of plumbing, a cane, or even a bicycle pump can be turned into a firearm. This unsub would choose that to throw us off,” said Reid.
“That and using wildly different jurisdictions each time,” said Yates.
“We’ll see what Hotch and Morgan find at the first scene in Kentucky,” said Rossi.
The members of the Faulk family who’d met a terrible fate were by far the farthest flung of that extended family, the only ones in Wisconsin instead of Illinois.
“Since these cases have mostly targeted families, I can never make the horrible choice as to which is worse on me,” said JJ.
“What is worse?” asked Prentiss.
JJ hung her head. “Telling a family member their loved one was murdered, or there not being a family member to tell that to.”
“Oh.”
“I still think back to Canada and Kansas City, all those who were lost and we had nobody we could contact for next of kin. I remember how difficult it was to get a hold of Carrie’s family,” said JJ.
A frazzled woman in her sixties dressed in black was watching through a window facing out the front. As Prentiss and JJ approached, she approached the door and opened it inward.
“Are you the FBI? Local police said you’d be coming around here,” she said.
“We are,” said JJ, calmly. “Are you Jeanine Hampton?”
“I am. Come inside,” said the woman. Inside the house, there were numerous pieces of Catholic imagery as decor. Mrs. Hampton wasted no time invoking God in her misery.
“Why did my daughter and her husband and children meet this as their end? I’ve been a firm believer in God my whole life, and this has me questioning how good his plans were. How could this be for the good of the world?” Mrs. Hampton wailed.
If you’d seen as many awful things as JJ and Prentiss had for their line of work, it would be long since you first questioned if there was a grand deity out there with a benevolent plan for everyone. Even Rossi had.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” said Prentiss gently. “I wish that we had all the answers, it’d make our jobs so much easier.”
“Does it ever get easier?” asked Mrs. Hampton.
“I lost my sister when I was 11,” said JJ. “And… there’s so much pain in that process, but eventually, you’ll think of your family, and it won’t hurt. You’ll remember the good.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Hampton.
As they drove back to Janesville from Rockford, JJ couldn’t help but think of Carrie, the sole survivor of her own family’s annihilation. Of how much of a miracle it was that Carrie had managed to find a healthy family with herself and Emily, as well as the close friends she’d made in college. So many like her had ended up in abusive systems like the Manwarings’ foster home. So many had never gotten a proper second chance even if they survived the first one. And now Carrie was willingly going to take on a career that could be as traumatizing as their own.
Hotch and Morgan had also awoken early the next morning to get to the police station in Winchester, Kentucky, eager to get to the case and make up for lost time. Though they had all discussed what they would be doing with their lives if the federal government went bankrupt and couldn’t pay them, that would be a disaster.
The first murder in this sort had been even earlier than their capture of Heinrich Sauber in Maine, as John Curtis had taunted JJ with evidence of this case upon their return to Quantico, so the crime scene had long since been cleared away in Winchester.
“My name is special agent Aaron Hotchner, this is my colleague special agent Derek Morgan,” Hotch introduced himself. Both agents shook their hands with the local cops.
“I trust you prepared a file on the murder of the Thomases,” said Morgan.
“We did,” said one of the cops, and he handed a manilla envelope to Morgan.
The photos showed a Black family lying dead in their car, all four tires slashed, but no spray paint on the trunk door. The evidence they’d already gathered suggested that was a new piece of the scene on the Faulk family’s murders.
“Hotch, look at their wounds,” said Morgan.
“One in the heart, one in the head, apiece. That’s the mark of an efficient no-nonsense murderer,” said Hotch.
“So that means our unsub was already a seasoned killer long before the Thomases. You don’t get that sort of efficiency without learning it over years,” said Morgan.
“What’s a seasoned killer doing targeting families on the road?” Hotch pondered. The Kentucky cops didn’t have any feasible answers as to why, so Hotch and Morgan took the evidence back to the jet and looked it over on the flight to join their colleagues in Janesville.
Once Hotch and Morgan rejoined the group, they were ready to give the profile, as was de rigueur for the BAU as anything else.
“The main characteristic of this unsub is that he’s very sophisticated, so expect him to be older than 40,” said Rossi. “He’s also likely to be wealthier than most highway serial killers that have existed; spike strips are expensive and often break after one use at high speed.”
“The skull and bones symbol is meant to pull us off the scent of how sophisticated this unsub’s traps are,” said Prentiss. “It may look outwardly childish, but that’s exactly what it’s designed to do. This unsub also has access to spike traps, and is quick enough at deploying them to not have to set them up in advance. Otherwise, every truck that enters and leaves those rest areas would run over the traps when truckers are not the unsub’s targets.”
