Chapter 1: one for the money
Chapter Text
There were times where Derek felt like something was missing.
People said that all the time and what they usually meant was that they weren't in the right career, or they weren't happy with where they were in life, or they felt stuck in their situation, but none of that applied to Derek. He couldn't see himself working anywhere else but with the BAU, he was relatively happy with his life in terms of the friends he kept and the hobbies he had on the side, and he certainly didn't feel stuck. With his skills and experience he could go anywhere he wanted, but he wanted to stay with the BAU — he finally felt like he was doing good in the world, that he was making a difference, just like his dad had.
Still, sometimes he would notice it; that missing piece. When the conversation would lull and then gradually fall silent, he always half-expected to hear someone continue talking, but no one would. On boring days at the office, he would turn his chair to the empty desk, as if someone was meant to be there. When he was on the jet flying to and from cases, he saved a seat, but he didn't know who for.
It was strange but he never thought too much of it. He supposed it came from working in such a small team when in the past he had worked with much larger teams.
He learned to live with it, and eventually it faded into the background, turning from a sharp awareness to more of a dull ache. Something that was always there, but manageable.
If it never went away, he honestly wouldn't have noticed.
The first time he could put a face to this missing piece was a day that started like any other — with a case.
"Alright," JJ said from her place at the front of the room. She clicked the remote to show the first slide. "The LVMPD has requested we conduct an equivocal death investigation into the apparent suicides of three men in Las Vegas in the last two weeks."
She clicked through to further slides. "Evan Jenson, a 42 year old white male, shot himself two Fridays ago in his home. He lived alone, he was divorced with shared custody of his 17 year old daughter. Jeremiah Stevens, a 37 year old African American male, shot himself eight days ago in the parking lot outside the casino he was last seen gambling in. And then yesterday, Maurice Grant, a 36 year old white male, was found in his hotel room after apparently shooting himself.”
Morgan read briefly through the case file, noting the COD was a gunshot wound to the head from a revolver. He was the first to speak up. "What evidence do they have that they aren't suicides?"
Hotch glanced over. "All three men died from playing Russian roulette, after winning and then losing a large sum of money playing poker."
"Three's a pattern," Emily added, looking over the case file. "But there's no defensive wounds on the body, no ligature marks, no reason to believe they were coerced in any way."
"Do we have the ballistics report?" Rossi asked.
JJ shook her head. "Not yet, but three separate revolvers were found at each crime scene next to the victims."
"Well," Morgan shrugged. "We don't know if they're victims yet. Were the guns registered to the men?"
"Nevada doesn't require registration or a license to purchase a gun," Hotch said, sighing in frustration. "Garcia, can you start checking credit card statements at gun stores in the Las Vegas region, expand your search to a 50 mile radius, filtering for purchases of the specific revolvers found at the crime scenes.
Garcia did a mock salute with her right hand while she typed up notes with her left. "Certainly, anything else I should be on the look out for?"
Emily considered the case file carefully. "It seems like all three men lost their money in a 'private game'," she frowned. "Very helpful - but before that two of the men were playing in a casino called the ‘Highline’ and the third was playing in ‘Club 64’ the night before their deaths. It would be helpful to have a list of employees from the last two years for both casinos, just in case.”
“On it, if anyone needs me I will be in my super awesome lair away from all the icky, grimy…” she grimaced. “Stuff.”
Morgan sent her a grin.
“If this is serial the Unsub doesn’t appear to have a long cooling off period,” Hotch continued, glancing up. “Emily and Rossi, meet with the ME to determine if there are any signs that it wasn’t a suicide; Morgan, head to the latest crime scene, and after that I’d like you to the head to the last casino. JJ and I will coordinate with the local police department and the families. Wheels up in 20.”
The flight to Las Vegas was long but peaceful. Once they landed, Derek wasted no time, knowing he had to get to both the crime scene and the casino. It was times like this he wished their team was just a little bigger. As much as he loved the tight-knit family unit they had created, he couldn’t help but feel just adding one more person would make all the difference.
He entered the hotel lobby, showing his badge to the receptionist who balked and scrambled to get his supervisor.
A short, balding man with stress lines etched into his forehead appeared from behind the desk. “You’re with the FBI?” He asked, tapping his hands together nervously.
Derek showed his badge once again. “SSA Derek Morgan. Are you the manager of the hotel?”
“Yes, yes, well,” the man, whose name tag read Greg, spoke quickly, breathless. “I only came into the job two weeks ago, so you can imagine…”
He raised his eyebrows in agreement but didn’t say anything else, keen to get on with the evaluation.
“Oh, of course, let me show you to the room,” Greg said, leading Morgan to the elevators.
The room was a typical suite with a king sized bed and a few chairs next to a desk. What was not typical was the pool of blood staining the cream-coloured carpet a dark brown, clearly a couple of days old.
Greg stood by the door nervously, uncomfortable standing in the tainted room. “We found him in the morning when he didn’t check out.” His eyes landed on the blood that had obviously trickled down the back of the chair. “No one had even heard anything that night, there was no noise complaint.”
“Must’ve used a silencer,” Derek pondered out loud. “Do you know how long he was here for?”
Only the third man had been travelling, coming from Washington state. The other two were Vegas natives.
“He’d booked this room just for the night,” Greg said, taking a hesitant step into the room. “We’re a more affordable option for those looking to play at Club 64. And also closer than most other hotels.”
Morgan considered the room in its entirety. The bed was made but it was obvious the man had sat on it at some point as the sheets were rumpled slightly. A large duffle bag was left at the foot of the bed, untouched and unopened. On the desk there was only the standard stationery provided by the hotel and a corded phone. It was the phone that caught his attention - it was slightly off its hook.
“Do you keep a record of all the calls on the hotel phones?” Derek asked, grabbing a glove out of his pocket to gingerly pick up the phone and inspect it. There were specks of blood on the grey plastic, but other than that nothing suspicious.
Greg nodded. “Of course.”
“Good, have it sent to our technical analyst in Quantico. Mr Grant might’ve made a call right before he died.”
It was only a quick walk across the road to Club 64, the casino that Grant had played at.
The casino was extravagant, as most everything in Las Vegas was, coated on every surface with a gaudy gold shine that reflected the harsh sunlight directly into Derek’s eyes. He put his sunglasses on and resisted the urge to squint.
He could barely move with the amount of bodies packed in tightly, people crowding around tables and slot machines, raucous laughter and yelling echoing off of the high ceiling. Derek grimaced as he kept pushing forward, turning down over-eager girls and con artists. It was 2pm on a Monday and yet it looked as though half of Las Vegas was in here.
Flashing his badge once again, he was brought by security into the administrative rooms of the casino, and then shown the CCTV footage.
The security guard pointed towards the left of the screen. The footage was grainy and unsaturated, making it hard to point out any specific details, but Derek could at least see everyone’s faces.
