Title: Rhythm & Blues
By: jenafarius-rex
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: AO
Pairings: Gen (some mild flirtation with Reid and an OC)
Summary: The team is brought to New York by the discovery of an unusually placed body and the possibility of a burgeoning serial killer.
AN: The characters within are obviously not of my creation and I make no money from this endeavor.
The music school mentioned does exist but my version of it bears no resemblance to the real school. Also Lang Lang really did win the The Tchaikovsky International Young Musicians Competition. And again Alex Rodriguez probably does not (in fact I'm sure he dosen't) have such a ritual as I mention but I know nothing about baseball so I just picked a random name out of a hat. I'm not an FBI agent and I'm not a musician so I beg your forgiveness on any mistakes about the process of either.

***

Tick, tick, tick. The clock on the wall was carelessly counting down the seconds as she paced the small confines of the dressing room. She wanted to pitch it out a window. She tried concentrating on the soft thump of her shoes on the carpeted floor or the swish of the material of her dress as it brushed against her thighs but the clear ticking of the plastic contraption won. She stopped pacing and glared contemptuously at the clock. Still thirty minutes ‘till curtain. She brought her hand up to nibbled at her thumb nail but stopped just short of her mouth. Stupid nail polish, it was clear and shiny and she hated it. She resumed her pacing but the obnoxious ticking stopped her once more. She threw herself onto the sole piece of furniture the room boasted with a grunt. The couch was marginally comfortable and sinfully ugly but she was interested in neither quality at that moment. Leaning forward, her elbows resting on her knees, she tried to calm the racing beat of her heart. It was just one performance, she had done a thousand before it and would do a thousand after, it was no big deal. The New York Philharmonic Orchestra was one of the oldest orchestras in the world but she had gone to one of the best musical academies in the world. Gessin State Music Academy didn’t accepted any musician that wasn’t practically a child prodigy and then even less outside of Russia were even considered but they had practically begged her join. They had made such a convincing argument that she had left her home and family in Australia and moved to Russia at the age of eleven. She had beaten out Lang Lang for the first place in the Tchaikovsky International Young Musicians Competition, she played both cello and piano professionally, she had (according to some journalists) reignited people’s love of classical music. So why did she feel like she was going to throw up? She was always nervous before a performance but this was a little ridiculous. She wanted to crawl underneath a table like she did when she was little, maybe build a little fort using the ugly uncomfortable couch. She glanced back at the clock, only three minutes had past, so not only was it obnoxious but it was also cursed, or maybe just slow. She closed her eyes and hung her head between her knees. It was just a big concert was all. There were a lot of important people in the audience, composers, musicians, even some Hollywood celebrities, it was a little daunting. There was a reason the New York Philharmonic had jumped at the chance to tour America with her. There was a reason orchestras around the world had done the same. Words like savant and perfect pitch were thrown around in her presence, she didn’t even need the orchestra, didn’t have to spend months rehearsing with them, it could just be her and her piano or cello and people would flock to hear her play. She just needed to remember that. Taking a deep breath she stood (on only slightly shaky legs) and headed out the door. When she was thirteen, waiting in the wings to give her début performance one of her teachers had noticed her nerves and had whispered in her ear forget everything else ,once this is all over you can always go back to the beginning . So before she ended up spending the next twenty minutes in the ladies bathroom she just needed to go back to the beginning. 

David Stein was not a fan of classical music. Like most men of his ilk he simply did not understand the fascination with it. He was pretty sure people only listened to it to make themselves seem more intellectual. He knew a girl like that in college, she had a buncha weird paintings on the wall and blasted boring music all day talking about how she’d nearly gotten into an ivy league school. She was hot but in the end he’d felt like clubbing her over the head with one of her stupid sculptures. Thank God his Claire was down to earth. When he’d told her he could sneak her in back stage so she could see this fancy performer playing tonight she’d said “What do I want to see that for? Just see if you can bring me home a left over bunch of flowers.” He had to admit though, it did take a lot of skill to play an instrument. Looking at the piano in the centre of the stage all he could see was a mess of black and white but someone else could sit down and pull tune after tune out of it. Looking up from one of the stage lights he was adjusting he realized someone was sitting down at the instrument. He looked her over, slim looking girl wearing a black dress and with her hair up in one of those fancy twists Claire had worn to their wedding. He realized that this must be her, the chick that was playing tonight. He angled around to get a better look at her. She was pretty he guessed, not in an obvious way but nice enough to look at. Nice legs, kind of girl he might have hit on given the time of day and lack of a wedding ring.

“Then again maybe not.” He thought, studying her a bit longer.

