" The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you will see. "
— Winston Churchill
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1.1 ; EXTREME AGGRESSOR.
THE MOMENT THE SUV stopped, the team began to pile out of the sleek, bulletproof van and headed towards the large white jet waiting for them on the wet pavement. Caroline carefully stepped out, hiking her slacks above her ankles carefully so they didn't touch the dirty puddles from the rain that came in earlier this morning. Her heels clicked on the pavement loudly as she followed Morgan and Gideon with Reid on her heels towards the jet.
She was vaguely aware of Hotch hanging behind them, discussing something in deep thought with one of their superiors, but she tried her best not to eavesdrop. She knew that Hotch hated it when she did that.
"Caroline, wait!" She heard Reid say from behind her. Her nerves raced but she slowed her pace down slightly, shortening her strides so he could catch up to her.
She knew that this had been coming. They had to talk about what happened six months ago sometime, and the longer they put it off, the more awkward it gets. She just had to get it over with, like ripping off a bandaid.
She glanced beside her as she saw Reid glide up beside her, matching her pace in order to keep up with her. He was carrying a large silver case, undoubtedly a forensic kit of some sort. He had always been into chemistry, so that sort of thing wasn't odd for him.
"Hey, Reid, I know we haven't gotten a chance to talk yet, but—"
"I think Hotch wants to replace Gideon."
Caroline blinked a couple of times, trying to comprehend what he just said. "Excuse me?"
"Hotch. I heard him talking to one of the FBI coordinators. They were talking about Hotch giving an assessment of Gideon in case he can't profile in the field and—"
"Reid, are you sure that's what you heard?" She asked him skeptically as they boarded the plane. "You could've taken it out of context. Hotch would never try and replace Gideon."
"Care, I have an eidetic memory. Of course I'm sure." He told her, frowning.
The two settled down beside each other on the jet with Caroline draping her coat over on one of the arms of the seats while Reid settled in next to her, setting down his silver case while grabbing files to lay on the table in front of them.
"I just think you might be over-reacting." She told him quietly. "I know Hotch, and he wouldn't betray Gideon, or any of us, like that. Okay?"
Reid sighed, clearly resigned from the subject. "Okay."
It was silent for a moment, the only sounds were Derek and Hotch chatting in the front and the sound of the jet's engine purring like as it was about to take off. Caroline nervously tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear before speaking.
Rip it off like a bandaid, just like a bandaid...
"Look, I think we should talk about what happened—"
She was suddenly interrupted by Gideon, who had been fairly quiet on the trip, but was making up for it now. "What do we have?"
She gave out a little puff, both relieved and annoyed at the same time. Relieved, that she had been saved from a potentially awkward situation, but annoyed because that meant it was still going to be there and it was going to bother her until it was resolved.
Reid looked over at her, confused, but she just raised her hand and waved it dismissively.
"I'll just...talk to you later, I guess." She murmured to him, which he nodded reluctantly to before both of the young profilers tuned into the conversation.
Reid began to read off the file laying on the table in front of them. "His first victim was 26-year-old Melissa Kirsh. Stab wounds, strangulation—"
"Wait, wait, back up." Derek interrupted, gripping the back of Caroline's seat. "He stabbed her...and then strangled her to finish her off?"
"Other way around." Gideon corrected him. "Why do you think he started using the belt with the second murder?"
Caroline frowned as she thought. "Strangulation with your bare hands isn't easy. He probably tried, found that it took too long, so he stabbed her instead."
"And realized it would be hours cleaning up the blood." Hotch told them as he slowly sank down in the chair across from Caroline.
Derek began to tap his fingers against her chair, which she almost immediately became annoyed with. "So, next time, our boy's got a method -- the belt."
"He's learning, perfecting his scenario." Gideon said. "Becoming a better killer."
"What does that mean in relationship to the unsub?" Derek asked him. "He's creating his M.O.?"
Then, that feeling of horror she usually gets when working a case trickled down her spine as she realized what the Seattle Strangler was doing.
"No, he's not creating his M.O. He's becoming more sadistic, more controlled—"
"Like he's devolving?"
