The briefing lasted another half hour and, when they were through, a few officers and detectives hung around to ask even more questions. By the time the BAU team left the university, it was after nine at night and any reasonable person would be heading home; they, however, grabbed a quick snack at a diner, and were soon back in the field office and at work on the case.
Prentiss had hoped to go back to the hotel to get some laundry done. They’d packed for only a few days and had now been here a week. If she didn’t get some laundry done soon, all the perfume in the world wouldn’t prevent her from being mistaken for a Cubs player after an extra inning game.
She continued to work the victimology, trying to discern why one potential victim was chosen over another.
Addie Andrews and Benny Mendoza had probably been nothing more than victims of opportunity on that rainy April night. The UnSub had chosen the time and place for a reason—mimicking Berkowitz— making the identities of the victims less significant. Killer needed a necking couple and, on that particular night, few couples would have been out. The weather had seen to that.
With the two girls at Bangs Lake, the story had been different. They were two among hundreds that day. Why them?
Donna Cooper was a brown-haired, straight-A student, and a cheerleader in high school. Her friend, Casey Goddard, had also been a brunette young woman going to college part-time and working two jobs to pay for it. She, too, had been a bright girl and a good student. Of the hundreds of girls who had been at Bangs Lake throughout that sunny June day, why had these two been chosen over all the others? Certainly more than two bikini-clad brunettes had been on the beach that day.
Prentiss was still puzzling over that when a face appeared on the screen of her laptop: Penelope Garcia.
“I’ve got news,” Garcia said.
“Try to make it good news,” Prentiss said.
“You’ll have to decide that from your end. First, rain washed away any fingerprints on the outside of Bobby Edels’s car.”
“How about the interior?”
“Wiped clean. Even Bobby’s fingerprints were gone.”
Prentiss said, “The car was missing a long time— they might have just evaporated.”
“The crime scene tech I talked to said there were signs that the car had been wiped. The killer might have been in the car.”
“Or even moved it,” Prentiss suggested. “Have you come up with any good reason for the car being dumped in that neighborhood?”
“Sorry. Could be the UnSub moved the car from wherever he abducted Bobby. But this much we know: the car didn’t have plates, and was wiped clean. If the towing company hadn’t filed for the title with the Vehicle Identification Number, we still wouldn’t know where it was.”
“Meaning no offense whatsoever, to a valuable member of our team? Nothing you have said sounds even remotely like good news.”
But on the little flat screen, Garcia was smiling. “Well, I do have one more thing.…”
Noting the glee in the computer expert’s tone, Prentiss sat forward. “Spill.”
“Our friend Detective Jake Denson,” Garcia said, with triumph in her tone, “had a connection to one of the young women who disappeared.”
Prentiss felt the air go out of her. More worthless information. “Garcia, we knew that. It’s a small town, they worked at a local convenience store Denson frequented, and now he’s investigating their disappearances. End of story.”
“Here’s a brand- newstory,” Garcia said. “Casey Goddard used to babysit for Denson’s kids, before his divorce. His ex-wife and the kids? Moved away.”
“You wouldn’t tease me, would you? Make things up?”
“This is as real as real deals come. I was combing newspaper articles that were written not long after the women’s bodies were identified. Emily Goddard, Casey’s mom, gave an interview to the Lake County Witnesswhere she was quoted as saying, ‘I have faith in Detective Denson. He’s dedicated and he’s been a good friend over the years. Casey used to babysit for his children—I know he will find my daughter’s killer.’ "
Prentiss’s eyes darted around the room searching for Hotchner. Everybody else was here—where was the boss?Finally, she said, “Garcia, hang tight. I can’t find Hotch.”
Turning to the room, she asked, “Anybody know where Hotch went?”
With a vague gesture, Reid said, “He’s in one of the back offices, trying to catch an hour’s sleep.”
“Wake him,” Prentiss said.
Shaking his head, Reid said, “He doesn’t want to be disturbed. He said—”
“Whatever he said, he’s going to want to hear this. Wake him.”
Her tone carried enough weight to propel Reid out of his chair and out of the conference room.
Almost simultaneously, Morgan and Rossi turned toward her and asked, “What is it?”
Prentiss held up a steadying palm. “Hotch’ll be here in a second,” she said to them (and Garcia, still online and on screen).
Their bleary-eyed team leader came in quickly, jacket off, necktie loosened, short hair managing to look mussed, and said to Prentiss, “Please tell me this is a major break.”
“Might well be,” Prentiss said. She nodded to Garcia’s face on the flat screen.
He leaned in at Prentiss’s laptop. “What is it, Garcia?”
The zaftig blonde reiterated what she’d told Prentiss.
Hotchner’s alertness sharpened even as his irritation vanished, and ice was in his voice as he said, “Garcia, tell me you have Denson’s home address ready.”
She said nothing, just punching some keys to give him the information almost instantaneously.
Hotchner’s eyes went to Morgan. “Morgan, get hold of Lorenzon. I want the two of you to pick up Jake Denson and get him in here ASAP.”
Rossi shrugged. “I could go with Morgan.”
Hotchner shook his head. “This might be nothing, but it might also mean the apprehension of an offender who’s armed and dangerous, and knows law enforcement tactics.”
“Right,” Rossi said. “So I’ll go with Morgan.”
“No. Lorenzon’s a street cop, Dave. You’re a profiler.”
“What, I’m not up to this collar?”
“It’s not a collar yet—we’re just bringing Denson in for questioning. But I want one of the locals in on this, not just the big bad feds.”
That mollified Rossi.
Just after midnight, when they should have been asleep in their hotel rooms (or at least, Prentiss thought, back doing their laundry), the BAU team was still in the conference room as Morgan and Lorenzon came in accompanying a very pissed-off Jake Denson.
The detective with the Yul Brynner haircut wore jeans, a Cubs T-shirt and sneakers. He looked like he hadn’t shaved since morning and he still had his gun on his hip.
Hotchner, pulling his tie tight as he rose to meet them, glanced at Morgan, asking a question with his eyes.
“He wasn’t at home,” Morgan said. “He was working—caught up with him at the Wauconda PD.”
Hotchner turned to the detective and said, “You always work this late, Detective?”
“Do you?” Denson said. “What the hell is this all about?”
“Have a seat,” Hotchner said.
“I’ll take a pass,” Denson said, folding his arms. “You see, I’m not going to be here that long. So I’ll just stand.”
“We need to talk about your case—the murdered girls from Bangs Lake.” Hotchner gestured to a chair at the nearest table. “You’ll be more comfortable if you sit.”
“How many times,” Denson said, “and how many ways, do I have to tell you where to stick your task force? You’re not getting my case, boys and girls. I started it, and I’ll finish it.”
Hotchner said, “We don’t want to talk to you about yourinvestigation.”
“No?”
“No. We want to talk to you about ourinvestigation.”