She had a kind ball buster look about her; girls like that usually weren’t worth the effort, especially if they weren’t that pretty to begin with. Curiosity kept in his spot, wondering what she was doing out here when there was still twenty minutes till curtain. He saw that she was running her fingers along the keys of the piano not pressing down on them just running her fingers lightly over them, a look of contentment on her face. David wondered whether this was some kind of ritual she did before each performance like how Alex Rodriguez always tapped his bat twice on each foot before each pitch. She then pressed down softly on a few keys but whatever she heard must have displeased her because she frowned and looked the instrument over. She hit them again more strongly and now David could hear the problem. The notes sounded muffled and out of tune even to his non-musically trained ears. She stood and walked around the instrument lifting the lid to peer inside. She slammed it back down almost immediately then backed up a few paces. David didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone lose all color so quickly. A few other stage hands heard the commotion and were now edging their way forward. The girl walked back to the piano and with hands that were visibly shaking lifted the lid again. Just as quickly the lid was brought back down but this time she uttered a small horrified cry her hands flying to her mouth. She noticed him coming forward and pinned him with an expression that he felt all the way down his spine.

“What..?”

But before he could think to finish the inquiry she turned and fled the stage. Ignoring the others that had begun to gather he approached the piano and with a feeling of sick dread pooling in hi

***

“There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief that does not find relief in music”

George Eliot

“Is that ... is she stuffed inside a piano?”

Special Agent Dr Spencer Reid cocked his head and twisted the photo in his hand looking not at the mutilated corpse it depicted but the area around the body which looked suspiciously like the inside of a grand piano. He slipped his glasses off and peered more closely at the photo, his nose almost pressed against the page.

“Yes”

Agent Jennifer Jareau finished handing out case files and turned her attention to the large monitor in front of the round table.

The same image Reid held in his hand appeared on the screen and the agents of the Behavioral Analysis Unit turned their attention to the monitor.

 “Caroline Deckard, 32, was found four days ago, stuffed inside a grand piano at Avery Fisher Hall fifteen minutes before the curtain was due to go up on that nights performance.”

Derek Morgan nodded

“Yeah I saw it on the news the other night. What’s our interest in this?”

Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner stood and continued the narrative.

“We’ve been asked in by the Chief of Police to see if this murder is linked to a few other deaths that have occurred in the classical music world in the past year. If not then they would like a profile of the killer anyway based on the assumption that this unsub has killed before and will kill again.”

“That’s one hell of an assumption, what’s it based on?”

Morgan asked

“There was virtually no trace evidence to be found and this unsub is very confident, the piano is checked an hour before the performance after it has already been placed on stage.”

“Meaning he had to sneak a body into the theatre then into the piano where there would have been people constantly wandering around.

Jason Gideon surmised.

“This is definitely no sloppy first timer.”

He said quietly, almost to himself.

“Definitely not."

Hotch agreed.

The image of the victim as she was found was replaced with a photo of her as she lay naked on the examiners steel table.

“He beat her first, the bruising on her head and torso is consistent with the instrument she was found with, identified as her own flute. He then slit her throat. Cause of death was exsanguination.”

The agents studied the photo, the bruising was not extensive, concentrated mainly around the ribs and stomach and face. Only the marks around the face had broken the skin.

“In complete control.”

Gideon murmured.

“A professional?”

Reid queried

“Perhaps.”

A new image appeared on the screen. An artful black and white photo of a young woman stared out at the group.

“Gwendolyn Chamber, 24, it was her piano our vic was found in, interrupting one of the most important performances of her career.”

Hotch continued.

“I’ve read about her.

Reid enthused.

“She was a child prodigy, playing since she was four a master of several instruments, she plays both cello and piano professionally which is almost unheard of.”

“Well I’m sure you’ll have a lot to talk about when we interview her.”

Hotch said cutting Reid off before he could continue.

“What about the other killings?”

Emily Perentis asked as she leafed through the rest of the file.

“There have been three other deaths in the musical world in past eight months.

JJ said, picking up the narrative once more.

“Anthony Gamble a violinist with the Boston Symphony died in a slip and fall in February of this year.

Gamble appeared on screen in his professional attire and was replaced with the scene of his death, his corpse lying in a twisted heap at the bottom of a set of stairs. An image of another young woman replaced Gamble.

“Yekaterina Nabadchikov.

JJ continued, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar name.

"Another violinist with the Russian National Orchestra committed suicide in June of this year, she was on holiday in New York visiting relatives.

Her body hung limply from a ceiling fan, a fallen chair beneath her feet.

“And Grace Campbell an oboist who began teaching at Julliard after she married, drowned after falling off her husband’s yacht in late September, she had been on her own drinking.”

The monitor was now black, its macabre picture show finished.

“All three had some kind anomaly surrounding their death and all three can be traced in some way to Gwendolyn Chambers. Gamble was found in a building he had never been to in a part of town he didn’t visit. The Boston PD found no reason for his being there, only a call he received roughly an hour before his death from an untraceable cell. Boston PD have kept the case open at the urging of the family who have some political sway with the mayor. Apparently he and Gwendolyn dated a while ago. Yekaterina’s family insists that she would never have committed suicide. Not only was she a devote Catholic but her career was going well, she had made plans for later in the year, she had no history of depression and there was no suicide note. She and Gwendolyn attended the same music school in Russia. Grace Campbell seems cut and dry only she was wearing this when they found her.