“We also believe this unsub is using a zip gun to hide what type of weapon he’s using, and because those are not registered in any gun records. We’ve seen a hitman use this once before, but there are plenty of other people with connections to organized crime, or who are just handy enough with engineering, that could make such a gun as this,” said Hotch.
“This unsub is very unlikely to kill near this location again. None of the previous crime scenes are within 65 miles of the next, so we know he isn’t local. This unfortunately leaves a very, very wide pool of victims and potential suspects. We know how to narrow it down, but we’d be starting from literally millions of people,” Reid explained.
“Canvassing will only be so effective,” said JJ. “The forensics crew found a few fingerprints so they may provide us with who we’re dealing with, but since we know he is not local, how effective that piece of evidence will be at catching him is minimal. It took us months to find unsubs that moved around a lot.” She thought of Foyet and the tragedy that led to, and the threats they were under now.
Prentiss looked over at her wife with concern.
“So if canvassing isn’t going to help, why are you guys bothering telling us this?” asked one of the officers.
“It’s to provide the information we have access to. When witnesses call in and report something suspicious, you’ll have these details to remember the unsub by.”
The rest of that evening went by without incident as the BAU team reviewed all the files of the crime scenes up to this point. All of them agreed that this was a very efficient killer who left none alive and little in the way of clues, so this bright spray painted skull and crossbones seemed a strange choice to make. Finally, when they were all too tired to continue on, they bid each other goodnight and returned to their hotel rooms.
In the middle of the night, Emily awoke to find herself missing the comforting skin-to-skin contact with her wife. She first assumed that JJ must have needed the bathroom, but after a few minutes, not a sound had come from there. Emily climbed out of bed, and walked over to the bathroom. It too was empty.
If there’d been a struggle, she would’ve heard it. JJ must have gone out into the rest of the hotel by herself; she must have. Emily turned on the hotel room lights and there was a note left on the hotel room memo pad. It was quite clear there wasn’t any great threat to their safety to worry about tonight.
“Couldn’t sleep well; gone to get some air. If you see this check the pool. 🤍.”
The pool? JJ hadn’t gone swimming, had she? Emily strained to think of the last time she’d seen JJ in a swimsuit, which probably would have been their Greek honeymoon; it wasn’t something a BAU member usually had time to do. And having lived with JJ for years now, Emily knew what she put in her go bag and a swimsuit wasn’t it.
Deciding the reason JJ went to the pool was immaterial compared to her stress, Emily pulled on a pair of her socks and her nightshirt and left the hotel room, quietly walked down the hall and took the stairs instead of the elevator.
The Baymont Inn’s pool room was surprisingly big, and had multiple exterior windows, all of which were pitch black from the contrast of the light in the room and the darkness outside.
JJ was sitting on the edge of the hotel pool, just with her legs in the water. She wasn’t in swim clothes; she hadn’t changed her clothes from when she went to bed earlier that night, only she too had put her shirt back on. At the sound of the door opening, she looked up and didn’t feel at all surprised to see Emily enter.
“Is everything okay, sweetie?” she asked. JJ didn’t respond.
Emily pulled off her socks and sat down as JJ was, on the edge of the pool. JJ instinctively let on what she was feeling, why the case was bothering her.
“All we have is the profile. The pool of people is way too big for even Garcia to make a dent in anything. He could be anywhere: Iowa, Illinois, Minnesota, Saskatchewan for all I know.”
“Remember Mike Williams and Josh Leonard?” Emily asked. “How helpless you felt then?”
“And we got them. I know, Em.”
“Worrying about it won’t do any good tonight, sweetie.”
“He could be out there right now and we’d have no idea until it’s too late. Is that worth someone else dying?”
Emily wrapped her arms around her wife.
“You know what Dave would say to that,”
“Yeah, but knowing what part of my mind does that doesn’t make it stop by itself.”
They sat in silence but for the sound of water flowing into the pool skimmer next to Emily.
“How long do you think we can afford to live where we do without pay?” JJ asked. It’d been a topic of conversation she’d been wanting to bring up for a while, but never found the right time. They’d always been out busy on a case, or busy living their home lives.
“I’d say we’ve got resources to last a year, with some belt tightening. There’s no way the government goes without a deal for that long,” said Emily.
“That’s good,” JJ murmured.
“I feel like we both need sleep, sweetie, no matter how hard it seems,” Emily soothed.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
Emily kissed JJ on the cheek and stood up from the edge of the pool. She took her wife’s hand and pulled her up. They dried off what was wet, returned to their hotel room, kept their shirts on, and fell asleep much more easily than JJ had anticipated she would.