"Like he's evolving. He's becoming an organized serial killer. And he won't stop until he gets caught."
➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴
After the long, never-ending flight from Virginia to Washington, the team finally arrived at the F.B.I Northwest Field Office in Seattle. Caroline slipped out of the dark SUV after doing a quick stretch and followed the rest of the BAU inside calmly, resting her bags on the security check point, allowing them to search her things. The officer pawed through her go-bag, messing up the folded and clean clothes she had painstakingly organized the night before. She glared at the officer as he handed her bag and began to go through her case files in her satchel. She tried to organize her things but to no avail. He had already screwed up her whole bag.
She sighed, zipping up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder carelessly.
Suddenly, Caroline felt someone staring at her. She glanced behind her shoulder, peeking through her blonde hair in a vain attempt to hide her face. That's when she saw Him.
He remained faceless, as always. His face was nothing more than a lopsided pile of flesh with empty eye sockets and a large gaping hole lined with sharp, jagged teeth for a mouth. He grinned at her with his decayed yellow teeth, pleased he caught her attention.
"Caroline." He whispered in her ear, his disgusting breath caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand straight up. "Look at me."
She took several deep breaths, trying to maintain her composure. She didn't like being surrounded the big crowd of agents, it only made her feel even more claustrophobic than she already felt. The people would surround her, shoving and smashing together to cut off her oxygen, suffocating her if she didn't do what He wanted. . .
Snap out of it!, she thought to herself. You're safe.
Caroline glanced around the large lobby, watching the people bustle around, involved in their own problems. She checked everyone around her, almost paranoid. He was gone.
When she finally felt safe about no immediate threat, she allowed herself to take in her surroundings. A large FBI emblem was plastered onto the center of the floor over the orange tile, which was beginning to crack and fade. The offices were made of glass dividers and the team's bustling inside didn't stop for one second. It smelled of coffee and freshly-printed paper. She preferred HQ back in Quantico better, but this would have to do for now, at least until they solved the case.
As she picked up her bags from the security clearance, Derek and Reid came up behind Caroline, both bumping into her to grab her attention. She looked at the two of them, confused, as Gideon brushed by them, oblivious to the three profilers stopping inconveniently in the middle of the lobby.
"He never stands with his back to a window." Derek muttered to them, watching Gideon carefully as he walked away. "When I was between him and a doorway, Gideon asked me to move."
"That's hyper vigilance." Reid explained to him defensively. "It's not uncommon in post traumatic stress disorder."
"Just how much disorder are we talking about?"
Caroline sighed, watching Gideon as they walked. She knew what it felt like to be in his shoes right now, trying to avoid seeming anything less than calm and composed but it was tiring. Sometimes, the panic is too much to contain. There's no rhyme or reason. One minute, everything is fine and the next there's no air. Like one minute she had her family and the next she didn't. It only took a second for both Caroline's and Gideon's world to collapse.
"Derek, it's been six months." She told him assuringly, even though she wasn't fully confident. "Everything is going to be okay."
He snorted, clearly unconvinced, but dropped the subject. The three of them followed Hotch and Gideon inside the briefing room as Hotch began introductions.
"This is Special Agent Jason Gideon, Special Agent Derek Morgan, our expert on obsessional crimes, Special Agent Spencer Reid—"
"Dr. Reid." Gideon corrected him as he sat his stuff down while the rest of them filed in the room.
Hotch sighed. "Excuse me, Dr. Reid, our expert on, well, everything. And Special Agent Caroline Lucas, our expert on behavioral language and psychopathy." Hotch introduced them. "And after two years busting my butt in this office, I hope you remember me."
That earned a small chuckle from the crowded room of FBI agents before everyone settled down and began to listen.
"He's willing to travel with the body." Gideon said as he examined the Seattle city mapped marked with multi-colored labels indicating important areas—blue for abduction sites and red for crime scenes. The distance between them was substantial, about ten to fifteen miles between each red and blue marker. There was no way the unsub didn't have a car.
"Then he must drive a vehicle capable of concealing one." Hotch informed them.