Grant sat at a poker table with seven other men. He looked focused but he was also relaxed, his body language very obviously conveying how good of a mood he was in.
“He was having a good night,” the security guard said, arms crossed as he sped through the footage. “I think he ended up going home with around a million dollars.”
“Have you seen him here before?” Derek asked.
The guard shook his head. “No, but that’s not surprising. We tend to attract mostly out of town folks.”
“How long did he stay for?” He leaned in closer, watching as Grant started laughing and pointing at another, much younger man sitting across from him. The other man had his back to the camera, but from his tense shoulders Derek could tell he was agitated.
“Maybe five hours or so?”
But he barely even had time to consider the guard’s comment when a fight exploded on the screen.
The younger man had stood up abruptly and seemed to be yelling, although it was difficult to tell who he was yelling at.
Derek frowned at the screen as he moved closer, analysing the scene as he watched the young man be dragged away by security. “Who was that?”
He received no answer. Turning back, he saw the security guard give him an anxious look. “What?” Derek asked, his eyebrows narrowed.
The security guard shrugged, although he didn’t meet Derek’s eyes. “Just a sore loser.”
A sore loser wouldn’t have left that large of an impression on a security guard so many days later. “Look, man, this is an active federal investigation. Three men have died. I need to know everything you know, no matter how inconsequential it might seem.”
The security guard looked around, which seemed silly considering it was a small room and they were the only ones in it. He also checked out the hallway before answering. “All I know is he’s been kicked out a few times but he’s never been banned. Usually guys like that get a life-time ban the first time, but he’s in here semi-regularly.”
“‘Guys like that’?” He questioned.
“Cheaters,” the security guard answered. “Card counting or something like that. I haven’t interacted with him that much, but we all know to let him in even if he was kicked out the last time, and he’s only kicked out when another player asks him to be.”
Derek turned back to the screen. “What happened here?”
“He was talking about the game being rigged or something,” the security guard dismissed. “Like I said, a sore loser. Can’t handle it when someone else cheats.”
That should’ve been the end of it, but Derek felt there was more to the story. He didn’t know why, but this felt important for some reason.
“Do you happen to know his name?” Derek asked.
The security guard nodded. “Yeah, Spencer Reid.”
The BAU joined back up at the police station, ready to share each of their findings.
JJ went first. “I met with the families and they all said the men showed no signs that they were suicidal.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean they were killed,” Rossi reminded them all. “We all know signs can be missed.”
Hotch pulled his lips into a tight frown. “It's possible, but it's still too much of a coincidence. How did you go with the M.E.?"
"No defensive wounds," Emily began, shrugging her shoulders. "Only one bullet hole consistent with self-infliction. Not even a scratch on any of them."
"There was one thing, however," Rossi continued. "The M.E. concluded that on the first body, the angle of the bullet was unnatural if it were self-inflicted. She couldn't give a definitive answer, and said that it was still possible the wound was self-inflicted, but that she wouldn't be surprised if someone else had shot him."
JJ tilted her head in thought. "If this is serial, then that first victim must be the most important, or perhaps was the trigger. I can have another conversation with his family and see if they know anything."
Derek chimed in then. "If we are working the serial killer route, then I've potentially got a suspect. With our last guy, someone was yelling at him during the game of poker and then the night before he shot himself someone called his hotel room."
"You think the two may be related?" Hotch asked, probing into Derek's reasoning.
"I don't see why we can't at least question the guy, I mean he was one of the last people to interact with Grant." Derek pressed the call button on their conference phone which was a direct line to Garcia. "Hey, baby girl?"
"I'm ready to fulfil all of your wildest fantasies," her sweet voice came through from the other end. Derek smiled despite himself, enamoured with the way she could so easily cheer him up.
"Did you receive the phone transmission from the hotel?"
He heard a few clicks, her keyboard echoing loudly through the speaker phone. "Sure did, however it's a bit of a dead end. Playing it for you now…"
They heard a crackle as the recording played the sound of the hotel phone being picked up.
"Grant speaking."
There was only light breathing heard on the other side of the call. Derek leaned in, frowning.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
There was silence again until an automated voice read out a phone number, and then the call ended.
Derek leaned down towards the speaker. “Garcia, can you trace them; the original phone call and the new phone number?”
She sighed, “No can do, my beautiful piece of marble. The original phone call was made from the phone number that was read out, and it’s a pre-paid cellphone.”
“Why would they call from a phone number that they then read out? Why not just have the conversation then and there?” JJ asked.
Morgan considered it, knowing what he knew about the psychology of gamblers. Why would Grant call that number? What did that phone call have to do with the deaths? Grant hadn't left his room after the phone call, and no one else had joined him, so that phone call he made to the pre-paid cell was the last interaction anyone ever had with him.
"There must have been some prior communication between the caller and the victim," he said eventually. "They must have met beforehand, there's context that we're missing here."
Emily perked up. "The 'private game' where they lost the money they'd just won. It has to be connected."
Hotch nodded along, signalling his assent. "It's possible they met at the casino. Morgan, what do we know about this potential suspect?"
"Not too much yet," he said, turning once more towards the conference phone. "Garcia, what do you have on a 'Spencer Reid' – 20s to 30s white male, might have a history of trespassing or being kicked out of casinos."
"Spencer Reid… okay, uhhh," Garcia paused for a second. "Um, okay, Dr Spencer Reid, 26 years old, Las Vegas native."
Morgan blinked. "Dr?"
"Yeah, this guy has like three PhDs, graduated high school at 12 years old, looks to be some kind of a genius."
"How does a guy with three PhDs by the age of 26 end up gambling at casinos?"
He heard furious typing from the other end of the phone call – "I do not know, my gorgeous hunk of sugar, but I will let you know when I find out! For now, I will send you through his address. Garcia out!" – and then the tell-tale click of her pen as she ended the call.
Hotch nodded as they all turned to him for further instructions. "Morgan, I want you to chase that lead – if we're treating this as serial murder then he's our most likely suspect. Even if he isn't, he could be a key witness."
“Are we still waiting on ballistics?” Emily asked.
“We’ve got them back,” Hotch revealed, thumbing through a report on the table. “Still no evidence that the men owned the guns, but they were all different guns with different bullets.”
Rossi sighed. “More evidence this was suicide,” he shrugged.
“It doesn’t add up, though,” Emily pointed out. “There's too many coincidences that we can't ignore.”
Rossi held his hands up in surrender. “Look, I’m still going to investigate this, but I’m just saying we have to keep an open mind.”
Hotch hummed in agreement. “We still don’t have enough evidence pointing either way, at least not for an official assessment. JJ will stay here and continue interviewing families. Emily, work with Garcia to find out where the guns were purchased, or if the men had purchased those types of guns before. Morgan and Rossi, visit Spencer Reid. See if you can determine whether he had anything to do with this. I’ll begin creating a geographical profile.”