Unfortunately, JJ’s worrying mind was right about one thing. Tony Mecacci was out on the highways during their very conversation about it. A lone motorist lay dead against his steering wheel.
The next morning, the BAU team met at the police station instead of the lobby of the hotel. Rossi had texted saying he had an idea, but it was far too long to explain in a single text message.
“Last night I remembered something. Hotch knows this story,” Rossi said as they gathered that morning. “There was a case in and around Memphis in the 80s. 20 Black men had been killed in their cars over a couple years. We were invited in because the community was terrified. It took that many just for the police to request our help.”
“After some examination of the more recent crime scenes and witness testimony, we deduced that the unsub was using a cop ruse, namely sirens and lights, to get Black motorists to pull over so he could kill them. Then, another killing happened and we determined that the unsub pulled the motorists over in pre-planned locations with spike strips blocking the exit, so their cars would be incapacitated. It was there that the unsub killed them. After so many scenes used spike strips, this led us to determine that the cop ruse wasn’t a ruse at all, and it was just a killer cop using his position to fulfill racist fantasies of murder.”
“If only that were a rarity among cops,” said Morgan. “The people I worked alongside in Chicago had plenty of their good moments, but they had more than anyone’s share of bad ones, too.”
“Gordinski,” said JJ.
“Exactly,” said Rossi. “We presented the profile to the Memphis PD that the unsub was a cop, maybe even multiple cops, and they rescinded their request for our help almost immediately. The unsub used his authority as a cop to intimidate Black motorists into his traps and keep tabs on the investigation, and his membership in the Memphis Police Union to force us to surrender.”
“That’s horrible,” said Prentiss.
“Remember how you felt when Vance Tatham tried to rule those cases were suicides?” Rossi asked. “That’s how we all felt when they sent us away.”
“You guys couldn’t take over?” Prentiss asked.
“We had no jurisdiction,” said Rossi. “The unsub knew enough as to how to officially never bring us in again. He never crossed the border into Arkansas or Mississippi, and he never even left the Memphis PD’s jurisdiction, so it never became even a state case, let alone a federal one. The Memphis Police Union kept claiming they would solve the case, but those jagoffs just kept sitting on their asses as innocent civilians were being slaughtered. At one point they even threatened to sue the BAU and the newspapers for slander before W.J. Michael Cody, the Tennessee Attorney General, told them to drop it.”
“How long did it go on like that?” asked JJ.
“Four more years, and 23 more people had died beyond the first 20 and the 2 while we were there,” said Rossi. “I kept a subscription to the Memphis Daily News for 10 years to keep as much of an eye on the case as I was allowed to. After that, he stopped killing. I never knew why. It pained me for decades.”
“Decades? That means it’s over and this unsub isn’t the same guy?” JJ continued.
“No, it’s a different guy, alright,” Rossi answered.
“How do you know?” asked JJ. Reid took a deep breath; he must have already known the answer.
“Completely different ballistics, I’d imagine,” said Prentiss.
“Well, yes, that too, but that’s not the main story. In September 2007, in Methodist South Hospital in Memphis, James Milton Warren, a newly retired cop, confessed to all 45 murders on his deathbed after a brutal horse riding accident. He fully admitted that his killings were racially motivated, and he taunted the world for never being able to catch him. He said he used his beat to stalk Black people who’d patronized various businesses in the Green Book and there’d been enough complaints from the Hotel Clark that he finally decided that would get him caught.”
To say that Prentiss, JJ, and Morgan were speechless at this turn in Rossi’s story would be an understatement. And Reid most certainly had heard about this case but it still chilled him. This unsub had been pure evil, and he’d won. He got away with it. As Morgan had said, this was all too common in the South and the North, but it was particularly awful that one man could dole out so much evil.
“Some of the newer Memphis police searched his house and found that he’d been re-living his kills for decades with scrapbooks and whatnot. According to Violet Chapman, the nurse on duty, Warren died laughing. Chapman was so traumatized she’d been caring for such a monster that she quit her job and moved to Rhode Island.”
“Dave…” Prentiss murmured.
“After I saw that case come to a close with such an evil unsub dying as a free old man, and he would’ve still been alive and scot free if not for that accident, I started thinking about the Galen case more and more. That was the other one that consumed me to no end, and then I learned that Agent Gideon had quit his BAU position. I knew that I couldn’t rest with both of those cases having the chance to go unsolved until too late, so I came back.”
JJ thought back to something Rossi had said to her when they were hunting for the two men behind the Blair Witch Project.
“Sometimes they get away. Sometimes forever. But that doesn’t ruin the rest of the work you’ve done.”
No doubt Rossi would’ve been thinking about James Milton Warren at that point.
“But there’s a lot that’s different about this case from James Milton Warren,” said Hotch. “Warren kept his crimes just in the Memphis metropolitan area, and more importantly, in the state of Tennessee. Our new unsub has crossed jurisdictional lines every time and has killed in at least six different midwestern states. It’s like Armando Salina in California or Heinrich Sauber in Maine.”
“And you said this was in the actual urban city of Memphis?” asked Prentiss.
“They almost all did,” said Rossi.
“And all of these are at pretty rural rest stops, decidedly not in the city,” said Prentiss.
“Security cameras, for better and worse, are much better than what they were back then. Warren’s killings were explicitly racially motivated, and this unsub has shown no preference; both white and black families have lost their lives to him,” Reid continued.
“So we’ve got a matching M.O., but not a matching location or victimology,” said Morgan. “If Warren knew enough to not get us involved, then this unsub is doing a poor job of keeping us off his back. That means he either has no idea how jurisdiction works, or he wants us feds to be the ones investigating.”
“Well, we can’t afford to wait for this unsub to get trampled by a horse,” said JJ. “We’ve got a deadline.”
A short drive away, and the BAU team converged on the rest area 22. Officer Yates was already waiting for them.
“His name’s Miles Laverne,” said Officer Yates.
“His?” asked JJ. “Just one person?”
“Yeah,” and sure enough, it was. Like before, there was a similar level of damage to the tires, and the new piece of the scene, spray paint on the trunk door.
“I’d say the unsub’s completed his signature,” said Morgan.
“Except he hasn’t,” said Hotch. “It’d been families this whole time until now, that we know of. This matches the rest of the signature except it’s a lone motorist now.”
“And it’s much closer to the previous scene than any of the similar killings before it,” said Morgan.
“That’s a devolution if we’ve ever seen one,” said Prentiss.
Back at the hotel and with new information, they called Garcia. All of the previous killings had been at night so there was very little they could do to prevent anything while the sun’s rays still held eminence.
“So, friends, I’ve taken a second pass at all the police records and 911 operator records from the closest departments and dispatches to each of the locations of the murders,” said Garcia.
“Were there any 911 calls involving tire spikes?” asked Hotch.
“Only one since the first connected murder in Kentucky,” said Garcia. “New Harmony Rest Area and Indiana Welcome Center, near Stewartsville, Indiana. For those playing at home, that’s on interstate 64 in Indiana’s southwest corner.”
“Wait, that’s not one of the locations we identified,” said Prentiss.
“Correct, Em. I went around and asked every 911 dispatcher in the targeted states about anything of the sort, and only one came up. One not connected to a murder scene,” said Garcia.
“Were the callers found safe?” asked Rossi.
“They were, sir,” Garcia answered. “Highway patrol found them and took them all the way to their home in Poseyville, two towns over.”
“So the unsub doesn’t automatically know if anyone’s run over their spike strips the moment it happens, and the one family that called 911 got home safely,” Prentiss thought aloud.
“So, even with the spike strips as traps you can’t just sneak up on someone with a car. It’s not the Batmobile; it will still make noise,” said Reid.
“And they’d have to learn that their trap’s been hit but without drawing too much attention to their intentions from their victims or the powers that be,” said Morgan. “What fits both?”
“Would there be any way the traps themselves could send some signal to the unsub?” asked JJ.
“It’s possible, Jayje, but I’d definitely rule it out knowing that one of the traps was triggered but the driver got away.”
“Roadside assistance?” Rossi suggested.
“Garcia, run through all the employees of AAA in the Midwest. Stick to what we’ve got in the profile.”
“Can do,” said Garcia. “I imagine we’ll still have way too many names to nail it down; AAA has 45,000 employees nationwide.”
“You’ve gone through bigger numbers than that, mama,” said Morgan.
Garcia giggled, then got back to work.
After a short drive to the FBI resident office in Madison, as she had done many times as media liaison, JJ stood up on her podium with a script she had prepared.
“Good evening. The FBI has recently classified a series of eight killings along highway rest areas in the midwestern United States over the past few months as linked, and to prevent any further loss of life, we have information to share with you all. We will take questions at the end.”
The cavalcade of reporters from Chicago and Milwaukee and beyond took their seats.
“Among eight rest areas across the midwest since December, there have been spike traps illegally laid at the exits at night. At all of the known locations of these spike traps, the victims’ cars have come to an abrupt halt where minutes later, all occupants of the cars have been shot dead. We also know that no 911 calls were made before any of the killings, so we must stress this: if you run across one of these spike traps, call 911 as your first option. We believe the killer may either be an employee of a roadside assistance agency or give the impression of one.”