"Approximately 1 in 7.4 drivers in Seattle owns an SUV." Reid injected.
"Explorers with tinted windows, maybe?" Caroline asked him as she examined the victim board.
"Explorers rate higher with women."
"But how do we know it's his car?" Derek asked curiously. "Ted Bundy drove a VW Bug."
"What about a Jeep Cherokee?" Hotch suggested to Reid, who nodded in thought.
"Jeeps are more masculine."
"We all know how an unsub feels about asserting his masculinity." Caroline murmured to herself, which caused Derek to chuckle beside her.
"When did the Bureau become involved with the case?" Hotch asked a few of the FBI agents as he examined the evidence board carefully.
A older Asian man dressed in suit and tie, similar to Hotch's with peppered grey hair stepped forward. He was obviously a senior agent, or at least, somewhere close to that rank. "After the fourth body. He dumped that one out of state."
A red flag went off in Caroline's mind immediately. Anytime a killer stray from M.O., it could've meant one of two things. One possibility is he was devolving. The other was much more common.
"He could've done it on purpose." She suggested. "This shows some knowledge of law enforcement, which suggests a criminal record."
"Or that he watches television." Derek said. He looks over the agent holding the case file. He nodded to him, extending his hand. "May I?"
"So do you want to look at our suspect list?" The senior agent asked.
Caroline's head swiveled away from the evidence board and fixated on the senior agent, clearly feeling the anxiety running through her body, like a spasm.
"No." Hotch told him calmly, sensing her distress. "We won't look a suspect list until after we come up with a profile. It keeps our perspective unbiased."
She sighed, feeling relief flood into her system. Hotch had always had a good detector for Caroline's distress and this time it paid off. Before going into any case, she could not look at the suspect list. She had a process, and that was a part of it. Make the profile, then see who fits it. Not the other way around.
There wasn't much in her life she could control, but how she profiled was one of the few things she had left the that was still in her control. And she was damn well capable of at least keeping that.
"When do we sit down with your task force?" Gideon questioned the senior agent.
"Four o'clock."
Derek's head glanced up from the file he was reading, his face turned into a scowl. "An accurate profile by four o'clock today? Are you serious?"
"That's not a problem." Gideon murmured as he walked towards the crime scene photos, staring at them with extreme focus, so in depth with what he was doing. He became an unstoppable profiling machine.
She smiled a little as the old profiler looked over the crime scene photos. She had been with Gideon before the bombing that killed six federal agents, which had cause him to take a break from profiling. He was silent most of the time, not very emotional, but there were moments when she saw it. When he'd slip up and reveal how much he really cared for these victims and the people affected. He puts everything he has into every single case and that strain wears down on a person eventually.
But the real reason she thought so highly of the man was because of what he does for Reid. He is Caroline's best friend, or at least, he was and Gideon has done so much for him, she couldn't help but admire the man. He had become Reid's mentor and somewhat of a rock for when she couldn't be strong for him and she appreciated that immensely.
Reid deserved to have someone good in his life, and she knew it could never be her. At least, now he has somebody to go to when she's not completely there.
"So, Agent Gideon," Caroline began, "where would you like to start?"
He looked back at her and nodded, reaching over to point at one of the crime scene photos. His finger rested against a picture of the underpass of a bridge, which had been littered with every trash known to man.
"At the site of the last murder."
➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴
Caroline and Reid glanced around as they entered the Heather Woodland's house, trying to find any clues. It was a small two bedroom house in a quiet suburban neighborhood. There were random bits of trash on the tables and dressers -- leftover food containers, magazines and newspapers were scattered everywhere. It wasn't much to go on, and no signs of any foul play.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't meet you at the station." Heather's brother David told them as they walked through the house. He looked very similar to his sister with short, reddish hair and pale complexion. "I couldn't leave Sandy."
Reid looked over at her in shock. "Oh, Sandy? We weren't aware Heather has a daught—"
They stopped when they saw a large golden retriever sitting on its haunches with its tail wagging rapidly as they approached. The dog panted as Heather's brother came by her side and rubbed the back of the dog's ears.