They all nodded their assent and dispersed to complete their individual assignments.
“What do you have for me, mama?” Morgan asked as he answered the phone.
Rossi was driving (decided after a very intense game of paper, scissors, rock), and it had been a good twenty minutes since they left the station. The address Garcia had sent them led them to the far side of town, the houses growing more derelict the longer they drove.
“I have a lot,” Garcia replied. “So, Dr Spencer Reid, child prodigy, literal genius, bla bla bla. The interesting information is that his father dipped when he was ten years old and left him in the care of his severely mentally ill mother. Diagnosed with schizophrenia a few years before Reid was born.”
Rossi narrowed his eyes. “Social services were never called?”
“It doesn’t seem like anyone even knew his mother was ill, or that he was essentially caring for her as a child,” Garcia replied. She sighed over the phone. “Oh, this poor baby never had a childhood. Graduated high school at twelve years old, went straight to college, gained a truly impressive number of degrees before he just stopped. Stayed in Las Vegas, started gambling in casinos, uhhh,” she paused.
Derek blinked. “Garcia, what is it?”
“Umm, well,” she hesitated, her tone sympathetic. “He’s been thrown out of most casinos, and he was arrested on some assault charges over the years.”
“Why were they dropped?” Rossi asked.
“It was found to be self-defense,” Garcia said. "Mainly arising from disputes at casinos."
Rossi turned to him briefly before turning back towards the road, eyebrows raised. "Now, how does a child prodigy with that many degrees become a pathological gambler with an arrest record?"
Derek shrugged, staring out the window. "Guess that's what we'll find out."
"Anything you can see in his history that would point towards a motive?" Rossi asked.
"Not particularly," Garcia said. "It seems he's still paying for his mom to receive 24/7 care in a facility, perhaps money could be an issue?"
Derek shook his head. "No, I have a feeling that whatever the motive is here, it isn't about the money."
"On that note, where did the money go?" Rossi wondered out loud as the car slowed down. He parked it on the side of the road before turning to the phone in Derek's hand. "Garcia, see if you can detect any wire transfers of the exact money the victims won."
"Will do, Garcia out!"
The two men sat in silence as the phone call ended, staring out the window towards the house they had pulled up at. It was a typical wooden house, looking large enough to contain maybe four bedrooms. The paint was peeling, white giving way to the light brown of the wood underneath. Long grass stretched over the driveway, splitting the concrete in certain places. It didn't look too dilapidated, but it was obvious that the house and the yard weren't being regularly maintained. There was a children's bicycle lying on the steps leading up to the house, but otherwise no other vehicles were present, despite the garage door attached to the house.
Rossi turned to Derek and gestured with his head. "I'll scope out the place a little, why don't you introduce yourself?"
Derek nodded back and hopped out of the car, adjusting his belt as he stood up. He first checked his gun, ensuring it was still easily accessible, before locating his badge from the pocket of his jeans to have it at the ready. As a final touch, he grabbed his sunglasses from the collar of his shirt and slid them onto his face.
Rossi also jumped out of the car and went around the side of the house, checking out the front and side yard as he went.
As he walked up the steps – jumping over the bicycle – he could hear voices from inside. One was clearly a child's voice while the other was of an older man, possibly the same age as himself.
Bracing himself, he knocked on the door, frowning as he heard hushed whispers from inside. "Go inside, don't come out until I tell you to, no matter what," the man hissed. There was the sound of footsteps scurrying across wooden floors and then silence for a few moments.
Just as he was about to knock a second time, the door opened. The man from the CCTV cameras, Spencer – Dr Spencer Reid – stood before him.
Without the grainy footage he could see him better. Reid was tall, probably an inch or so taller than Derek, with long brown hair that reached just above his chin. He had sharp, angular features, and deep brown eyes that were narrowed in distrust. A ratty, old cardigan clung to his thin limbs, swallowing him whole.
The thing that Derek noticed first, however – even with the ill-fitting clothes and dark circles underneath his eyes – was how unbelievably attractive the man was.
Derek let his eyes linger on the lanky frame, scanning up and down, glad that his glasses concealed his gaze.
Reid stared back at him. Unlike Derek, he was making no effort to conceal his obvious glances. His eyes looked Derek up and down, catching on his biceps just barely contained by the tight sleeves of his shirt. Derek puffed his chest out slightly, sighing through his nose as he held up his badge. "FBI. Are you Dr Spencer Reid?"
Somehow, Reid's eyes narrowed further. His eyes no longer roamed around his body; rather they stayed put on his badge, heavily scrutinising it. Derek found that hotter, somehow. "Yes, I am," he affirmed.
"I'm here to talk about some suspicious deaths that you may have been a witness in," Derek explained. He put his badge back into his pocket.
Reid huffed, confusion bleeding into his expression. "I haven't witnessed any deaths lately," he joked, an obvious mask over his true emotions.
"Still, you may have seen something and not realised it," Derek said. "May I come in?" He asked, although it was a mere formality.
Despite that, Reid crossed his arms and smirked slightly. "No," he answered.
Derek paused, thrown off by the denial. Most people weren't so blunt when refusing them entry, especially not those with something to hide. "Why not?" Derek asked. He leaned forward slightly, attempting to see into the house.
Reid blocked his view with his arm, holding the door frame as he leaned forward himself. "I don't want you in my house," he explained as though it was obvious.
"Can we talk outside, then?" Derek suggested, although he was slightly confused, and more than a little suspicious.
"No, I don't have to talk to you," Reid said, shaking his head. He stood tall, looking down at Derek with an unreadable expression on his face, although his eyes were stone cold.
Derek pulled himself to his full height. Although he still wasn't quite as tall as Reid was, his size more than made up for it. "You have something to hide?" He took another step closer. "Because at the moment you're a person of interest in a possible murder investigation."
"You don't have probable cause." Reid took a step closer. Derek felt his heart rate quicken.
"And how do you know I don't?" Derek stood his ground, refusing to move an inch, even as Reid got closer into his personal space.
The other man smiled, cocky. "Because you would have an arrest warrant, but you don't."
Derek ran through the profile in his head. Significant distrust of law enforcement, most likely due to past experiences. Highly protective – he had the feeling that his refusal wasn't from an individualistic standpoint, but rather to safeguard something, or someone, in the house. He didn't live alone, but he didn't have any other family, so who was he protecting?
"Okay, okay," Derek finally took a step back, holding his hands out in surrender. He felt almost dizzy; this wasn't how this was supposed to go. He wasn't one to surrender, especially not to someone like Reid. Derek took in a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. It didn't quite work. "Look, we got off on the wrong foot here. I'm sorry. It's possible you may know something about the murders, this is just a simple interview.
"Nothing with law enforcement is ever 'simple'," Spencer said, eyes boring into Derek's.
