"I'm so confused," I whispered against Spencer's chest. "None of it makes sense."
"We're figuring it out, it might be nothing." He reminded me.
I shook my head, "It doesn't feel like that."
"We've all been wrong," he said, "You can't be sure."
I couldn't respond.
"Sleep for now, nothing will happen before the morning."
I nodded and curled up, listening to Spencer's heartbeat, his soft humming lulling me to sleep.
Deanna's shaking voice, the image of her curled up terrified. Her parents' dead bodies, their eyes blank, faced contorted in terror. The way she collapsed into my arms. The request for dim lights, minimal noise, as if knowing we'd send the SWAT team out. Her small, shaking frame, walking out to us.
No footsteps, but so much blood.
I shot up in bed, "The shoes!"
"Hmm?" Spencer mumbled, sitting up, "What are you talking about?"
"All their shoes are by the door, except for one pair of shoes that was perfectly placed in the corner of the room where the parents were." I said in a rush. "They were clean, way too clean."
Spencer was already out of bed, "Let's go to the scene, I'll call Hotch and let him know what's going on."
We both rushed to pull on clothes, rushing out the door. Luckily, Spencer had the keys to one of the vans, and we fought early morning New York traffic to get to the apartment. Officers were guarding the scene, but I flashed my badge and ran inside. I hadn't had any coffee, and I was slightly delirious as I rushed through the rooms, muttering to myself as I tried to find the shoes.
"Hey, hey," Spencer caught my arm as I rushed through the small hallway, "Take a deep breath, tell me what you're looking for."
I closed my eyes, trying to think. "There was a clean pair of shoes in the room where the parents' bodies were."
"Okay, so why are you in Deanna's room?"
"The shoes aren't there anymore." I answered in a rush, "They're not anywhere."
"Okay, breathe, close your eyes and try to focus," Spencer held me close, "It's okay. Let's go through this logically."
I focused on my breathing, putting myself into the scene from yesterday. I'd walked into the room where Deanna's parents were, seen the bodies, blood pooling on the floor. I'd walked forward, hearing the blood squelch beneath my boots, and even though I knew they were gone, I checked for a pulse. I'd looked around the room, checking for any sign of the unsub, any mistake. The room was a mess, as if they'd struggled, but there were shoes in the corner. Black, plain, polished, too clean.
"The parents," I muttered, walking towards the room where we'd found their bodies, "This room looks like there was a struggle, right?"
Spencer nodded.
"But, remember the bodies? No sprawling, no chaos, they were laid out perfectly next to each other." I gestured towards the outlines on the floor, "It was too neat."
"Maybe the unsub arranged them after?" He asked.
"No, think about the other scenes attributed to this unsub, it's different. Those, he left them in chaos, why would this be different?"
"This family meant something," Spencer answered immediately, "Or it's a different unsub disguising their work as someone else's."
I nodded. "We need to find anyone with a grudge against this family, and fast. If it's a single unsub, he's going to kill afterwards too in order to conceal this family. And if it's not, our unsub is on the run."
***
"I'm going to interview Deanna," JJ said, looking up at me, "Hotch said you can come along, but he doesn't want you in the room during the interview."
I shook my head, "Go without me, I want to look over the other scenes."
She hesitated for a second, as if considering saying something else, but left without saying anything.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" Hotch asked me as he poked his head into the room.
I was confused, but nodded, following him into a small, unoccupied office. "What's going on?"
"We got the autopsy report from the coroner," Hotch started.
I was surprised, "So why aren't you telling this in front of everyone?"
"I want your perspective on it first."
I blinked. "Why?" He'd never done this before.
He wordlessly passed the folder to me. I opened it, leafing through the photographs, finally finding the report, neatly typed and organized. I skimmed through it, then glanced back at the top, finally seeing the issue.
"Why aren't these Deanna's parents' names?"
"Because those weren't Deanna's parents. Her parents have fingerprints on record, and we took a DNA sample from both of them and Deanna. Nothing. And there's no record of Deanna being adopted."
"So, we're dealing with lookalikes?" I asked, turning back to the photographs. There were gunshots through the head, but once it was wiped off, it looked like her parents. "What are you saying? And why aren't you telling the team?"
"After finding this, we went back and took DNA samples from the others. They were killed as families, so the coroner didn't originally, but... the samples from the children don't match the parents at the same scenes. Instead, the parents from scene 1 were at scene 2, victim 2's parents were at scene 3, and so on. This is the fifth scene, with the fourth parents. They all looked similar enough that it wasn't caught before now. That means Deanna's parents are out there, and we're looking at maximum two days before they show up dead with another child." Hotch's eyes searched mine.
"That doesn't answer why you're not telling the whole team." I knew he was avoiding it.
"There's one connection between all the families that we found." He met my eyes, "The kids all shared one therapist."
"Oh, no." I whispered.
"We're bringing her in already, but you're too close to this. I'm taking you off the case."