The moment Sandy saw Reid, she began to bark loudly, causing him to jump, clearly startled by the loud noise. He stared at the dog, unsettled and clearly uncomfortable, which made Caroline have to refrain from laughing.
"Sandy, no, no, no." David Woodland scolded the dog before turning back to them. "I'm so sorry."
"No, it's okay." She told him, smiling. "It's what we call the Reid Effect. It happens with children too." Spencer glanced over and glared at her, which made her want to laugh anymore but she swallowed it down to continue talking. "I'm Agent Lucas and this is Special Agent Dr. Reid."
The victim's brother led Sandy farther back in the living room with the two profilers following him. He glanced over his shoulder and examined Reid curiously.
"You look too young to have gone to medical school." He told him.
"They're Ph.D.s. 3 of them."
"What are you? Are you a genius or something?"
"I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified." Reid explained to him. "But I do have an I.Q. of 187 and an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute."
Heather's brother stared blankly at him, a look of confusion plastered on his face.
Reid sighed. "Yes, I'm a genius."
Caroline looked down at the dog and began to pet her as Reid began to wonder around the room, looking for anymore evidence or clues.
"Sandy, you get a lot of attention, don't you?" She said to the dog playfully as she rubbed the dog's soft fur.
"Yeah, Heather loves this dog." The victim's brother said to her. "I feed her when Heather's away. Usually, she's fine, but. . . lately, she won't eat. It's almost like she can sense something's wrong."
"Not sense. Smell." Reid interjected as he rifled through a stack of magazines. "Our apocrine sweat gland released secretions in response to emotional stress."
"Sandy's worried because she knows you are." Caroline translated for him, which he nodded slowly as he processed Reid's language.
Spencer may not be the best with social manners, but even she had to give it to him. The boy knows everything there is to know about everything. She used to be terrified to play scrabble with him because of how many twelve letter words he knew how to create.
"David, does your sister drive a Datsun Z?" He asked the victim's brother.
"No, but she's in the market for one. How'd you know?"
Reid held up a Datsun Z catalogue with a picture of a red-and-orange muscle car displayed on the front. She stared at the magazine, trying to think. Caroline migrated closer towards her fellow colleague as her mind began to work.
"There's an immediate relationship established between a buyer and a seller. A level of trust." Reid told her, handing her the catalogue to look through. "If I want to coax a young woman into my car. . ."
"Offer her a test drive." She finished for him, shaking her head. They looked at each other and she set the catalogue down. "Call Hotch. I think we just figured out how the unsub lures his victims."
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"Okay, then how 'bout the fact that on one hand, we have paranoid psychosis, but the autopsy says what?" Derek asked as he tossed a small baseball up in the air consistently as he walked around the conference room.
"Adhesive residue shows he put layer after layer of duct tape over his victims' eyes." Reid said as he spun around in circles on a wheeled chair.
After interviewing David Woodland, Caroline and Reid had come back to Seattle's field office to go over the facts of the case with everyone. Gideon and the latest crime scene hadn't presented anything new, except for maybe some minor details in the profile. Derek was getting increasingly annoyed at the lack of evidence and leads they were getting so far while she, Hotch and Reid just listened to him rant.
"He knows he wants to kill them, but he still covers their eyes. He doesn't want 'em looking at him, apparently. But then, he takes the body and dumped it right out in the open. Murder weapon nearby."
"Definitely not the M.O. of a paranoid convinced he's being watched or surveilled." Reid told him, watching Derek wear a hole into the tiled floor.
"Paranoid psychosis, but behavior that's not paranoid."
"Maybe he's schizophrenic?" Caroline suggested to him.
"Or maybe we just don't have enough for a complete profile."
"We have enough to narrow our list of suspects." Hotch assured him calmly.
"You know, we're looking at less than twelve hours to find this woman. Hotch, we don't know anything!"
"All right, enough." Gideon spoke up from the back of the room. During Derek's meltdown, he had been quietly looking at a Seattle city map marked with all the locations of the case. His hands shook at his sides, jittery as he faced the B.A.U sitting at the conference table. "Hotch, tell them we're ready."
