[CM] THE CASE

Equality may be a right, but there is no power to make it a reality. - Balzac

Emily snorted suspiciously: "Strange, the forensic doctor detected the ingredients of GHB drugs, but they showed no signs of sexual assault. If it was for murder, why did they use date rape drugs?"

They were on a plane that had just passed over New York. Reid sat uncharacteristically in the corner, taking Griffith's place.So Griffith had no choice but to sit across from him.

So he saw Reid in a daze, and then said, "Maybe it's to weaken their strength?"

"But there was no GHB in the subsequent double murder, not to mention that there were more powerful men this time." Emily retorted.

"Double murder is so different," Morgan said.

"The question is why?" Hotch asked.

"Could it be two murderers?" Griffith hypothesized.

Morgan shook his head.

The fax machine rang and JJ brought a copy: "New information, this is a threatening letter that Sandra Davis received a few weeks before the murder. She showed it to her parents and called the police, but no one was able to find out who wrote it. "

Griffith reached out and asked, "We saw you with Ken, and it made us sick. Be careful, don't meet him again, or you will pay the consequences. Don't tell anyone, or you will pay the price."

"That doesn't sound real," Reid said, holding out his hand for Griffith to show him the copy.

JJ raised his eyebrows: "What?"

"First of all, the threatening letters that use No.1 to call 'us' are basically fake."

"Somebody wants to spread the blame," Emily added.

"Besides, the letter itself is contradictory. You see, on the one hand, 'Be careful, don't see him again,' and on the other hand, they don't want to make it public."

"Hate crimes amplify the impact rather than diminish it. If it's intimidation, he'd want Sandra to tell others." Griffith frowned. "This letter is more like a personal vendetta."

"It might not actually be written by 'him'," Reid licked his lips quickly, "that's a weird wording—'be careful'? It's more like a woman's handwriting.” He seemed to sneer, and Gideon read He glanced.

Morgan knocked on the table: "Then?"

"Based on psychological immaturity, I tend to think it was written by teenagers."

"So you're saying, a girl killed these kids?" JJ finds it ridiculous.

"It's possible that the person who wrote the threatening letter was not the same person who killed the person," Griffith said.

"Let's call it Mystery One," Gideon interjected.

Hotch walked up to him at some point: "Do you still have number two?"

"Probably, 'cause of death unknown'?"

"The autopsy said she had blunt force trauma to her face and bruises on her neck." Griffith gestured around his neck, and Reid stared at his hand disapprovingly until Griffith dropped it and gave him a bewildered look.

Reid pretended that he hadn't done anything, coughed, and said dryly, "So, mystery number two."

"The number three is the mark on the car." Morgan shook the photo.

"Too many questions." Emily said with a headache.

"Then let's find some answers." Hotch looked down at the time, "We're almost there."

The person who went to see the dead body was temporarily replaced by Reid from Emily. The only female in BAU who can participate in the interrogation is because the interrogated is an underage girl, and it is more conducive for her to confide in the presence of a gentle female.

"Gentle, huh?" Morgan winked awkwardly at Emily. Emily raised her fist: "Don't force me to beat you."

Reid rolled his eyes and followed Griffith.

"They have such a good relationship." Griffith said with emotion.

"Yeah, something must have happened this morning," Reid muttered.

"Jealous? Morgan won't play with you anymore?"

"What—no! Why do you think that?" Reid reacted violently, "Do you think I'm eight? Angry for monopolizing my best friend?"

"Relax, I didn't say that." Griffith smiled and patted Reid. "Now you look like an eight-year-old boy."

Reid glared at him with puffed cheeks.

Griffith immediately changed his words: "Not like, not at all, an eight-year-old child is less than 1.8 meters long."

Reid kicked him, and Griffith hissed, as if in pain. Reid suddenly panicked: "Did I hurt you? Sorry, I...uh..."

Griffith was about to laugh, but deliberately didn't look at him.

Reid panicked even more: "Foster, I didn't mean to..."

Griffith was taken aback: "What did you call me?"

"Fo... Griffith! I didn't mean to." Reid almost bit his tongue.

Damn it, even though I thought about calling him that more than once, why did I call him that!

"No, I don't care about this..." Griffith waved his hands again and again, "You...forget it, are you feeling better now?"

This time it was Reid's turn to froze.

"You look like you've been in a bad mood for a few days, and I... we're worried," Griffith said. "So, feeling better?"

Reid didn't know what to say.The sun was shining brightly, and the man's eyes finally lost their black camouflage, revealing a gentle brown color, like a cup of sweet hot cocoa in winter.

It's just the right amount of warmth.

"I...cough, let's hurry up." Reid looked away awkwardly.He felt his heart rate start to soar again, but his hand hidden in his pocket was not trembling, but warm.

"For that, you can call me Foster," Griffith said behind him, "if you like."

Hotch and Gideon at the scene of the double murder. Ken's car has not yet left the scene, and the CSI team members are still collecting evidence.

The fenced-off area is huge and basically blocks the road.Pointing to the blood on the ground, the police officer told them: "This is the body of Ken Newcombe, and next to him is the body of Sandra Davis. But the real murder scene is over there—" he pointed to the woods not far away, "—and then she was killed dragged here."

"So the prisoner shoots Ken first, and Sandra starts running away, and then he goes after her and kills her," Gideon sums it up briefly.

Hotch nodded. "Ken Newcombe was a one-shot kill. He had a gun. Why didn't he shoot Sandra Davis?"

The police officer looked embarrassed: "Uh, because he can subdue Sandra Davis?"

"It's not that simple," Gideon said, looking at the sparse woods. "He spent his time hunting her down, beating her, abusing her. Why?"

"Because she was the killer's target," Hotch said.

"Sandra wore high heels and makeup and she was out on a date," Gideon said. "She was on a date with a killer."

The medical examiner showed them Sandra's body, and Griffith noticed several stab wounds: "Is this post-mortem?"

"That's right." The forensic doctor sighed, "How much I hate her."

"No, it's not hate," Reid said. "Post-mortem stabbing usually means sexual murder, and it's an excessive injury, unlike the previous two cases."

"Isn't this the same person?"

"No, the excessive injury meant that he didn't get what he wanted from her. Sandra was killed immediately, and everyone else disappeared for a few days, which was enough time for the prisoner to be satisfied."

"That could be a fetish. Is there anything missing from the first two victims?"

"Uh... at least the clothes are intact." The forensic doctor replied, "I don't know about the other belongings."

"Then please print the report to us." Griffith nodded at him.

The report was brought back by Griffith alone. Reid walked halfway and said he wanted to go to the bathroom, so Griffith had to help him with coffee and the report.

When he told Hotch about his and Reid's guesses, Detective RickWare, who was watching, interrupted him: "Wait, correct me if I'm wrong, this doesn't sound like a hate crime."

"It's not a hate crime," Emily said. "He picks on specific girls—17 to [-] years old, African American, likes to sing. He just pretends to be a hate crime to hide his real purpose."

"He's a serial killer," Gideon concluded.

"That swastika..."

"He knew how to effectively mobilize the crowd to distract the public," Griffith said. "He belonged in this place."

"It must be something personal," Gideon said. "We should go and talk to the victim's family."

The girls are well dressed.Perfume, high-heeled shoes, dresses, scarves... She sat alone on a bench by the road, like a flower admiring itself in the dark.

A black car slowly stopped in front of her, it seemed to be a pumpkin cart conjured up by the fairy godmother, and it was about to take Cinderella to the prince's castle.

The car window was lowered, the girl looked in and smiled, "Hello."

"Good evening, Naomi," the man said.

"Thank you for coming to pick me up." The girl opened the door of the passenger seat.

The man's voice was deep and sexy: "I have no other choice."