Derek barely held himself back from retorting when he was startled by a voice to his left. "Is everything okay here, gentlemen?"
A cold chill settled down Derek's back as Rossi appeared at his side, giving him a sideways glance as he came up to stand beside him. How had he become so distracted that he hadn't even noticed Rossi returning?
He turned back to Reid, expecting him to be just as annoyed with Rossi as he was with Derek, except that wasn't what he saw when he glanced over. Instead, Reid was looking at Rossi with barely concealed awe and amazement.
"You're David Rossi," Reid breathed out. His entire body language changed, becoming more relaxed by the second. He glanced back at Derek, raising his eyebrows. "You didn't tell me you were with the BAU."
"You know about the BAU?" Rossi questioned, surprised.
Reid cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. "Maybe," he said. He considered the two men more thoroughly, lips pursed as he narrowed his eyes. "Okay, you're not coming in, but I might be able to answer some of your questions."
Derek blinked, suspicious at the sudden change of heart. Nevertheless, this was an opening, and he’d be an idiot to not take advantage of it. Reid could be their biggest lead.
He held up a photograph of the last man, Mr Grant. “Do you recognise this man?”
Reid looked at the photo, and Derek watched as his eyes lit up in recognition for a single moment before dimming once more, his face dropping back into a disinterested frown. “Not particularly,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and turning away, breaking eye contact.
Derek and Rossi locked eyes.
“Really?” Rossi asked, narrowing his eyes. “Because you got into a fight with him a few days ago, and that night he turned up dead.”
“I…” Reid faltered, taking another look at the photo. “What?” He reached out and took it from Derek’s hands, their fingers brushing together so minutely it almost wasn’t noticeable, and yet it sent sparks of electricity shooting down Derek’s arm.
Meanwhile, Reid gapped at the photo, eyebrows furrowed together tightly. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he said, bringing his hand up to card soothingly through his hair. Derek’s eyes caught on the movement. “He was killed?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Derek answered, moving to take back the photo. A part of him longed for their fingers to touch again, but they didn't. He tried to hide his disappointment. “You were one of the last known people to talk with him. We need to know what it is you said to him.”
Reid sighed, shrugging again. “He was cheating,” he said, lost in a memory. “I couldn’t quite figure it out, but it was statistically impossible for him to be doing that well, it had to have been rigged in his favour.”
“He ended up going home with over a million bucks,” Rossi added, his eyes steeled. “Did that bother you at all?”
“I didn’t know that,” Reid said, eyes hardening as he looked up at Rossi. “I was kicked out before the game ended. I had no way of knowing.”
Rossi stepped forward into Reid’s personal space. “I’m sure you would’ve heard about it, maybe as he was leaving?”
“Is this an interrogation, agent?” Any awe or admiration Reid had shown for Rossi from before dissipated instantly. He scowled as he grabbed a hold of the door. “If that’s all, I’d like you to leave now.”
“We have a few more questions,” Derek rushed out. “We’re not down here.”
Reid smirked at him. “Come back with a warrant.” Then, he slammed the door in their faces.
Rossi sighed, dropping his head. “That went well,” he snorted, turning on his heel. “He’s right. We don’t have anywhere near enough evidence for probable cause, and any judge in the city would laugh us out of the courtroom upon application.”
Derek followed after him, shaking his head. “I don’t think he has anything to do with this,” he said. “He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I think he still knows something, but he won’t tell us,” Rossi said as they made their way back to the SUV. He glanced at Derek, his face dropping slightly. “He got on your nerves.”
Derek shrugged as he jumped into the passenger seat. “Something like that.”
Rossi got into the driver’s seat, still watching Derek with narrowed eyes. “The two of you seemed…” he paused, tilting his head. “Tense.”
Something akin to humiliation burned underneath his skin. “It was nothing,” he began, tongue feeling like sandpaper in his mouth. “He just doesn’t like law enforcement.”
“Yeah,” Rossi drawled. “Weird that he knew about the BAU though.”
Derek grinned, feeling the tightness of his shoulders melt away as they fell back into playful banter. “I think you’ve got yourself a fan,” he joked.
Rossi hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he said, and then he switched the car on and sped away.
As they made their way back to the station, they received a phone call.
Derek glanced at the screen before answering. "What's up, Hotch?"
"There's been another death," Hotch said, gravely. "This time, the unsub left a message."
Chapter 2: two for the show
Summary:
A new victim and an old suspect
Notes:
Man this was a hard chapter to write but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless
Also, writing case fics is so hard! So, ignore all the plot holes pretty please, I don't know how to fix them now okay thanks
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Derek and Rossi, having been out and about driving through Las Vegas, were chosen to head to the crime scene alone.
They parked on the street curb parallel to the house, watching as LEOs and crime scene techs hurried about the property, blocking the front yard off with caution tape and beginning to comb through for evidence. The front of the house looked like what you would expect from a middle class income; not too large but certainly nice, maintained in a way that revealed the person living here cared about their image. As Derek and Rossi walked across the yard, they noted that the lawn was freshly mowed.
Waiting at the front door was Detective Durst, who had called them in on the case in the first place. He was a taller than average man with a receding hairline and a bad attitude.
"What do we know so far?" Rossi asked as he slipped on the latex gloves a crime scene tech had handed him. He passed another pair to Derek who did the same, taking in a deep breath as he stepped in through the front door.
Durst huffed. "We got the call maybe 45 minutes ago from a concerned neighbour, she noticed the blood on the window."
"Blood on the window?" Derek walked further into the house. The interior was as immaculate as the outside, except for one glaring difference.
The most obvious was the body on the ground, crumpled against one of the lounge chairs. It was a man who looked about 40 years old with dark hair and tanned skin. Lying precariously in the palm of his hand was a revolver and there was a single gunshot wound on the side of his head. A large pool of blood seeped into the carpet on the other side of him, most of it hadn't even dried yet. In the middle of the pool of blood was the victim's cellphone.
The second most obvious was the words on the window, written in the victim's blood.
HIS LUCK RAN OUT
Derek felt a chill run down his spine. "Well, that's one way to prove it's not suicide."
"The unsub is getting bold," Rossi noted. He shook his head as he puzzled over the scene. "But why? Having them be suicides was a forensic countermeasure."
"Unless it's his signature rather than a forensic countermeasure," Derek proposed. "The suicide aspect is important to him, he wants the men to take their own life."
Durst scoffed. "So, we're believing that these men still killed themselves? How do we know the killer didn't do it himself?"
"We believe the first victim may have been killed," Rossi explained. "But the third was definitely self-inflicted. No one came in or out of that room."
"What do we know about the victim?" Derek asked as he knelt down to inspect the cellphone. It had lost battery at some point.
Durst pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket. "Uhhh, Chris Johnson, 39, no known close relatives, worked at the local bank."
Derek looked over the body, assessing the state of it and the blood on the floor. "We'll have to hear back from the M.E but I would put the time of death as no later than this morning."