Caroline uncrossed her legs and scooped up all the pertinent files on the conference table as Gideon exited the conference room. Reid began to help her as Hotch stood up, preparing to speak with the Senior Agent.
"We're ready?" Derek questioned, shocked. He held the small baseball in his hand away from his body, self-consciously distancing himself from them. He turned to Caroline and Reid at the table getting ready. "You guys are good with this? We've got a woman who's only got a few hours left to live, an incomplete profile, and a unit chief on the verge of a nervous breakdown."
Gideon had stepped back into the room at that moment, rushing into the room to grab a pen. He looked over at Derek and calmly said, "They don't call them nervous breakdowns anymore," before exiting the room once more.
"It's called a major depressive episode." Reid informed him.
"I know, kid. I know."
The whole time everything had been going on, Caroline had checked out into her own world, trying to think and process.
She couldn't be distracted by Gideon's current state. Whether or not he was having a depressive episode was beyond her control. She was supposed to stick to things she can control, like her profile.
As she gathered up her things and went into the main lobby where Gideon was presenting the profile, she began to think about the case.
How long does it take to change someone's life forever? A day? A minute? A second? Because that's what happened. Heather Woodland was a regular 22-year-old woman and now, if she makes out of this alive, this'll scar her forever. Her work life, home life and social life, including dating, are all wiped or altered beyond the point of recognizability because all she can think about is Him and what he did to her.
Sometimes, Caroline asked herself if the job was worth it. Now, it was one of those times she had to prove it was.
"The unknown subject, or unsub, is white and in his late 20s." Gideon began with the profile talking swiftly but assuredly, like he was perfectly at ease for someone in a depressive episode. "He's someone you wouldn't notice at first. He's someone who'd blend into any crowd."
"The violent nature of the crime suggests a previous criminal record—petty crimes. Maybe auto theft."
Gideon sighed as he walked around the room, watching everyone for a response to the profile. "We've classified him as an organized killer. He's careful. Psychopathic as opposed to psychotic. He follows the news, has good hygiene. He's smart."
"'Cause he's smart, the only physical evidence you'll find is what he wants you to find. He's mobile—car in good condition. Our guess is a Jeep Cherokee, tinted windows."
He stopped pacing when he reached the center of the room, standing straight and still as he explained. "The murders have all involved rapes. But rape without penetration is a form of piquerism, and that tells us he's sexually inadequate. Psychiatric evaluations will show a history of paranoia stemming from a childhood trauma—death of a parent of family member.
The people around Gideon glanced at each other skeptically and Caroline saw the disbelief in their eyes and she sighed under her breath.
That was always a problem being a profiler. People never believe what you're telling them until it was too late.
"Now, he feels persecuted and watched. Murder gives him a sense of power. Organized killers have a fascination with law enforcement. They will inject themselves into the investigation. They will even come forward as witnesses to see just how much the police really know."
"That makes them feel powerful, in control. Which is why I also think...in fact, I know...you have already interviewed him."
Everyone around Gideon started to murmur softly to each other, sharing looks of shock and confusion. He glanced up at his team standing against the back wall and nodded to them calmly. He was feeling better.
"Do you really think we've already seen this guy?" Derek whispered to behind her, staring warily at Gideon.
She glanced back at her co-worker and gave him a small smile. Gideon had just confirmed everything she had already thought. And she knew exactly where to start.
"There's no doubt in my mind."
➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴
Caroline jogged carefully to the small Victorian house sitting at the corner of the quiet street. She tugged her coat tightly around her body as the brisk night air picked up, beginning to nip at her nose and cheeks. She rubbed them gently with her gloved hands, trying to bring some warmth back to her face as she walked up onto the rickety old porch. She approached the door cautiously, reaching forward slightly with her fist raised. She tapped on the door once, then twice, before waiting patiently.
A couple of seconds later, the door opened slowly to reveal an elderly woman with wild grey hair and flower-print clothes. She had a plastic tube wrapped around her face, leading right into her nose, indicating she wasn't exactly healthy. Behind her was a middle-aged woman holding a crying baby in her arms, who was staring at her tiredly.
