Ineffable - S.REID

52

・゜゜・．FOUR MONTHS LATER .・゜゜・

Clara stared at the bare evidence board with a consistently furrowed brow. They had little to no information about their unsub, just pictures of the victims and the locations of their bodies. The Unsub made their victims look like they had been in car accidents with all victims going missing forty eight hours before their deaths. The more she stared, the closer her theory came. She could feel the words under her tongue and found herself vexed at the fact she couldn't pull them from her brain and speak them. The story just wasn't finished, too many things weren't wrapped up and she needed more time to add other theories to round it off. The voices of theorising BAU employees muffled as she delved into her thoughts more, staring profusely at the map marked with pins. Unconsciously, she began to click her pen in her hand and all heads turned towards her. They all knew that sound by now and it had been a while since a Davia special (as Morgan called them.) Her head had turned a little funny with her pregnancy, it took longer to get to certain conclusions and she hated it. "Davia?"

"Can it Mr Muscles i'm thinking," she responded with little regard to the fact that her boss was in the room. Hotch shook his head disapprovingly whilst Morgan laughed to himself, making the effort to keep it quiet as to not interrupt her thought process. "None of the women were wearing underwear right?" she asked to fill the silence as the final things slipped into place. Once Emily nodded, she continued, "The crash is like the final assault, a violent one at that. Probably has a history of underwear stealing related crimes. Roadside Motel. The signs on the road so he can display no vacancy sign and get prospective customers to leave. He keeps them, tortures them and probably kills the man in front of the woman. Plans on how to dispose of them for forty eight hours he keeps them then enacts the plan. He's an intellectual, weighing up every circumstance before a movement. Property backs onto an off road trail so he can get in and out relatively undetected or something similar. Aversion to women that he hides during his job. Possibly service sector or something similar, could even be the owner of the motel. He creates a lot of anger so it has to brew for a while before he acts... You've probably already talked to him, paints himself as the good guy."

Silence followed as everyone took in Clara's theory, silence but for the distant clacking of Garcia's keyboard down on Hotch's phone. "Garcia?" Morgan prompted once all typing stopped, waiting for them to have reached a point of realisation.

She cleared her throat, "Floyd Hansen, Chrest cottages."

"Lets go," Hotch ordered and everyone but Clara stood to leave. Spencer had the ingenious idea that she fake some sort of injury to keep her out of the field but still in the action. Thus began Clara's dodgy ankle story after she supposedly twisted it whilst they were randomly moving furniture in their home.

"Wait you're going off just that? You have no definitive proof," one of the officers in the precinct asked as they were all heading out of the door, in complete disbelief that they had reached the conclusion so quickly.

Hotch was the one to respond, quickly replying, "Davia's never wrong."

-

The following day, as Clara was helping her best friend clean her office and the full extent of all her knick knacks out of the complete kindness of her heart (she was offered cookies), Pen asked, "Do you want to go and get drinks later? There's half off drinks for women at the pub."

"Ah I can't tonight Pen, as much as I'd love to. I have to be up early tomorrow," Clara responded with a disappointed sadness in her voice, having come up with an excuse for this very question a few weeks ago. She couldn't exactly go out for drinks and not drink anything, that would create suspicion and they were still keeping it a secret.