1 | 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐄 ⭃ Spencer Reid

7.2

"Alright. We know organized killed are often skilled workers with above average intelligence," Derek stated as he began to count of facts, details, "and in most cases, male. In the workplace, he's socially confident. And with women, sexually confident."

"To him, targeting the victim is almost as pleasurable as the actual kill. He's meticulous. Everything has to have its proper place. He does exhaustive amounts of research on his victims. He watches their every move, every last detail is observed. Everything has to be written ever so neatly in a book or possibly a journal. Like, when the kids are comin' home from school and when daddy'll be home. Playtime. Suppertime. Bath time. Bedtime. Plan the work...work the plan."

"This is the way he maintains control. It's also how he personalities his target...so nothing's left to chance and absolutely nothing is left out of place. Ever. He takes great pride in his job."

Caroline leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and her face in the palms of her hands. "So the workplace has to be the connection."

As her mind began to wrack countless possibilities—places, people, things—Gideon and Hotch walked over the the group of profilers. Hotch rested his back against the divider between Caroline and Spencer as Gideon stood in front of the cluster of desks, holding up two paintings. One was the colorful photo they had recovered from Frank's house. The other was a black and white child's painting with the same setup: a nice house with a mom, a dad, 2 children and a small dog standing out from it. Judging by the names scrawled on the bottom left hand corner of the papers, they were both paintings by Emily Crawford.

"Both are by Emily, painted months apart." Gideon presented the colorful to them first, showing the easygoing brushstrokes of a child. "This one...is full of color, life." He then held up the black and white picture. "The one I found at Emily's House has lines, dimensions. No color. I believe Emily was coerced to paint this. It's a point of view. It's his point of view. This is where the killed stood and just watched the family."

The sound of something metal rattled against Caroline's desk and she whirled, startled, to Hotch, dropping his wedding ring on her desk, the gold band twirled as it lost its momentum, circling with a metallic clinging sound. After a moment, Hotch reaches down and picked it up gently, slipping the ring back on his left ring finger.

"Each of the dead husbands was missing his wedding ring," Hotch said, staring at his wedding band, "This is the unsub's trophy. He targets a family because he lost his own, and for a few days, he gets to play daddy."

"And he can do whatever he wants because no one's going to come looking because they're supposed to be on vacation," Caroline whispered, shaking her head in horrific disbelief. All the things he did to torture those poor families...he had all the time in the world.

And yet, he forced the children to paint. Caroline's brow furrowed in thought as the conversation continued.

"Let's get forensics to check the inside of Chris Crawford's clothing," Gideon said. "The suspect may have worn the father's clothes to complete the fantasy."

Elle sighed, "So, why kill them?"

"Because," Gideon replied, "the fantasy can't last."

"Do we know anything that actually helps us identify this bastard?" Elle demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Maybe," Caroline whispered so softly she as surprised anyone heard her.

Agent Greenaway's head swiveled toward her, curious. "What?"

The young profiler slowly rose out of her chair and approached Gideon, her eyes locked on the paintings. She was well-aware of everyone's eyes on her, stalking her every move. They waited patiently as her mind began to connect pieces of the profile.