Caroline gave them a small polite smile.
"Hi," she said kindly to the old woman, "I'm so sorry to bother you. I'm house-sitting down the street, and when I got back, the door was wide open and the lights weren't working."
She laughed lightly and brushed some stray locks of blonde hair out of her face, still smiling at the elderly woman calmly. "I feel so stupid asking this, but is there someone who might be able to take a look inside with me?"
The old woman smiled at her and patted her hand soothingly. "Of course, dear. Wait one second."
She turned slowly, shifting the oxygen canister at her side so she was directly facing the staircase leading to the second floor. She took a deep breath and began hollering up the stairs, "Richard! Richard, get down here!"
A couple moments later, the sound of heavy, reluctant feet dredging down the staircase followed by the sighs of skinny, tall man with small, beady eyes and rat-like features who stood at the base of the stairs.
"What?" He complained in a nasally, high-pitched voice.
"Can you walk this poor girl to her house? She's afraid there might be someone in her house."
He groaned buy began shuffling his feet forward. He didn't look at Caroline once. "Sure, whatever."
He followed her outside into the quiet, cold night silently, refusing to look her in the eyes. He just stared at his beaten-up shoes as they walked towards the house across the street.
"Are you sure you locked it?" The guy asked her meekly as they approached the front door. He still didn't look at her.
She sighed, exasperated. "Yeah."
Richard pulled out a flashlight from his over-sized jean jacket and turned it on as he opened the door, the hinges creaking with every move. He casted the beam around the dark house as he looked around.
"Hello?" He called into the house as Caroline trailed behind him as he walked into the house. "Anybody there?"
She waited patiently as he slowly crossed his way into the living room, still shining his flashlight into the room. "Hello!"
Wait for it, wait for it. . .
Suddenly, four armed swat members popped out from behind the doorway to the dining room, all with loaded guns pointing at Richard.
"FBI! Freeze! Get down on the ground!" The men all shouted at him.
Caroline lunged forward and tackled the skinny man, knocking him onto a nearby couch. She pinned him down on his back, her legs securing from the sides. She used one hand to press his face into the suede fabric of the couch while the other pulled out the shiny silver handcuffs that had been hidden in her back pocket.
"Richard Slessman, FBI." She said as she cuffed him. "You are under arrest for the kidnapping of Heather Woodland."
➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴
Police officers, CSI techs and FBI agents flooded the Slessman house, trying to find some evidence of Heather's whereabouts. So far, Caroline and the B.A.U had nothing.
She stood anxiously near the front door, pacing back and forth on the flower-print mat in the entrance. She knew they were running out of time to find Heather and if they couldn't find anything here, they'd have nothing. Again.
It infuriated her how little they had to go on, yet again. They didn't have time to search the crummy house. Heather was depending on them to save her. . .
"There's no sign of the girl here." Reid told Caroline as he walked down the stairs, being followed by Gideon, who seemed just about as happy as she was about the whole situation. "We can arrest him with probable cause, but we won't be able to hold him. Slessman has been at the top of the suspect list."
She sighed, resigned. Of course there was nothing. That would make her job too easy if they had anything to go on.
Gideon and Reid stood beside her, clearly as exhausted as she was. None of them had any sleep since yesterday. It was starting to take a toll.
Gideon glanced down the hallway at the elderly woman sitting at the kitchen table with the mother and child behind her, all of them looking shocked and confused at all the chaos.
"Is that the mother?" Gideon asked.
Before either Reid or Caroline could answer, a pretty Hispanic woman with long dark hair stepped out of the living room.
"Grandmother." She told him confidently. "The mother died in a fire when he was 13."
Gideon looked at her, his face scrunching up in confusion. "Who are you?"
Caroline smiled at the woman assuringly before turning to Gideon. "Sir, this is Agent Elle Greenaway, with sex crimes unit. Elle, this is Special Agent Jason Gideon with the BAU."
"Hello, sir, it's an honor to--"
"That probably wasn't the only fire in Slessman's childhood." Gideon murmured, completely ignoring Elle to head into the dining room.
