As a seasoned investigator who had seen countless videos, Jack never thought there would be a day when he would feel physically sick from watching one.
Reid and Rossi were responsible for going through all the paper materials. The initial sketches of bondage and sadomasochism that Jill Moss had faxed to Rossi were just the tip of the iceberg.
If the earlier materials could be loosely associated with S&M or certain niche interests, the content that followed was far more disturbing.
For instance, Reid had previously found a blueprint that provided detailed instructions on how to build an electric torture device, from its structure to its circuitry.
With Jack's current skill level, he estimated it would take him only a day to gather the necessary materials and assemble it.
The device was ingeniously designed. The voltage was adjustable, with the lowest setting capable of inflicting continuous torment, while the highest could instantly incapacitate a strong adult male.
The reason Jack felt sick was not just because of the paper materials but also the mountain of videotapes and "toys" that needed to be examined.
With a TV, an old DVD player, and a large pot of coffee, Jack spent two days in a small room watching extreme and explicit content. The majority of it was disturbingly graphic.
And simply watching wasn't enough. He had to assess whether the content in the videos was real, determine which were legitimate releases, which were underground, and which might have been filmed by the killer himself.
As for the BDSM toys, Jack couldn't find a single fingerprint on any of them. The suspect had meticulously cleaned them with a powerful oxidizing disinfectant. Typical obsessive-compulsive behavior—clean freaks often have these traits.
"Looks like this might have all been for nothing."
Jack left his "dark room" and entered the conference room where Reid and Rossi were. He spoke as he grabbed the coffee cup from Reid's hands, pouring the remaining half-cup of black coffee into the sink, ignoring Reid's reluctant expression.
Unlike Jack, who was on the verge of being derailed by the explicit videos, the past two days had been Reid's version of paradise. Analyzing text and data was his favorite thing, and with no restrictions on his coffee intake, his genius brain was in overdrive.
Over the course of two days, the three of them had sifted through all the boxes, but they couldn't find any conclusive evidence to prove the owner of the materials had ever acted on his fantasies.
Rossi took off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose in exhaustion.
"We can confirm this guy's a pervert, but fantasizing isn't a crime. Without a body or solid proof of murder, I think I'll have to go tell Agent Jill Moss that we're done here."
Jack grabbed a stack of papers from Reid's hands, frowning at what looked like a brick kiln sketched on one of the pages.
"What's this thing?"
"A crematorium. It's a pretty good design, actually. The guy even considered heat circulation." Reid's excitement over the cleverness of the design made Jack queasy. Without hesitation, he slapped the papers onto Reid's head, making a loud PIA sound.
"Don't get too into the mind of a psycho."
Turning to Rossi, Jack added, "I think we should call in the rest of the team. We've got some time and no major cases right now. They can drive up instead of using the jet."
The contents they were reviewing were just too unsettling. The materials spanned nearly 20 years. If the suspect had actually brought his fantasies to life, Jack couldn't begin to imagine how many bodies might be hidden beneath the surface.
Rossi furrowed his brow, deep in thought. They had already invested a significant amount of time—nearly three full days—but hadn't found anything definitive. Should they continue to dig deeper or cut their losses?
"Or maybe you could talk to Agent Jill Moss again?" Jack suggested after some thought.
After all, BAU was assisting in the investigation. Taking too much initiative might not be a good thing.
Jill Moss was just an ordinary agent. She had gained Rossi's attention due to her fan status, but she probably never expected him to actually show up.
Her attitude didn't necessarily reflect that of the local office. Every agent wants to rise by cracking a major case, but their supervisors might prefer to avoid unnecessary trouble.
"I'll talk to her, but if there's no other lead, we're heading home tomorrow morning," Rossi decided to stick to his principles.
Jack checked the time. It was almost 10 p.m., and the office outside was completely deserted.
"Are you sure she's still at the office?"
"She should be. About half an hour ago, she asked if I wanted to grab a drink tonight," Rossi replied with zero attempt at subtlety.
"I have a feeling we won't be leaving tomorrow," Jack quipped, his comment layered with meaning.
Rossi ignored him, pretending not to hear, and left the conference room.
As Jack had predicted, less than ten minutes later, Rossi returned with a transparent evidence bag in hand.
"Tell Hotch to have the team fly out here tomorrow morning."
"What's that?" Reid asked, taking the evidence bag. Inside was a bundle of pale blonde hair.
"Agent Moss said she found this in one of the boxes and then quoted one of my books," Rossi replied, his expression slightly conflicted.
"'Obtaining evidence from external tissues—skin, nails, hair—is a certain sign.' From The Predator's Eye, right?" Reid, ever the bookworm, instantly recognized the quote from one of Rossi's works.
"You sure she didn't just cut it from her own head? You're not seriously going to fall for this, are you?" Jack laughed. The sudden appearance of the evidence was far too convenient, coming right when Rossi was about to call it quits.
"But her hair is brown, isn't it?" Reid asked, confused, holding the hair up to the light.
Jack snorted. "Didn't you notice the photos in her office? Her hair was blonde when she was younger."
It was clear that Jill Moss was an ambitious woman. In Western culture, there's a long-standing stereotype about blonde women. Thanks to Hollywood's portrayal and the feminist movement's reaction to it, blonde bombshells are often equated with being airheaded or naïve.
In male-dominated professions, especially in middle or lower ranks, career-driven women often dyed their naturally blonde hair to avoid falling victim to this stereotype. Jill Moss was clearly one of them. In contrast, the women Jack knew didn't care one bit about societal judgments.
However, the contradiction with Jill Moss was that, while she hid her blonde hair for her career, she didn't hesitate to use her femininity to her advantage—whether through her carefully calculated attire or staying late at the office to invite Rossi out for drinks. Jack seriously doubted a driven woman like her would genuinely be interested in a man over sixty.
Even if she did have a thing for Rossi, it was probably more about leveraging him than genuine affection.
"I just see a younger version of myself in her—ambitious, willing to do whatever it takes." Rossi sounded a bit guilty as he spoke.
Jack couldn't help but laugh inwardly and teased, "You sure it's not a younger version of one of your former lady friends?"
PIA!
In a fit of mock outrage, Rossi picked up a stack of papers and lightly smacked Jack on the head, just as Jack had done to Reid earlier.
"Shut up. I'm serious."
Jack sighed dramatically, looking like the ultimate victim. Not only did he take the verbal abuse, but he also had to figure out how to help Rossi save face. Life was tough.
"Here's an idea. I'll have Garcia look into any unsolved cases of women being assaulted in Colorado over the past 20 years. If she finds anything suspicious, you can call Hotch and the others over."
"Let's do that," Rossi agreed, starting to pack up his things.
"You sure you don't want to grab a drink? At least you'll sleep well tonight," Jack asked mischievously.
"Get lost!"
Rossi nearly tripped as he walked out the door.
_________________________________________
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