"This is my fault," I muttered, "If I hadn't told her to go to therapy, none of this would have happened."
"You were helping her, it's not your fault, but the director has said that you shouldn't be on this case. You can stay in the city, but you're not on the case anymore. Effective immediately."
***
I closed myself in the hotel room for the rest of the day. JJ was still with Deanna, and I wasn't allowed with the team at the precinct, or at the scenes, so there was no use in being anywhere else.
"The shoes, there has to be something about the shoes." I flipped through my case notes (which Hotch had let me keep), "They're a calling card of some kind."
I grabbed a roll of tape, putting several sheets of paper up on the wall so I could see them. I sat on the bed, staring.
"Okay," I took a deep breath. "Cognitive interview. Breathe slowly, put yourself back in the scene."
I knew it was difficult to do this for myself, but I tried.
"You rush in the door, start searching the apartment. You go into the parents' room, the door opens inward. You find them on the floor at the foot of the bed, feet to the door. They were facing the door when they fall, they must have been based on the lack of blood streaks. You walk forward, step in the blood pool, check their pulses. They're dead. You turn back towards the door, there's a pair of shoes in the corner. Describe them."
I thought for a second, trying to build the scene in my mind. The shoes by the door, in the corner, what did they look like?
"They're black," I murmured, as if answering myself. "They're shined, polished, they were just cleaned. They're perfectly placed in the corner, just off the carpet, there's nothing on them. No blood, nothing. Business shoes, expensive ones."
"What size are they?"
I thought again, willing myself to mentally walk closer. "They're smaller than Spencer's, but not by a lot. Size 9.5 or 10, the left foot is slightly wider. They're custom."
I opened my eyes, grabbing a paper and scrawling down all the details I'd said.
"Okay, we're finding a custom cordwainer or cobbler, probably in New York, black business shoes, slightly wider left foot." I muttered, then pulled out my computer. "How hard can this be?"
Over 30 custom shoemakers in New York. I couldn't do this alone. I called Garcia.
"At your service. Wait, aren't you off the case?" She answered immediately.
I sighed, "Ignore that for a second, ok, Pen? I need you to find something for me."
"Hit me."
"So, we're looking at the common therapist or other people at that practice, correct?" I asked.
"Yes, but there are 10 of them, all expensive ones, they'll lawyer up quick." She answered. "We can't bring them all in."
"That's okay, I have additional limits. Size 9.5 or 10 shoe, recently got custom business shoes, black, wider left foot." I rattled off.
"Oh, you're good." I heard the smile in her voice and the typing in the background. "Cognitive interview, or did you find the shoes?"
"Did a cognitive on myself. Any luck?"
"Impressive. One second, inputting parameters, any custom shoes in New York, and..." She was silent for a few seconds. "Bingo! One of the other therapists joined the practice around the same time, has those exact shoe measurements, always gets custom shoes. He's been off for two weeks, recorded as a family emergency."
"Send all the information to Hotch." I couldn't help but smile. "Work, home, any other properties, the works."
"Way ahead of you. Good job, ma'am." I could hear the sass in her voice, but before I could respond, she hung up.
I fell back onto the bed. Okay, I thought, We got a real lead. You did well.
***
Hotch summoned me back to the station later that day. I was immediately pulled into a side room.
"I took you off the case." He sounded angry.
I sighed, "I know, I was just going over some details, and I performed a cognitive on myself."
"On yourself?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's... uncommon."
"I realized I might have missed something. Are you really angry at me, or are you angry because the director says you have to be?" I asked, smiling a little. "You got your unsub, or at least a damn good suspect."
"We haven't figured out what Deanna has to do with this still, so certain people are anxious about your participation, but you're invaluable right now. I'll deal with the repercussions. You're going to meet JJ at the hospital to discuss with her." I saw the hint of a smile on his face, "Good job, Agent."
"Thank you."
***
JJ met me in the reception of the hospital, smiling and pulling me into a hug. "It's good to see you. Ready?"
I nodded. We quietly walked up to Deanna's room; the windows were covered in black paper, concealing her from anyone who may try to interfere with the investigation. There was an officer outside, who nodded at JJ and quickly checked my badge before allowing us into the room.
Deanna was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone. She looked up when we walked in, a smile covering her face when she saw me.
"I thought you weren't allowed to come?" She asked, standing up to give me a hug. "I've only talked to JJ, Hotch, and like one doctor. JJ said you weren't allowed to be here."
I shrugged, "Things change, Hotch brought me back onto the case. Unfortunately, though, we're not here for a social call."
"I didn't think so," Deanna shrugged, "So what are we doing? Another cognitive?"
I shook my head, "We're just talking. We have a good suspect, it's mostly just figuring out your link to him at this point."
JJ glanced at me, as if to say Are we going to tell her about her parents?
"What was that?" Deanna asked. "JJ just gave one of those 'adult-asking-a-question-they-don't-want-kids-to-hear' looks."