This final piece of information caught a few gasps in the crowd of reporters. It was memorable, and that was good. It meant as many motorists as possible would be on the lookout.
That night, JJ’s theory would be put to a test, as the Emmer family was returning home from a restaurant.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Flump. Flump.
“Oh, what the fuck!? -Sorry, kids.”
The kids giggled at hearing a swear. The mother, Bridgit, gave her husband a disapproving look, but when coming across tire spikes out of nowhere, one was bound to react emotionally.
Monty Emmer got out of the car and examined the scene, and to his horror but not his surprise, there were spike strips. He’d seen JJ’s broadcast and immediately knew what to do.
“Bridgit, call 911! We’re in danger! It’s got to be him!”
She did so.
Monty ran back to the car and pulled out a flashlight.
“Don’t put the hazards on, dear. That’ll attract his attention,” he said.
“Okay,” said Bridgit. She cautiously called 911, explained where they were to the operator, and within ten minutes, a highway patrol car arrived in order to safely escort the Emmers back to their home in Fort Atkinson, east of Madison. The next morning, a real AAA truck would arrive on the scene, replace their tires, and they’d be able to safely escape the trap.
But alas, while one family was saved, they were no closer to learning who the killer was.
“So, I looked through as many AAA roadside assistance employees as I could, but we’d need dozens of cooperative police forces to check every viable location of AAA near any of the killings,” said Garcia.
“And with the amount of distance the unsub travels, and the limited amount of time we have while the FBI is still open, there’s only so much we can do there,” said Prentiss. “So what can we do there?”
“I don’t have access to the records of the phone calls to roadside assistance, there’s too much to go through all by myself, and Kevin has his own project at the moment.”
“So we should go to the nearest AAA to the scene of the Faulks’ murders,” said Hotch.
“I’ll go with you,” said Prentiss.
When Prentiss and Hotch arrived at the Janesville AAA office, around four employees and zero patrons were presently there. When they saw the FBI agents, they all got up from their seats.
“My name is Agent Hotchner, these are my colleagues Agent Prentiss and Dr. Reid.” Hotch held up his badge.
“How can I help you?”
“How far back do you keep calls to your dispatch on file?” Hotch asked. “We may need to examine them to help determine if one of your contractors is someone we’re looking for.”
“Is this that highway killer?” asked one of the dispatchers.
“Indeed. The Faulk family was killed over the weekend. Did you receive any calls on Saturday night about a car driving over a spike strip and needing new tires near Janesville?” asked Prentiss.
“No,” said a young Black woman. Her name tag idenfied her as Maryamu Lund. “I was the only one here working that night shift, and though I would’ve been tired, I would remember something that unusual. Could someone have intercepted the call?”
“Maybe,” said Reid. “We already know our unsub has enough resources to purchase multiple spike traps.”
“Unsub?” asked Lund.
“Unknown subject,” said Prentiss.
“Could they have intercepted the victim’s call?” asked another dispatcher.
“Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen an unsub do that,” said Prentiss. “It’s possible. Do your contractors always have the AAA logo on their tow trucks? If so, that’d help with the credibility of their ruse.”
“Yeah, red pickup trucks that say AAA Emergency Services,” said Lund.
“Is there any way we could confidently identify a truck that looked like yours but wasn’t?” asked Hotch.
“You’d need a VIN to do that,” said Lund, “but you’d need the truck to be stopped to get the VIN, and if you’ve done that you probably already know they’re your killer.”
“Thank you,” said Prentiss.
“I hope you catch him,” said Lund. “If someone’s pretending to be us and using that to kill people, I can’t wait to see him behind bars.”
But before Prentiss and Hotch returned to the rest of the group that evening, Garcia had found something not by her search of AAA employees, but another source.
“Absolutely massive update,” said Garcia. “The forensics people were able to lift one single fingerprint from the scene of the Faulks’ murder.”
“That’s big,” said Rossi. “Did it match anyone in the Wisconsin criminal database?”
“Not Wisconsin,” said Garcia. “And not any of the other states in which the roadside killings took place, but, unbelievably, it’s someone we’ve dealt with before.”
“Who?” asked JJ, jumping up from her swivel chair.
“Tony Mecacci, also known as Bosola.”
“Bosola?!” asked Rossi.
One of the few unsubs to ever completely evade the BAU, one who had killed in Rossi’s hometown, and now he was imitating one of the crimes that had haunted Rossi the most.
“You want his face absolutely everywhere, yes?” JJ said, and didn’t wait for an answer. “She ran off to make calls to every media contact in Wisconsin and Chicago she knew.
