Police in America

Jack encountered Hank Voight again close to 9 PM, and the old police sergeant, reeking slightly of alcohol, had returned to the Intelligence Unit's office.

Seeing the office still brightly lit with the BAU team hard at work, Voight paused for a moment. "You FBI folks don't ever need to rest, do you?"

"We just finished interviewing all the victims' families, but we didn't get much out of it. Reid and Jack are still sorting through data on the surrounding areas. Even after some filtering, the list of potential suspects still numbers 713," Hotchner said with a tone of resignation.

"Wow, that sounds like a massive task," Hank Voight replied, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"And what about your side?" Rossi, not one to be outdone, even in conversation, retorted from the side.

Voight sighed slightly. "Alvin and Antonio spread some word through their informants, but we haven't gotten any feedback yet."

"I went to the territories of the BPS (Black P. Stone) and GD (Gangster Disciples) gangs nearby and talked to their leaders. But they're too caught up in their own conflicts lately; their people likely don't have time for this sort of thing."

"There's also a rumor that some small gangs under the MC (Mickey Cobras) have been active around here recently. They're fashion-conscious, well-dressed, and clean, often trying to recruit middle-class teenagers."

Rossi shook his head. "You saw the crime scene; it doesn't look like something a bunch of teenagers could pull off. They're brutal enough, but usually much more chaotic."

Voight pursed his lips, making it clear that he wasn't entirely convinced by the BAU's preliminary profile. 

"Who knows? Maybe it's a group led by an adult, with a few teenagers involved."

His gaze then fell on the large table and the brand-new big screen at the end of the room, showing a hint of surprise.

"Wow, how'd you manage this? Is Sergeant Platt suddenly more cooperative?"

Sergeant Trudy Platt, the desk sergeant downstairs at the 21st District, was known as the "gatekeeper" of the police station. She was a sharp-tongued, formidable woman in her fifties or sixties, and even the usually charming JJ had hit a brick wall with her. This was why they previously had to make do with the broken-down desk and damaged LCD screen.

Rossi, reminded by his words, checked the time on his wrist. "I almost forgot, I promised Sergeant Platt I'd have a drink with her after she gets off work."

Jack exchanged a knowing look with JJ, stifling a laugh—after all, it was the two of them who had nudged Rossi into a bit of harmless "sacrifice."

The next day's work didn't go much better. The BAU team spent another busy day but came up empty-handed. As expected, the suspects seemed unconcerned about revealing their identities. There was plenty of physical evidence at the scene, but no surveillance footage—a hallmark of this country, where even public areas often lack cameras, and those that do exist are frequently vandalized.

The DNA analysis was also fruitless. The FBI's crime lab in Chicago had completed the extraction and comparison within 12 hours, but after scouring the federal database, they found no matching suspects.

Everyone knew these seemingly new criminals would eventually be caught, but time was not on their side. They had to stop these people before they caused more destruction.

Hank Voight's frustration was mounting. He was bombarded with a jumble of information from his informants, but nothing remotely useful. This was the downside of relying on street informants—they could make police work easier by providing timely street-level intel, but they could also muddy the waters by offering misleading tips to earn rewards, which put the detectives' skills to the test.

These brutal criminals seemed to have vanished into thin air, disappearing without a trace, leaving the authorities grasping at straws.

Early on the third day, just before 6 AM, Jack had just woken up and was lying in bed reading a forensic medicine textbook when JJ's phone suddenly rang.

The call was from Erin Lindsay, reporting another murder at a fast-food restaurant's parking lot. 

The BAU team arrived at the scene within an hour. As soon as Jack got out of the car, he saw Erin Lindsay standing outside the police cordon, her face full of reluctance.

"You better go in yourselves. Voight's inside."

Two bodies were covered with white sheets on the ground beside a cheap Fiat sedan, with Hank Voight standing nearby, his face grim.

"Any witnesses?" Hotchner, who was leading the way, asked.

"None. They were right in the middle of this damned parking lot, blocked by other vehicles." Voight's gravelly voice sounded even rougher, and he looked visibly upset.

"Surveillance footage?" JJ glanced around.

"Only one camera by the restaurant's door, not much use." Voight casually pointed to the nearby fast-food joint.

Rossi asked, "Who found the bodies?"

"The restaurant manager, that lady over there. She's in charge of opening the place in the morning. Damn, I've bought chicken sandwiches here before."

Alvin Olinsky, standing next to Voight, replied, his expression even grimmer than Voight's.

"Have the victims been identified?" Reid inquired.

Voight pointed to the body on the left. "Based on the driver's license, this one is a waitress at the restaurant, named Jessica Miller."

"The other one should be her boyfriend, Doug Taylor, who came to pick her up after her night shift."

"Should be?" Jack already had a sense of what that meant.

He paused, stopping his hand from pulling back the sheet, and turned to JJ. "JJ, maybe you should go talk to the manager."

She had seen the crime scene photos, but the real thing was different from pictures. There was no need for her to experience the full impact.

Once JJ left, Jack pulled back the sheet, revealing two unrecognizable corpses. Calling them bodies might be generous—they were more like lumps of mangled flesh, with only their clothing offering any clues to their gender.

Emily looked away, unable to bear the sight, while Reid crouched beside Jack, examining the condition of the remains.

In addition to the severe blows to the face that made identifying the victims impossible, the bodies had suffered extensive blunt force trauma to their limbs, chest, abdomen, and even their backs. The cause of death was straightforward—they had been beaten to death.

"They're getting more brazen, killing in public places now," Reid sighed.

________________________

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