Elle cast Caroline a confused and exasperated look and she gave her an apologetic glance as they all followed him.
That was just the way Gideon is. It wasn't anything against Agent Greenaway, whenever he has a case, he focuses in with all he has. This typically leads to him ignoring the people around him as a result.
"Before his Son of Sam murders, David Berkowitz set a multitude of fires." Reid told Caroline as a smile formed on his mouth. He loved spouting facts to anyone who would listen, which in this case it was her. But she didn't mind. She actually liked listening to him talk about how many cows live in Montana or the types STDs found in most teenagers. It was just him.
"Exactly how many is a multitude?" Elle asked him.
"According to his diary, 1,400 and--"
"88." Caroline finished for him. When the boy genius gave her a shocked look, she replied with, "What? I read too, Reid."
"Luring him out was your idea, right? Greenaway?" Gideon asked the female agent standing beside her. "You chose Agent Lucas to lure him out, correct?"
"Elle." She told Gideon. "And yes, it was my idea. I don't send a SWAT team into a house with children. And Caroline seemed like the best bait becuase she's 22--the exact age of our victim, Heather Woodland. He would feel compelled to help her out, she's his type."
"Agent Lucas says your background is in sex offender cases. What can you tell us?"
"The last four murders show he's an anger-excitation rapist." Elle explained to them. "He'll keep a victim for a couple of days. He probably videotapes them so that he can keep reliving the fantasy."
"You okay with Hotch being in on the interview?" Gideon asked her.
"I'd like him to lead, actually."
"FIne. But hold off." Gideon instructed her. "Slessman's done time, and he knows the process. And all you will get now is a demand for a lawyer."
And just like that, Gideon was gone with Reid in tow, searching the attic.
Caroline turned to Elle and gave her a reassuring smile.
"So, how'd I do?" She asked the blonde girl, grinning confidently at her. "Pretty good, right?"
"If you keep this up, the job is as good as yours, Elle."
"Thanks, Care. See you after the interrogation?"
She nodded as Agent Greenaway disappeared into the kitchen. Caroline smile a little bit as she headed upstairs to search the attic.
Elle Greenaway had been vying for the open spot in the BAU for weeks now. She had known the sex crimes agent from a couple of cases they had worked together on when Caroline first started out at the BAU. Elle was highly intelligent and good at reading people, but a little on the impulsive side, which could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on the case.
But she recommended Greenaway because she was a good agent and she deserved the spot. She worked hard for it.
Caroline walked up the dusty stairs to the attic, her heels clicking on the hard wood solftly. She peeked at the attic when she got to the top.
The room was cluttered with random items: maniquens, coaches, chairs, TVs, magazines, old game boards and anything else the Slessman family had collected over the years. In the center of the attic were a couple of plush armchairs arranged around a TV, whose only channel was static, and a small end table placed between the two chairs. On top of the table was a board game Reid seemed particularly fasinated with.
"What kind of game is it?" She asked Spencer Reid she approached him. She stood beside him as both him and GIdeon stared hard at the game board.
The wooden game board had been partitioned off into 120 equal-distant squares. Every so often, a square would either have a black game piece or a white one. Most of the black pieces stuck to the side, while the white seemed to intermingle with the black, trying to take over.
"In China, it's called Wei-Chi." Reid told her as he glared at the board, tilting his head as he thought. "Here we call it 'Go'. It's considered to be the most difficult board game ever conceived."
"Chairman Mao required his generals to learn it." Gideon said.
"It also looks like he's been playing himself."
"How can you tell? Caroline asked him, staring at the game board confused.
Reid reached down and spun the board lightly. The board twirled around slowly and then she saw it. On the opposite side of the board, the pieces mirrored each other exactly. Slessman had been playing himself.
"This might provide an advantage, actually." Reid said. "Go is considered to be partically psychologically revealing game. There are profiles for every player—the conservative point counter, the aggressor, the finesser. . ."
"What kind of player is Slessman?" She asked.
Reid examined the board closely before looking at Caroline with a grim look on his face.
"An extreme aggressor."