Once Hotch and Prentiss returned to the group, they were just as filled with determination to catch someone who’d slipped through their fingers once before.
That night, there weren’t any attacks made by Mecacci. Now he was actually devolving.
The next morning, Tony Mecacci walked into a Denny’s and took a seat. The waitress took his order of orange juice, eggs, and bacon and went back to the kitchen so the cooks could prepare it. He couldn’t help but notice that eyes were straying in his direction from people who surely could not have had a reason to do so. Even the hostess had avoided eye contact with him once she told him to wait a few minutes for a table earlier.
“Is that him?” asked a hushed voice from one table away, finally, above the whispered din.
“Yes, that’s him,” said another hushed voice.
“Call 911,” a woman said, and then got up from her table and walked towards the hostess, presumably to explain to her how dangerous the man sitting in the restaurant was.
Mecacci chanced a glance across the aisle to a newspaper sitting at the table the woman had just left. There, on the front page of the Wisconsin State Journal was his own mugshot from his trial in New York. His name was listed as the caption as well as his suspicion from the killings across the Midwest. His instincts from his time as a hitman took over. He ran away from the table and ran out the front entrance of the diner.
He climbed into his tow truck.
“They know where I am,” he texted to John Curtis.
“Then go where we arranged,” Curtis texted back. “Everything is ready to proceed.”
Sirens were approaching behind him. He got the truck into gear. It was a manual transmission so it took a moment. He’d hoped it would be a while longer before he was identified; it hadn’t quite been a week since he had met with Curtis near Janesville. But, it would have to do. Maybe he could improvise.
“We’ve got a sighting!” shouted Logan Yates, running into the office where the BAU were stationed.
“Multiple people called from the Denny’s in northeast Madison, they saw him and recognized him, and he fled the scene in a tow truck.”
“Sick bastard didn’t know we were onto him,” said Morgan. “Nightstalker all over again.”
“Only this time he was able to get away from the civilians,” said Reid.
“Let’s go get him,” said Rossi.
JJ, Prentiss, and Rossi climbed into one SUV. Hotch, Reid, and Morgan climbed into the other. They raced northeast to follow Mecacci, catching up to him after half an hour. Other police units had been feeding the BAU team his location.
The long chase finally led them to the Glacier Hills Wind Farm. Tony Mecacci was standing there in front of his tow truck. He had regained calm from his description at the restaurant.
“Stay back! Stay at your cars!” He shouted as the BAU team got out of the SUVs.
“We’re the ones giving the orders here, Mecacci,” said Rossi.
“No you’re not. And neither am I,” said Mecacci.
“So you admit it? You’re a pawn?” Hotch aggressively asked.
“I’ve always been so,” said Mecacci. “First with the Genoveses, then for the judge, even now. I see no point in hiding that since you’ve caught me. Not like you’ll have the funds to hold me for long with that debt ceiling looming.”
“So, the last time we dealt with you, you were sent after people who’d messed with kids. Now you’re killing families with kids,” said Morgan. “What a damn hypocrite, you only care about the money.”
Given Mecacci’s cavalier nature about what had to be numerous captures and releases, JJ didn’t think Morgan calling him a hypocrite would have much of an effect at all.
“If only Judge Schuller could see you now, Mecacci,” said Rossi.
“None of this is personal, even dealing with you,” said Mecacci. “All that blood that splattered onto you when I shot Schuller, Agent Jareau? Just business.”
“Then how do you know my name? You never met us before,” said JJ. Mecacci didn’t answer.
“Like I said, I’ve always been a pawn. The Replicator told me all about you.”
Of course he had. And this confirmed JJ, Garcia, and Prentiss’s suspicions.
“You know how we knew you had more victims in Commack?” Rossi asked. “I made it personal.”
“What worked for me then has worked for me now this entire time,” said Mecacci.
“And what’s that?” asked Rossi.
“Misdirection,” said Mecacci, and seconds later, an explosion rocked one of the wind turbines. Now his reason for retreating to such an unusual place was revealed. Suddenly it was in flames and the turbine blades spun around ablaze. It was fascinating to look at, and that was exactly the problem.
Prentiss was caught unawares, as Mecacci had suddenly produced his tire iron zip gun from nowhere and pointed it right at her while everyone was distracted by the explosion. Hotch turned his head away and saw it just in time.
“Gun!” he shouted, and seconds later, Mecacci was shot three times. Who had fired it?
Everyone turned their heads away from the damaged wind turbine in the direction of the sound of the shots. JJ was holding her pistol up, and was breathing heavily. Her face was very red. Smoke was coming out of the muzzle.
