Mo grá | Derek Morgan

chapter ten

"All the victims inhaled aerosolized chloroform, and to achieve that, he needs an enclosed space," Hotch added, his tone grave.

"Chloroform is a lot more controlled than methanol," Reid pointed out, his brows furrowing in thought. "I'll have Garcia track any large purchases or thefts from chemical supply houses."

"So, we're looking for a vehicle that could blend into any area of Los Angeles at 1:00 AM without attracting attention," Prentiss observed.

"Well, I hate to say it, but that could very well be a police car," Detective Benning admitted reluctantly.

"Or a taxi cab," I chimed in.

Morgan, having caught up to us, wasted no time. Before long, he was on the phone with Garcia, requesting information about the cab companies operating in the area where Linda Dean had been abducted. The detective explained that cab companies typically work out of designated stands, unlike in New York, which should help us narrow our search—though we couldn't be too certain.

Reid perched on top of a short filing cabinet, rifling through the files, while I did the same on the table, spreading out everything I had gathered from my boxes.

Morgan connected with Garcia again, and we switched to speakerphone.

"What do you have for us?" Morgan asked.

"Okay, I checked all seven cab companies servicing the Hollywood and Vermont area. None of the drivers reported picking anyone up between 11 PM and 2 AM the night Linda went missing," Garcia informed us.

"Are they absolutely sure?" Emily pressed.

"Yeah, they seemed pretty certain."

"Well, a driver might have picked someone up off the meter," Morgan suggested.

"Do the cabs have GPS?" Hotch inquired.

"Absolutely. Taxis are tracked more than Gaga's Twitter," Garcia replied, her lightheartedness shining through.

Reid furrowed his brow. "What does that mean?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, a smile tugging at my lips. "Don't worry, Garcia, I'll explain it to him later."

"Yeah, teach him to worship the other Lady G, sweet lady," Garcia laughed.

"Only after he worships Taylor Swift—then we have a deal," I replied, earning another chuckle from her before she hung up.

"So, no taxis in the area," Prentiss noted, her expression contemplative.

A moment of silence hung in the air until I had a thought. "What about freelance cabs? They wouldn't pick up fares the same way and could be roaming the city."

"Unregistered cabs often have fake insignias that look legitimate," Rossi agreed.

"There are about 2,300 registered cabs in the city, and at least as many unregistered," the detective added.

"And no one pays attention when they get into a cab," Rossi stated.

"Exactly, which makes him harder to find," Morgan concluded. "This guy could be anywhere."

"Detective, can you gather everyone?" Hotch requested. "We'd like to present the profile."

Before leaving the conference room to gather the team, Reid pulled me aside. "Who's Taylor Swift?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "One of these days, I'm going to sit you down and make you listen to her entire album."

"So, she's a singer?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes.