Jubal booked a few rooms at a small motel near the local police station, but the team worked until the early hours of the morning before Jack ordered them to rest. Jack himself and Clay made do with the capsule bunks in the mobile command vehicle.
Finding someone in America could be a nightmare, especially when the person in question had no steady job or fixed address, practically making them a ghost.
Ronnie was one such ghost. Without a bank account, even the IRS's database of taxpayer records proved useless.
Though Ronnie's records mentioned a mother, the information was outdated. Her own history of arrests painted a picture of a transient sex worker moving between states in the Northeast and Southeast for over a decade.
The next morning, the team gathered in the command vehicle, where the facial recognition software had finally identified the woman accompanying Ronnie.
Alice read from the screen: "Raylene Parker, 19 years old, from Clarksburg, West Virginia. No bank accounts, credit cards, job, or fixed address. Survived a severe car accident at 13, leaving her the sole survivor of her family."
"So the head trauma stems from that accident?" Jack grimaced, rubbing his temples. "A mentally unstable man paired with a brain-injured woman. This just keeps getting better. Let me guess—no social media accounts?"
Alice shrugged, her expression confirming his suspicion.
"Keep the facial recognition running," Jack instructed. "Even if they don't have social media, they could show up in someone else's posts. We just need to find people who know them."
Jack sighed inwardly. Their first case had already turned into a high-difficulty assignment. Waiting around wasn't an option; if they couldn't track their current whereabouts, they'd need to dig into their pasts. After all, human behavior was rarely random.
Jack recalled a notorious fugitive from his previous life. Despite extensive surveillance systems in his home province, the criminal had managed to flee to another state after committing a violent crime. It wasn't until the man's girlfriend was located that police were able to apprehend him.
Ronnie's photo had already been circulated to state and local police. Now, JJ sent out Raylene's picture as well. The rest of the team, armed with laptops, continued digging into the pair's history until both JJ's and Jubal's phones rang simultaneously.
"The missing Chevrolet Malibu has been found in a mall parking lot downtown," JJ announced, reinvigorating the team.
"Hannah, stay behind. Alice, you're coming with us," Jack ordered, drawing puzzled glances from everyone.
He didn't elaborate. Alice's detachment from the case needed to be addressed, and the best way to do that was by exposing her to the reality of the crime.
Even seasoned agents like Jubal could develop emotional hang-ups over cases; a naturally empathetic person like Alice was more vulnerable to such issues. Her previous detached response wasn't normal.
Staying objective and keeping emotions in check were crucial for avoiding bias and maintaining focus during investigations. However, detachment shouldn't lead to numbness. Spending too much time in an office, processing endless case files and reports like a corporate drone, dulled the sense of purpose.
Jack needed Alice to engage actively and emotionally, not as a passive NPC merely responding to instructions. Investigating required emotional investment, but solving cases demanded the ability to step back afterward.
This balance might seem contradictory, but it was vital. Garcia's hacking skills weren't unparalleled, yet her creative problem-solving often bailed out the BAU team.
Jack didn't expect Alice to become another Garcia. Everyone had unique strengths. But if Alice continued operating like a lifeless background character, the team might as well outsource investigative requests back to the command center.
The issue wasn't Alice herself but the environment she'd come from. The solution was to change her surroundings.
The mall parking lot was part of a small commercial district—a bustling hub surrounded by shops, supermarkets, and a shopping center.
In a town as small as Greensburg, this was likely the main shopping area, making it particularly crowded. Cars filled the lot, and a police cordon around the Malibu had drawn curious onlookers, including a local news crew. Reporters stood on tiptoe, cameras flashing incessantly.
Jack nodded at JJ, who went to handle the media.
A middle-aged local police captain with a beer belly and a belt holster approached the team. "Someone spotted blood dripping from the car's trunk and called it in. My officers found that the plate matched the FBI's alert and secured the scene immediately."
"Has anyone opened the trunk?" Jubal asked.
The captain shook his head. "No keys were found. If you need, I can get a crowbar or call a locksmith."
"That won't be necessary." Jack pulled a lock-picking kit from his bag and walked to the Malibu's rear. He glanced at Alice, who stood frozen, her expression tense. Sighing, he called her name.
"Alice?"
She hesitated until Aubrey gave a soft cough, drawing his gun and stepping into position beside Jack. Following his lead, Alice drew her own weapon and mirrored his stance, providing cover.
This was standard procedure—never assume an empty trunk. Always be prepared.
Behind them, Jubal and Clay exchanged knowing looks. First-hand experience of a crime scene often had a greater impact than any file or photo.
The blood pooling beneath the car had already darkened and dried, hinting at the grim discovery that awaited them. The summer heat didn't help; the faint smell of decay in the air confirmed their fears.
Jack unlocked the trunk in under a minute. As it creaked open, the disheveled body of Madison Hargrove came into view. Her clothing was torn, and her lifeless eyes stared into the void.
"Damn it," Aubrey muttered, holstering his gun and turning away in disgust.
"Oh my God!" Alice gasped, tears streaming down her face as she covered her mouth. No one moved to comfort her—witnessing a corpse was a rite of passage for every field agent.
(End of Chapter)
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