"Sticks to his pattern," Rossi said, walking around the couch to inspect the blood on the window. "But this is a significant escalation, killing two days in a row."
"Should we be expecting one tonight?" Durst asked nervously, looking between the two profilers.
Derek nodded. "It's possible. We'll get back to the station and work on a profile to give to your officers and the public – hopefully we can dissuade anyone from joining any 'private games' tonight."
He considered what changed now that they were certain it wasn't suicide. The profile pointed to a mission oriented killer, especially considering he left a message. But what about victimology? The obvious answer was that they were all 30-40 year old white men who frequented casinos, but that was the majority of casino players. What was special about these men in particular that made them targets? And how was the unsub getting them to kill themselves?
Rossi caught his attention, gesturing for him to inspect the writing. “Think about it, ‘his luck ran out’, forcing them to play Russian roulette. It’s all based on betting and gambling.”
Derek frowned. “We already knew the common denominator was that the men were playing poker.”
“Yeah, but it’s mocking,” Rossi pointed out, gesturing with his hands. “Forcing them to play Russian roulette after winning and losing money, we’re looking at a highly organised killer. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s even orchestrating the ‘private game’.”
“We need to talk to anyone who was at those games,” Derek concluded. “See if it’s the same person.”
Rossi nodded. “Let’s get back to the team.”
Rossi, Derek and Durst went back to the station, sliding back into the conference room where the rest of the team had met back up. A few other officers lingered near the back, lounging around on the couches that lined the wall.
"We've got the beginnings of a profile," Rossi began, sitting down beside Derek as Emily, JJ and Hotch turned to him from where they had been going over the evidence they have so far. "Mission oriented killer, he's specifically targeting men who play poker, but there has to be something else he's looking for to justify the level of anger he holds towards them."
"The suicide is important to him as well," Derek said. "But not as important as getting his message out. He's going to continue escalating and at some point his need to out these men for whatever wrong he believes they've committed will outweigh his need to make it look like a suicide."
Hotch nodded, making notes as he looked up at them. "And how did it go with the witness?" He said 'witness' with a knowing tone.
Derek shook his head. "He wasn't helpful but I can't see him being our guy."
He turned to Rossi who nodded along with his assessment. "I agree, I don't believe he's a viable suspect, at least right now, but I think he knows more than he lets on. Unfortunately, he's not exactly being cooperative."
"We can revisit it if needed," Hotch said, expertly directing the conversation to maintain efficiency. "JJ, any updates from the families?"
"Maybe something that could contribute to victimology," she began. "The first victim's ex-wife, she said she divorced him because he was drug dealing."
Detective Durst scoffed. The team froze, simultaneously narrowing their eyes and looking to him.
Hotch frowned and leaned forward slightly. "Do you have something you wish to say?"
Durst gave them all a tight-lipped smile as he walked over towards the small kitchenette at the back of the conference room. "Not at all," he said as he turned his back on them.
A tension settled over the room as Derek kept his keen eyes trained on the man. He poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it slowly, giving no indication that he knew he was being watched so closely. Derek let his eyes drift over towards the other officers hanging around Durst, their own eyes flitting between their superior and the BAU, shifting as if to circle around the man, showing solidarity. An uneasiness ruptured in Derek's stomach at the sight.
He shook his head and directed his attention back to Hotch, who was levelling him with a warning glance, although Derek had worked with the man long enough to know that there was righteous fury hidden behind the stoicness. He'd done this job long enough to know some battles weren't to be fought, no matter how much they made his blood boil.
Hotch cleared his throat. "It's something to consider. Could be a part of the unsub's mission," he conceded. "In terms of a geographical profile, I've narrowed it to the inner city, but it's not concrete yet." He gestured to the board, where he had pinned a large copy of the map of Las Vegas and drawn over it in red markers. Sighing, he made a small mark on the board before shaking his head. "I feel like we're missing something."
Derek let his head drop and watched as the rest of the team did the same. Sometimes, it felt like they were so close to breaking it open, to understanding every key aspect of the case, and yet they didn’t. There was something about this case that bothered Derek, something that should’ve been obvious.
Before they could say anything else, the conference phone rang. Derek reached forward to answer it. "Hey baby girl?"
"I have some information for you," Penelope began, sounding out of breath and hurried. "I've managed to review all the footage from the casinos of the nights in question and, well… it's not looking great."
Hotch frowned, standing over the table. "Why not?"
"Well, that witness that Rossi and Morgan interviewed, Spencer Reid, yeah…" She took a deep breath in. "He was at every table."
Derek looked up and locked eyes with Rossi who looked thoughtfully back at him. They exchanged thoughts silently between them as Derek ruminated on the implications of the new evidence. It didn't make sense, and there were other, more solid reasons as to why it didn't make sense, but the one that stuck out most clearly in Derek's head was a single thought; 'He wouldn't do this'.
He couldn't explain why he felt that way. He'd only met the man once, and his first impression hadn't been great either, but there was something deep within him that understood, almost intimately, that Spencer Reid could not have committed these murders.
Just as he was turning to plead Reid's case to Hotch, a voice interrupted him. "Well, let's go get him," Durst said, his face twisted in a kind of sick delight. There was a glint in his eyes, dangerous and frenzied. He stood at the back, leaning casually against the counter, the rest of his team looking to him for direction. They all tensed, as if ready at a moment's notice to arrest Reid.
A frantic desperation dug itself into Derek's stomach at the thought. No, no, this was wrong. The evidence might point there but there was something they were missing.
He once again turned to Hotch, rebuttals stinging to the end of his tongue, but the man was already shaking his head. "Rossi, Morgan, what are your thoughts?" he asked, contemplating something.
Derek went to respond but the words refused to form, his head still stuck on the revelation. Rossi beat him to it. "The guy was prickly but he seemed genuinely surprised that our last vic was killed."
"Yeah," Derek agreed, finally able to put his thoughts into words. "Besides I don't think he fully fits our profile…" He trailed off because even as the words left his mouth, they felt false.
Hotch glanced at him. "Morgan?"
He shook his head, hating himself for what he had to say. "Reid said something about how our third victim was cheating during the game. He cared enough about it that he was thrown out of the casino."
Rossi joined, his voice open as he came to the same revelation. "'His luck ran out', I told you, it was mocking."
"This son of a bitch," Detective Durst swore, placing his coffee cup down harshly on the counter. "That's more than enough for an arrest."
Derek clenched his fists. "No, it's not. If we're wrong about this–"
"If we're wrong about it we can let him go," Durst shrugged, as if the idea of wrongly arresting someone was trivial. Derek pushed down the ball of hate that was growing inside his chest. "Even if it's not him, he was still at all of the games. That's not a coincidence. Besides, I know the guy you're talking about. We've been trying to get him for a while now"
Derek turned back to Hotch, looking at him like he was his last hope. "Hotch, we can't do this," he almost begged.
The other man looked at him with understanding but still sighed and gestured towards Durst. "You lead the arrest," he said, a tone of warning underneath his words. Derek stared at him, betrayed.
Durst smirked as he left the conference room, his lackeys following closely behind.
The officers brought Reid back to the station an hour later, handcuffs tight around his wrists, and he wore a scowl aimed specifically at Derek. He maintained the glare as the officers put him into an interrogation room, shoving him harshly through the door and down into a metal chair.
Derek stood behind the one-way glass. Somehow, Reid was still glaring at him, as if he knew where he was standing. Hotch stood next to him as they watched Durst begin the questioning.
"Why are we letting him take the lead on this?" Derek asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's obvious he's just looking for a guy he can pin these murders on to wrap it up."
Hotch gave him a sideway glance before staring resolutely back at the interrogation as it started. "Durst knows more than he's letting on, so does Reid. Maybe we can get them to soften each other up."
Derek didn't like it. He didn't like the way Durst was looking at Reid, power-hungry and cruel. He knew police officers like that, ones who didn't care if the person on the other side of the table was guilty or not. He knew what it was like to be guilty until proven innocent.
Durst was single-minded and stubborn. Prideful. The worst combination of arrogance and recklessness spun into one person.
He also knew Hotch was right, as much as it pained him to admit it. They just had to wait their turn for now.
Durst sat down across from Reid. From this angle, Derek could see the sides of both his and Reid's faces. He smirked at Reid, laying out the photos of the dead corpses in neat rows on the table. "Recognise these men?"
Reid didn't even look down; he just scoffed. "Now that's cliche," he said.
"Is it?" Durst grunted. "Or are you afraid that if you look, I'll catch you?"
Reid kept his eyes on the one-way mirror as he responded. "Durst, this game is getting a little repetitive, don't you think?" He finally tore his eyes away from where it seemed they were boring into Derek's to instead glare at Durst. "You and I both know I'll be walking out of here before tomorrow."
Derek's mouth went dry. "They know each other?" He asked, although not expecting an answer.
Hotch sighed deeply, his arms crossed over his chest. He kept his gaze firmly on the two men.
"Not this time," Durst replied smugly. "This time, not even your smarts can evade justice." He spat out the word 'smarts' like it was poison, lips pulling up into a sneer.
It was wrong. This was a targeted attack by Durst, and he was using the justice system to further his own scheme. "Hotch, this is a personal mission for him, he wants to nail Reid."
"I know," Hotch responded, face set in a firm but neutral scowl. "But they're revealing their cards."
Derek turned his attention back to the show in front of him, shaking his head. Everything in him wanted to shut it down, not just because he felt Reid didn't deserve it, but because officers like Durst were allowed to behave like this when others stood by and did nothing. Years upon years of people turning a blind eye to his methods enabled his attitude and ensured he faced no repercussions for his actions. "Please tell me we can do something about this later?" He asked.
Hotch nodded. "Leave it with me."
Durst pointed down to the photos on the table, continuing on. "At least take a look. Prove you're smarter than the rest of us," he goaded, leaning forward. "Prove you can get away with this."
Reid rolled his eyes again but sighed and looked down at the photos. His eyes swept left to right, almost bored, before doing a double take on the first photo, the first victim. "Wait," he breathed out, leaning forward over where his hands were cuffed to the table. "Wait, that's–"
Durst laughed – a shrill, piercing sound. "Yeah, that's right."
A tense silence permeated the air. Derek leaned forward, standing close enough that he could almost see his breath fogging up the glass. He felt Hotch tighten up next to him, inhaling a sharp breath, his head tilted to the side.
Reid's eyebrows furrowed. "I knew he died, I knew something had happened, but…"
"What are they talking about?" Derek rushed out. "What – did Durst keep something from us?"
Unbeknownst to the confusion outside the walls of the interrogation room, Durst smirked at Reid. "That's your old buddy, isn't it? Evan Jenkins."
Reid's face went carefully blank. "Sure, I knew him." He leaned back, head slowly raising up to stare Durst in the face, defiant and impassive.
"You were more than just buddies though, weren't you?" Durst asked. "You were a customer."
Reid stayed silent. Derek's skin prickled and his blood hummed underneath his skin. He didn't understand what was happening in front of him, and it made him beyond angry.
So often, they arrived too late to help anyone. So often, they learned information too late to save anyone. And here were two people sitting on a goldmine of information the entire time. If only they knew everything at the beginning, if only they could unravel the web of lies earlier…
"Is that why you killed him?" Durst smirked. "We see it all the time; drug deal gone wrong. Did he increase his prices? Did he give you a bad batch?"
Derek could see the miniscule shake of Reid's head as his expression shifted. The inscrutable coldness gave way to anger, shame, and worst of all, fear.
"You see, it didn't click for me until I saw the footage of you with him that night," Durst laughed. "You were angry. Surely, it wasn't over something as simple as poker. Were you high? Or were you coming down, needing a hit, and you knew just where to score?"
"I'm not–" Reid cut himself off, his jaw clenching so tight it looked painful. He shook his head.
"Is that why you followed him home? Is that why you made it seem like a suicide?"
Reid shook his head again, almost impulsively, like he couldn't help it, but kept his mouth shut.
"Or maybe he asked for something else. Was money not enough for him anymore?" Durst's eyes turned vicious. "Did the whore who lives with you give you some tips?"
Reid growled and slammed his hands on the table, standing up as far as he could while still restrained, kicking the chair behind him in his haste. "Don't you dare talk about her!" He hissed. "You're disgusting!"
Derek stood frozen as he watched Hotch bolt from his side, slamming open the door and storming up to Durst with barely hidden rage. "Detective, you're needed outside, we'll take over for now." It wasn't a suggestion, it wasn't even a request – it was a demand, spoken with the authority that Hotch wielded so effortlessly. Derek noticed that Hotch's fingers twitched where they were squeezed tight into a fist.
Durst stood up, attempting to be as intimidating as Hotch, but although he matched Hotch in height, he paled in comparison. Hotch said nothing, just continued to glare at him until the detective rolled his eyes and stomped out of the room. As he passed Derek, he gave him a dirty glare.
Reid stared at Hotch, eyebrows scrunched up, and Derek had a brief thought that it looked cute before he internally kicked himself.
Hotch stared back at Reid, his face impassive and calm. Derek, in contrast, felt hot — rage was simmering inside his veins, threatening to bubble over. For a moment no one said anything; Derek stayed outside behind the glass while Hotch and Reid engaged in the most intense staring competition Derek had ever seen.
Then, Hotch took in a deep breath and turned on his heel back towards the viewing room. He opened the door and nodded towards Derek. “Jump in,” he said, stalking back over to the one-way mirror and crossing his arms.
“What?” Derek blinked, thrown off course.