“Oh my god,” she said. Mecacci laid on the ground, clearly dead. JJ had shot him through the brain and the throat.
JJ dropped her pistol and shook her hands out as if they were wet. She ran away from the rest of the team, still feverishly shaking her hands. This was very different from the time she killed Garcia’s shooter, and everyone knew it.
Prentiss followed her.
“JJ! It was him or me. You made the right call.”
“I know, I know. That’s not what worries me.”
“Then what does?” Prentiss urgently asked.
“I’m too efficient.” JJ hung her head.
“What?”
“As far as I can remember, I’ve never missed a shot, even though my job basically never requires me to use it.”
Prentiss was about to ask why her accuracy with a weapon scared her so much, but she already knew the answer.
“Elle, isn’t it,” she said in a soft voice.
JJ nodded and gave a silent “mm-hmm” that Prentiss could still understand as if she’d shouted.
“You’re not her. You’re not.” Elle herself had said so. It just hadn't been an issue in JJ's life since then; she'd never had to take another life since Jason Battle.
The rest of the team silently and unanimously decided not to follow Prentiss after JJ; this was better left to the two of them.
“Someone at the wind farm must have set the explosive charge in the turbine,” said Hotch. “Thankfully it was too far away from any of us to cause any danger.”
“That means they’re probably not the most dangerous person out there and we can tell the police to deal with that one,” said Rossi. “One of the turbines was so much closer to us; if they wanted to kill us, they would’ve blown up that one.”
“Misdirection,” Reid pondered. “It worked for him then and worked for him now. It can’t just be the bomb in the turbine, what else is he misdirecting us on?”
Nobody said anything, as nobody had any concrete idea.
“Keeping our eyes fixed on him. Making us blind to all else that moves,” Reid continued, paraphrasing Tolkien.
“Elle said Curtis was talking to her, trying to recruit her, he definitely would want another person we’ve dealt with to come at us, someone who even got the best of us last time,” said Morgan.
“Something else is coming. Something big,” said Rossi.
The drive from the wind farm back to the hotel in Janesville was quiet, as was the roughly hour long flight from the Southern Wisconsin Regional Airport back to Quantico’s airstrip. Little was done; not much in the way of paperwork except for Hotch, no games of cards or chess, no anecdotes, not even sleep. Just near silent ponderances for an hour. It was late upon their arrival at the banks of the Potomac, so they called it a night and returned to their residences.
JJ was still rather shaken up when the two of them got back to their apartment. JJ changed silently into a comfortable t-shirt and thin pajama bottoms, got into bed, and lay still in the dark. Much more than she usually wore to bed at home with her wife these days.
“Would anything at all make you feel better, sweetie?” Emily asked as she got changed out of her work clothes into her nightclothes. “And that means anything,” she added, but not in a lecherous tone.
“Emily, I’m definitely not having sex tonight or for a while. I’ve just killed a man. I love you more than anything in the world and I always will, but I need some time to get back into a good headspace for something like that.”
Emily lowered her head to line her eyes up with the dresser. She knew how that felt. And JJ knew Emily would understand. They didn’t fall in love with zero personal connections, after all.
“Can we just lie still together, then? I’ll be the big spoon.” She pulled on the softest camisole nightshirt she could find.
“Yeah,” JJ said, just barely audibly, but she also gestured weakly for Emily to join her. Emily turned off the lights in their bedroom and slipped into bed with her wife.
“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m here; I always will be. I love you so much; more than anything I’ve ever known.” She gently planted a kiss on the back of JJ’s neck and snuggled tightly up with her.
“I love you too,” said JJ. The two of them fell asleep in the warm, safe, embrace that they’d learned to think of as home more than their apartment. Whether they were safe in their furnished apartment or in a crummy, non-air conditioned hotel in Texas in the summer, the embrace between the two of them was where they were home. That night, every member of the BAU, whether they were with someone or by themselves, knew that things were likely ramping up to Curtis’s endgame, but for tonight, all of them were able to sleep soundly.
Two days later, an alarm sounded. A cell in the United States Penitentiary in Leavenworth, Kansas was empty with a highly important and dangerous prisoner missing. This was a maximum security prison, so what happened here shouldn’t be possible. But it was. The guards searched everywhere, but the prisoner was long gone. Across the river in Missouri, a car was waiting. John Curtis was waiting in the driver’s seat as the prisoner, drenched from swimming across the Missouri River, nearly 1000 feet wide, approached. Curtis got out of the car and gave him a towel.
“Thank you,” the man said, drying himself off.
“You can thank me by helping me get my revenge.”
