The infamous "Hillside Stranglers" case became a stain on the LAPD, not merely because it took the department over a year to apprehend Kenneth Bianchi and Angelo Buono. The real embarrassment lay in the fact that Kenneth Bianchi had managed to secure a temporary position at the police department during his killing spree, often accompanying officers to crime scenes to "observe" the discovery of the victims.
"So, are you suggesting that the relationship between these killers isn't a traditional partnership but more akin to a teacher-student dynamic?" Joyner chimed in again, her gaze—deliberate or not—frequently drifting toward Hotchner.
Everyone in the room, including Hannah and Jack, had noticed this. The BAU team often speculated about the true nature of Joyner and Hotchner's relationship. Since no one believed the rigid and principled Hotchner would engage in an affair, most assumed Joyner harbored unrequited feelings.
According to an unnamed but highly informed source within the FBI, Hotchner, before joining the bureau, had been a federal prosecutor's assistant involved in international cases. Around that time, Joyner, then a detective at Scotland Yard, may have crossed paths with him.
Timeline-wise, this was likely before Hotchner met his wife, Haley. Whether anything romantic occurred between them, or whether the relationship ended due to geographical distance, remained a mystery—one only the two involved could clarify.
What was certain, however, was that after their private time during the ride back from the airport, Hotchner had abruptly switched from addressing Joyner by her first name to using her last name, suggesting her hopes had been dashed.
Sensing the growing awkwardness in the room, Jack stepped in to explain. "It might be more accurate to describe their relationship as dominant and subordinate. Their actual dynamic could be that of a father and son, or perhaps colleagues with a hierarchical connection."
"Could it be a new gang?" Danny, familiar with street gangs, offered his perspective.
Surprisingly, Reid agreed. "While unlikely, we can't entirely dismiss the possibility. It might be an emerging gang or organization using random killings as an initiation rite."
"Gangs usually have territories and wouldn't randomly kill across the city. But it's a possibility worth considering," Emily acknowledged after some thought.
"I'll coordinate with the FBI's organized crime division," JJ offered. "We should have detailed profiles on New York-area gangs by tomorrow morning."
"The NYPD's Criminal Enterprise Bureau also tracks gang activity. I'll get in touch with them now," Danny added, pulling out his phone—only for it to vibrate in his hand.
After answering the call, Danny's expression turned grim. "There's been another shooting—this time on Wall Street."
At that moment, Jubal, who had been monitoring operations in the main office, burst into the meeting room. "The killer has struck again."
The room tensed. Previously, there had been two to three days between shootings, all around midday. But with yesterday's subway shooting followed by today's, the killer's frequency had increased dramatically.
What did this escalation mean?
Hotchner grabbed his jacket. "Everyone, to the scene."
Wall Street, geographically speaking, is a narrow street stretching just over 500 meters and only 11 meters wide. It runs from Broadway to the East River, intersecting with seven smaller streets.
Most financial institutions have long since relocated to midtown Manhattan, with its better transportation and open spaces. Post-9/11, some companies even left New York entirely for nearby New Jersey.
Today, only the New York Federal Reserve Bank remains on Wall Street proper. Even the iconic Charging Bull statue, a must-see for Manhattan tourists, isn't located on Wall Street but rather at a small park at the southern end of Broadway.
The crime scene wasn't on Wall Street itself but close by, at a busy intersection southwest of the famous Trinity Church.
Trinity Church's cemetery houses the grave of Alexander Hamilton, one of the founding fathers of the United States, making it one of New York's most visited tourist sites.
Despite the heavy foot traffic at the intersection, no one had clearly seen the shooter's face.
The victim this time was a balding Jewish businessman in his fifties. He lay face-down on the curb. As with the previous victims, the .22 caliber bullet had insufficient power to penetrate both sides of the skull, resulting in an entry wound but no exit wound.
The number of bystanders was greater than ever, many of whom were visibly shaken and whispering anxiously. It was clear that they recognized the pattern from news reports.
While gun violence might be a daily occurrence in the United States, a random street killer was a different matter. It was as if a Damoclean sword now hung over everyone's heads, an equal threat to all.
Ordinary people could avoid dangerous neighborhoods, stay indoors at night, or steer clear of certain "high-risk" public spaces. But most couldn't avoid walking the streets altogether.
Jack and Reid finished examining the body and covered it again with the white sheet. Both instinctively looked up at the surveillance camera mounted on a traffic light. Judging by its angle, the camera would have only captured the killer's back—another carefully chosen location.
Danny and his partner, Jenny, returned to the scene with notebooks in hand, their expressions weary. "There are plenty of witnesses, but not one of them saw the killer's face—not even the street vendor five meters away from the victim," Danny reported.
Jack gestured toward the pretzel lying near the victim's hand. "Did he buy that from the vendor?"
Jenny nodded. "Yes. The vendor's cart was parked right under the traffic light. He said the victim seemed to be in a hurry, bought the pretzel, and walked to the curb to hail a cab.
"The next moment, there was a gunshot. When the vendor turned around, all he saw was someone in a hoodie crossing the intersection."
Danny sighed, glancing at the crowd of onlookers. "I finally understand what Grandpa meant when he talked about 'Son of Sam.'
"Back then, people must have felt the same way—completely helpless against random violence. The police had no leads, and everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the next murder."
"At least this time, the killer left us something," Rossi interjected, holding up a card sealed in an evidence bag.
"What's that?" Danny asked curiously.
"A tarot card—the 'Death' card," Rossi replied. "The killer left it on the victim's body."
(End of Chapter)
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