I sighed, "I did say you'd be a good profiler. We uncovered some additional details about the case, explaining why some of your early actions didn't make sense, as well as some details of the scene."
Deanna smiled a little, "Adults aren't as subtle as you think you are." She sat back on the bed, "What's going on?"
"Those weren't your parents in your house. We believe the unsub came in, threatened your parents, and that's when you ran. He forced them to make a racket, set the scene, and then searched for you. We don't know when he left." I sighed.
"What do you mean 'set the scene'? How do you know those weren't my parents?" She sat up, "They looked like my parents."
I sighed and nodded, "The unsub is targeting people who look like your parents, those parents were actually the parents of the last little girl we found. We expect your parents, if we can't find them, to show up at the next scene."
"He kidnapped my parents, you mean." She asked.
I nodded. "We don't think they're dead, time of death puts the last set of parents dead once they were already in your home. It explains some conflicts in evidence that we'd found, there's just one outstanding detail, but right now we're treating it as his signature."
***
"He won't tell us where they are." Morgan reported as we walked into the meeting room. "We now believe he was actually targeting Deanna's family, covering it up with the other victims."
"Fuck," I sighed, "Do we think they're alive?"
"He won't say anything else. He wants to talk to Deanna," Spencer looked at me, "We refused."
"Let me in, let me talk to him," I said, "I have the closest connection to her, I might be able to get something out of him."
Hotch's eyes searched mine. Finally, after what felt like forever, he nodded. "You have half an hour."
***
I couldn't do anything. He refused to say anything, even when I mentioned Deanna, didn't even look at me. He just sat, hands folded on the table, staring at me, eyes blank. He barely seemed to breathe. After half an hour, I left.
"He hasn't even lawyered up, why?" I asked, sitting down and sighing, leaning on Spencer's shoulder. "He has the money to."
"Because he's not talking. He doesn't want to reveal anything." Rossi leaned forward, "Even asking for a lawyer is a sign of weakness to him."
"We're not bringing Deanna in," I said firmly, "We can't. Not again."
Hotch looked at me, then nodded. "You're right, it's not a good idea. We won't do that."
"So, what do we do?" asked Emily, "Her parents are still in danger?"
"We build the profile as if we don't have him in custody, figure out where he'd be hiding, and find the parents." Hotch answered. "That's all we can do."
***
He had an apartment in a bad part of town, one he payed for out of a separate bank account. We rushed there; it was on the first floor, easy to get into, and we rushed in. He'd demolished all the walls, creating a large, concrete rectangle with a toilet and a shower. Even the utilities were gone, pulled out of the walls.
In the middle of the room, there were three bodies: two parents, and a young child. Painted in blood, across the far wall, were two words.
I WIN
I rushed forward and dropped, checking for pulses or breathing, grabbing a mirror from a pocket in my vest to check for breathing. Nothing. We searched the adults' pockets for ID: Surprisingly, they were there, unlike all past victims. It was Deanna's parents.
"We need a DNA test, ASAP," Hotch ordered the CSU officers coming in, "And an ID on the child. Cross-check with missing person databases."
"Yes, Sir."
I was frozen on the floor, staring. Even though it was possible the IDs were stolen, I knew they weren't. These were Deanna's parents, for real this time, and she was alone.
"(Y/N)?" I heard Spencer behind me. "We need to move; they need to secure the scene and take samples."
"I failed," I whispered, "I couldn't save them."
"It's not your fault," Spencer helped me to my feet, "You couldn't have done anything."
"She's alone and it's my fault."
***
I had to tell her. I owed her that much.
Spencer walked me to her room, waiting outside as I walked in. She looked up, smiling as she saw me, putting down her phone, then noticed my expression.
"What's wrong?" She asked, "What happened?"
Stay strong for her, Agent.
"We found an apartment that was being paid for by the unsub. He's renovated, it was an empty room," I took a deep breath, "We found your parents."
"Oh," her voice was weak.
"They... I checked for a pulse, for breathing, anything. They were gone by the time we got there."
"How- how did they die?" She asked, "Was it painful?"
I shook my head, "We don't think so. There was a little girl between them, she was shot, but we think they were poisoned. It would have been fast."
"There was a kid? Who?" She looked up.
"I- we're working on getting an ID now, based on her appearance, we think she may have been homeless or kidnapped and held captive." I looked down, "I'm so sorry."
"They're gone?" It was barely more than a breath passing her lips.
I couldn't speak. I just nodded.
***
He confessed as soon as we told him we'd found the bodies. His smile was horrifying, he loved the horror, the disgust, the pain.
The girl was a homeless girl taken off the streets, soon before Deanna's parents were kidnapped. We couldn't find any family.
We stayed for the funeral, I held Deanna's hand as she spoke, comforting her as she cried. The girl was buried near them, Deanna insisted she have a proper final good-bye.
After the funeral, Deanna and I sat in front of her parents' graves. She looked numb.
"What do I do now?" She sounded heartbroken.
I didn't have an answer, as much as I wished I did.