“You have rapport with him,” Hotch explained. “He’s riled up because of Durst but they have too much bad blood. Use that, keep him angry — he reveals more that way, but don’t push him away.”
Derek scoffed. “He hates me; he’s not going to want to talk to me.”
“Better you than Durst, and you’ve already met before,” Hotch pressed.
He shook his head, feeling his heart beat hard against his chest.
It wasn't just that Reid was uncooperative with him, or that the man clearly had more secrets that he wasn't willing to divulge. No, the truth was that Reid was attractive, and Derek had crossed a line already. The thought of his boss watching from the other side of the one-way mirror while Derek attempted to hold himself back from flirting with Reid caused stress that Derek didn't have time to deal with. He needed to stay focused on this case, but unfortunately Reid made that an almost impossible task.
However, Hotch was adamant, and Derek agreed that it was the best course of action. He needed to end this immediately. Feelings never came before a case, that was the golden rule, especially when it was something as juvenile as an ill-advised crush.
And so, he set his shoulders back and schooled his expression into one he hoped looked professional enough as he walked into the interrogation room.
At some point since Hotch had left the room, Reid had taken a seat again. When Derek walked in, he felt Reid's eyes on him immediately, looking him up and down. Derek maintained eye contact, sitting down and picking up the pictures Durst had left on the table.
"Should've known you were working with him," Reid mumbled, leaning back in his chair, acting as if it wasn't just minutes ago that he had exploded at Durst. "Did he tip you off? Is that why you came around today?"
Derek didn't say anything. He gathered up the files and made a show of looking through them – perhaps a more cowardly tactic than he would normally use, but he needed a second to think through his approach.
Reid narrowed his eyes at him but didn't say anything else. For a few moments they almost seemed to wait each other out, neither one willing to be the one to crack. Eventually, however, Derek knew that he had to do his job.
"I'm going to ask you some questions," Derek started, glancing up at Reid momentarily before making a show of looking back at the files. "You can be honest with me, or I can have my colleague find out. She's the best at what she does."
Reid scoffed, smirking as he leaned forward, crowding into Derek's space. "You do know I'm a poker player, right?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "I know a bluff when I see one."
"Well, then, I sincerely doubt your abilities," Derek snapped back. "We already know almost everything about you, and we've only known about you for less than half a day."
"I'm sure," Reid rolled his eyes.
Derek felt a pool of heat settle in his stomach and struggled to rein it in, keeping his tone even as he replied. "We know your mother is a paranoid schizophrenic," he began, watching as Reid's cocky grin faded immediately. "We know your father left when you were 10. We know you graduated high school at 12, have three doctorates, and could've had any job you wanted but instead you spend your days in casinos."
Reid stared at him and for the first time Derek felt he was seeing the man underneath the tough exterior he constantly hid behind. He looked exhausted, and although Derek had already noticed the dark circles underneath his eyes, somehow they became more prominent. His shoulders dropped down slightly, like a weight he was balancing precariously had toppled over. Despite that, despite the cracks in the armour that Derek could see plain as day, Reid still lifted his chin to stare down at him. “That’s all public knowledge,” he said in an attempt to seem nonchalant.
"Everything is public knowledge to us, we're the FBI."
Reid looked up at him through thick eye lashes. "Well, that's a huge invasion of privacy. Have you been watching me, agent?"
Derek huffed out a choked laugh. "You wish," he said, glancing quickly at the one-way mirror and clearing his throat. "My point is, we can go digging. Do you really want us to do that?"
A moment passed as Reid stared at him, eyes roaming over his face. Then, slowly, he schooled his expression into one of apathy and boredom – the perfect poker-face. Derek hoped his own expression was similarly blank, unwilling to allow himself to feel affected by how easily Reid could switch off his emotions.
"Fine," Reid said after a while, leaning back. "Ask away. No promise I'll answer but if I do I'll answer honestly."
"Thank you," Derek said, gratefully. "How did you know Evan Jenkins?"
Reid swallowed harshly and then turned his head away, a blush creeping up his neck. Derek wondered if it would be hot underneath his fingertips. Then, he cursed himself for thinking about that in the middle of an interrogation.
"I think you know," Reid admitted eventually, shrugging. "You knew what he did in his spare time, Durst's conclusion wasn't wrong."
Derek sighed, realising that was all the truth he was getting from Reid regarding that issue. Not that he blamed him; admitting outright that he knew Jenkins because he was buying drugs from him would've been a very stupid thing to say to an FBI agent. "When was the last time you saw him?" Derek asked as a follow up.
"The night he died, apparently," Reid answered, his eyes flicking back to Derek. "I was playing at the same table as him. He won but he was cheating." He said it with so much certainty that it made Derek pause.
"How do you know that?"
Reid gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I count cards. Not intentionally, I just… can't turn it off. They weren't adding up. The same thing happened over a week ago, and then two nights ago."
Derek nodded towards the pictures on the table. "And it was those three men who were cheating?"
Reid furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, it was."
"You realise that's not a good look," Derek said, carefully. "You interacted with all three victims immediately before their deaths."
Reid smirked slightly. "The odds are almost one in seven-hundred million, especially in a city as large as Las Vegas, with a high number of tourists. The casinos see roughly 50,000 tourists each day." He read out the figures with an almost giddy tone, like he was excited to share something.
"Yeah," Derek said, breathing out a laugh, surprised by the change in tone. Reid glanced up at him, cracks beginning to show in his mask. A softness had settled over them. Derek continued, "How often would you see Jenkins?"
"I– I haven't seen him in a while," Reid revealed, staring at Derek, eyes desperately trying to convey the truth behind his words. "Almost– almost seven months." His wrists pulled at the restraints as if Reid was attempting to draw them closer to his body.
Derek raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
Reid's face hardened, his eyes boring into Derek's own. "Yes," he spat out. "Is that so hard to believe?"
Derek didn't answer, but felt guilt flood his body at having so carelessly dismissed Reid's admission.
They were walking a tightrope, dancing around each other. He was too aware of Reid, too aware of the way his hair fell into his face and the way the veins on his hands popped whenever he pulled at the handcuffs. This had been a bad idea, Derek had known that from the start. He was compromised, and that was a dangerous position to find himself in.
He shook his head as if to clear it. "With any of these three men, did you hear anything about a private game happening afterwards? We know they were happening because of text messages between the victims and other people at the casinos but no other information."
"I heard them talking about it, but I left after losing," Reid shrugged. "I don't like losing and I don't like cheaters."
"Even though you are one?" Derek said before he could think about his words. His stomach dropped to his feet.
Reid scoffed at him, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Are we almost done? I know you don't have any concrete evidence to keep me here."
"I didn't mean –" Derek cut himself and sighed. "We just want to know what happened. You're a key witness to all three murders. It's possible to connect you to them through motive alone."