“This had better work, Curtis. The last time I tried, I failed, and the BAU only learns with every case,”
“It will, Tatham. Now, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
JJ and Prentiss arrived at work the next morning, and Hotch was looking much grimmer than usual.
“JJ, Prentiss, I need to speak with you both at once,” he said urgently. JJ and Prentiss didn’t question it. They put down their stuff and walked into Hotch’s office, hoping this wasn’t that someone had complained that they’d been too lovey-dovey and attached to each other on a case. Hopefully nobody had seen that they’d been inappropriate with each other alone on the jet during the investigation of Bobby Fontaine.
“What’s going on, Hotch?” Prentiss inquired.
“Last night, Vance Tatham broke out of Leavenworth.”
Well, someone finding out that they’d had sex on the jet when they were by themselves would’ve been a blessing now. The guy who’d sent assassins after Prentiss specifically, but also the whole BAU, and kidnapped Carrie, was back.
“It’s the first time anyone’s escaped from Leavenworth since 1998. There’s a manhunt being conducted across Kansas and Missouri, and it will likely expand further, but knowing how Foyet went, I have a feeling this will get worse before it gets better.”
“Was there any evidence left behind in his cell?” Prentiss asked.
“He wrote ‘see you soon’ in his cell.”
“John Curtis. He’s behind this,” said JJ. “He wants us to know he’s behind it, just like Maine.”
“But, I want to assure you both this: we’ve learned from Foyet. We’ll be more prepared.”
“We have to be,” said Prentiss. “For Carrie.”
JJ: James Baldwin said, “there is never time in the future in which we will work out our salvation. The challenge is in the moment; the time is always now.”
That day was a day filled with paperwork. JJ had to report what she discharged her gun for, defense of a teammate. Hotch signed off on the form and Strauss understood. Unlike when dealing with the aftermath of Foyet, where it was clear that Hotch had gone further than necessary to defuse the situation, JJ had acted clearly, rationally, and efficiently. JJ’s fiercest critic of her actions at the wind farm was herself. Midway through the afternoon, Garcia came into the room. She lacked any of her usual bubbliness.
“Turn on the news. Now,” she said.
“This is WUSA Channel 9 news in Washington. We have breaking news that multiple killers have broken free from prisons across the US almost simultaneously.”
The seven members of the BAU team as well as several others who had desks in the bullpen gathered around the television.
“Last night, Vance Tatham, a former NSA agent connected with multiple murders and convicted for taking orders from the Russian government, broke out of the United States Penitentiary in Leavenworth. This morning, former FBI Agent and convicted kidnapper Vincent Shyer broke out of the Northern Correctional Institution in Connecticut. Almost at the exact same time, Gary Scott, one of two murderers and family annihilators that terrorized Denver in 2007, broke out of the Arkansas Valley Correctional Prison in Colorado. Finally, former Congressman Hugh Donovan, expelled from Congress and imprisoned for sex trafficking, escaped from the Coleman 1 supermax prison in Central Florida. Authorities have not yet released any comment as to whether these four separate breakouts are linked, but given their near simultaneity, it seems likely. As to how four prisoners, each in a different state, could coordinate such a breakout, there will be many questions. Manhunts are underway in Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Connecticut, Florida, and beyond. More on this story as it develops.”
Murmurs went around the room after Channel 9 went back to commercials. Every single one of those people had been put away by the BAU over the years. And now the federal government was about to run out of money, so they had to find all of these guys within a month. They knew Curtis was behind Vance Tatham’s escape, but all of them?
“... Fuck ,” gasped Rossi, breaking the tension.
“You said it,” said Morgan.
“Those have to be linked. Looks like Curtis got everyone who wanted to help him out of prison,” said Hotch.
“And there are likely plenty more who aren’t in prison at all,” Reid continued.
“So what do all these guys have in common, besides being locked up by us?” asked JJ.
“All of them except for Gary have worked for the federal government so they’ll have a decent idea of how we do things. That’s probably one of the reasons he tried to recruit Elle as a partner,” said Prentiss.
“They’re all resentful white guys.”
“Donovan and Shyer are both criminally obsessed with children,” said Morgan, “and Gary was part of a child-killing duo.”
“Just Gary got out, not Ervin Robles?” asked Prentiss.
“If they’d both gotten out, the news would’ve reported it,” said JJ.
“He’s probably too sad to go on a killing spree again; apparently he was already having reservations after Carrie survived,” said Hotch.
“This is bad. Far too many violent men willing to join Curtis’s cause,” said Prentiss.
“Far too little time to find them before our resources run out,” said JJ.
So this was it. Little more than a month to take down the most dangerous group of killers they’d ever seen.