"Doesn't mean I killed them," Reid snapped back.
There was that fire again, the one that caused Reid to make mistakes. Derek glanced towards the mirror again, recalling Hotch's advice – 'keep him angry'.
"Didn't you?" Derek tried to swallow around the bile that felt like it was collecting in his throat. "You know how the optics look. It won't take much to pin it on you."
Reid frowned at him, shaking his head. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Derek cocked his head to the side. "You wanna bet on it? Or do you only gamble when you know you can tip the scales in your favour?"
Reid looked him up and down. He seemed calm, but the muscles in his arms were straining from pulling at the handcuffs, giving away how tense he was.
Derek continued. "All those smarts and you still can't see how this ends. I would've thought you'd have seen just how bad this looks. Or are you just another pretty face?" He snapped his mouth shut, feeling his face heat up as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that.
He thought for a moment that they could move past it, that Reid wouldn't point out how ridiculous he had sounded, but his hope died just as he saw Reid smirk, something hungry and almost cruel shining in his eyes. "Does your boss on the other side of that glass know how much you want to fuck me?"
It was so much worse than Derek had imagined. He cursed under his breath, bringing a hand to cover his face and sparing a glance towards the glass but unable to bear it. Shaking his head, he began to shuffle the pictures back into the file and stood up. "We're done here," he said, firmly.
"Oh, but we were just getting started, weren't we agent?" Reid's eyes were sharp despite the honeyed tone dripping from his lips. Gone was the softness, the realness from before. "Say 'hi' to Rossi, won't you? I'm his biggest fan."
Derek stormed out of the room, letting the door slam behind him as he struggled to control his breathing, shame and embarrassment curling around his lungs.
He could barely face Hotch, who was staring at him with a look of exasperation. "He's lying," he tried to say, but it sounded fake even to his own ears. "He was just trying to get a reaction out of me."
"Well," Hotch said dryly, raising an eyebrow. "Whether he was lying or not he succeeded."
"He just–" Derek scoffed as he cut himself off. "He's irritating and uncooperative."
Hotch stared at him for a second, a contemplative expression slowly creeping its way onto his face. "Maybe," he said, turning back towards the glass and watching as Reid sat there alone, fidgeting with his hands. "Either way, we have to let him go. We have no concrete evidence on him."
Derek sighed and held his head in his hands. "So, that was all for nothing."
"I wouldn't say 'nothing', we know now that all three victims were specifically cheating in their games; that's most likely the motive."
"Yeah," Derek said, but anger still bubbled beneath the surface as he raised his head to glare at Hotch. "You know how I feel about wrongful arrests."
Hotch nodded, his movements stiff. "I know," he said, empathetically. "I didn't like it either."
"You authorised it, though," Derek shot back. "Used it as a strategy. That's not how we do things."
He walked away, too mad and embarrassed to have a productive conversation with the man. If he was honest, he was also a little turned on from being so thoroughly bested by Reid, the man getting under his skin in a way so few could.
The others had thankfully waited in the conference room. He didn't need any more witnesses to what had occurred during the interrogation.
Hotch followed closely behind, and Reid behind him, looking cocky and self-assured as he passed them. "I wish you luck," he said, and for a moment Derek believed the words were sincere as a shy smile briefly flickered on Reid's face.
His eyes crept up towards the evidence board, giving it a cursory glance before turning around. Before he could make it any farther, however, he turned back, his face set in determination as he looked more closely at the board. "It's wrong," he muttered underneath his breath.
All at once, it seemed like Reid had turned into a completely different person. Gone was the confident and laissez-faire attitude he had carefully built around himself. Now, he had a sort of nervous energy about him, rocking back and forth on his heels like he was unsure whether he could approach them.
The team all gave each other confused glances. Rossi furrowed his eyebrows. "What's wrong?" He asked.
Reid turned to him, looking as if he was unaware he had even spoken in the first place. "The geographical profile," he replied, and all hesitation was gone as he raced forward towards the evidence board, grabbing a marker from the table as he went. "You're working from these four points; the two casinos, Jenkins' house and the hotel, but it's not accurate. The unsub only went to Jenkins' house because he stalked him there, it's not otherwise within his comfort zone." He made notes on the side as he spoke, glancing back and forth across the map. He looked towards Hotch as he reached for the eraser. "May I?" He asked as he gestured to the markings.
Hotch shrugged. "Go ahead," he said, amusement and wonder clear in his tone.
Reid continued on as if he had never stopped. "His comfort zone is therefore within this radius. Now, he did visit two casinos twice, but considering Jenkins was supposedly his first kill, and not one he planned, then it makes sense he would return to the same casino but then change for the third one. Have there been any more victims?" His words came out in a rush, and Derek could do nothing but stare as he watched Reid correct the geographical profile in real time.
Emily nodded, similarly stunned. "Uh, yes. There was one this morning."
"And where had he gambled last night?" Reid asked, poised to make another mark on the board.
JJ checked her notes. "The Clover Casino," she replied.
Reid marked the spot on the board. "There – three separate points. We have his comfort zone now."
He turned back around, a satisfied grin on his face. It wasn't like the smirks and sly grins he had been giving them previously; this one was real and unfiltered.
It was beautiful. Derek would do anything to see it again.
Reid's smile faded as he realised they were all staring at him. "Um… I mean…" he stammered, setting the marker back down on the table and backing away slowly. Derek watched as he slowly but surely put the mask back up, hiding behind an impassive stare as he shrugged his shoulders. "Something like that."
"You're right, though," Emily said as she stared at the board, cocking her head to the side as she considered it. "That's… impressive."
"It's really not," Reid urged, taking another step back. "I have to leave, this has been an awful experience but I hope you catch the guy, or whatever."
He turned around to leave once again, but stopped as Hotch called out to him. "We could use your help."
Several pairs of eyes stared at Hotch in a mix of confusion and shock. Reid crossed his arms and glared at him, scowling. "What?"
"You know Las Vegas well," Hotch reasoned, assured. "You obviously have profiler skills and considering what Rossi has told me you're already familiar with our style of investigating. Not only that, you have insider knowledge of the case and may have a unique perspective to offer."
“Hotch, you can’t be serious,” Derek said, scoffing. “We don't need a consultant."
Reid stood speechless. "You… Are you sure you want me?"
Hotch sighed, staring back at the evidence board. "This unsub is escalating, we have no idea if he'll strike tonight or not, but we could force his hand, play to his growing need."
Derek felt a pit open up in his stomach. "No, Hotch. This is insane."
Hotch stared at him with a raised eyebrow. "We need to get ahead of him. This might be the only way to do it."
"What – what are you suggesting?" Reid asked, body language tense and defensive.
"We'll send you undercover," Hotch explained. "You'll be our eyes in those private games, and we'll be able to see who is forcing these men to kill themselves."
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider leaving a kudos and a comment :)
See you in the next one!