The screen flared back to life showing a picture of a locket with some kind of Celtic design engraved on the front. The next image showed the contents of the locket, each side held the picture of an older woman.

“The locket didn’t belong to Mrs. Campbell and no-one in the family recognized it or the two old women. She and Gwendolyn played for the London Symphony some years ago, according to fellow musicians they didn’t get along.”

The team took a moment to digest the information before Perentis spoke up.

“Who compiled all this information?”

She asked.

“Detective Eric Hannover.”

Reid replied having read through the file already.

“Think they’re all connected?”

Morgan asked the room in general.

“Perhaps. Officially these deaths have not been linked but the detective in New York remembered hearing about a few other deaths in the music world and started digging a little deeper. He thought they bared mention and it’s what prompted the need for our involvement. ”

Hotch replied.

“Certainly worth investigating.”

Gideon said getting to his feet.

“Indeed.

Hotch agreed

“Wheels up in thirty minutes.”

***

Hail Mary,
full of grace
the Lord is with thee,
serene Virgin.

Hail, whose conception,  
full of great jubilation,
fills Heaven and Earth
with new joy.
 
Hail, whose birth
brought us joy,
as Lucifer, the morning star
went before the true sun.
 
Hail, pious humility,
fruitful without a man,
whose Annunciation
brought us salvation
 
Hail, true virginity,
immaculate chastity,
whose purification
brought our cleansing.
 
Hail, glorious one
in all angelic virtues,
whose Assumption
was our glorification.
 
O Mother of God,
remember me. Amen


The song ended and there was the general shuffling of the congregation sitting back down, a low hum of people whispering to each other before the priest took his place once more. She had never been to a funeral before. When Grandma Chambers died she was still in school in Russia unable to find the time or money to fly back for the funeral. Although her family had emigrated from England to Australia, being in school in Russia meant that she had taken at least one brake a year in England and she had become quite close to her paternal Grandmother. She had been devastated by the loss and angry that she couldn’t accompany her father to the funeral. It was the one time in school that she had been close to failing an exam. When Nanna Brennan had died she was playing in Boston, unable to get out of her commitments there, she had sent money to her mother in Australia so she was able to travel comfortably. Upon reflection she didn’t think attending either of those funerals would have prepared her for this. Caroline Deckard’s family had money. Both sides of Gwen’s family were very middle class and she imagined the funerals would have been simple affairs (she never pressed her parents for details). Caroline’s family though, they had money, enough money that they were able to pay someone to lovingly restore Caroline’s face so an open casket funeral could be held. Gwen had not been able to look up for the entire ceremony. From the priest’s solemn words to Caroline’s sister’s tearful eulogy, even as the other flutists of the orchestra played a tribute she had kept her gaze resting firmly on her shoes. Then it was over and as people made their way forward to pay their respects she kept her head bowed, unable to look up.

“O.K?”

Thank the Gods for Victoria, Gwen thought.

Gwen had never been able to make many friends in the music world. People tended to treated her with either a kind of awe or irritation. She guessed if someone came along and played the instrument she had dedicated her life to as well as she did with seemingly no effort she’d probably be pretty annoyed too. Vic hadn’t been like that at all. Something of a misfit herself in the orchestra she had simply introduced herself and the two had been firm friends ever since.

“I’m fine.”

She reassured her.

Oh God, she could see part of the coffin from where she was standing. She wondered if it would be in bad taste if she ran screaming from the church. She had looked now and just as she had been unable to look up during the ceremony she was just as unable to look away now. As she came closer to the front of the church she could she Caroline’s body. Pale skin under an ugly lavender dress, she guessed there was no accounting for taste. Man, she was so going to hell. Breathing carefully through her mouth Gwen fought with the urge to vomit or faint, she couldn’t make up her mind on which was likely to happen first. Knowing her luck she’d probably faint then choke to death on her own vomit and wouldn’t that make everyone’s day. Oh, so going to hell. She felt ill. It was nothing like nerves before a performance, it was something else entirely and if she never partook of this feeling again it would be too soon. Seeing Caroline wasn’t like seeing her twisted up inside her piano bruised, bloody, clutching her instrument to her breast like a life line. They had done a good job restoring her. There was just a slight discoloration where Gwen remembered seeing bruised flesh. She thought that if you didn’t know what you were looking for you probably couldn’t even tell. She didn’t know how people could comment on the “naturalness” of someone lying in a coffin. There was nothing natural about Caroline lying there pale and still with her hair and makeup done to perfection. It was a sick parody of life and Gwen couldn’t understand why people would want to see a loved one all tressed up like that. From what she could remember of Caroline she had worn no makeup except during performances and then Gwen remembered cringing at the overuse of eyeliner. Behind her people were shuffling impatiently so she forced her gaze back to Caroline’s imitation face.

“I’m so sorry.”

Turning as quickly and calmly as she could she made her way out of the church and into the cool October air. Stepping outside was like taking a breath of air after being held under water. She coughed a few times her stomach clenching but thankfully expelling nothing. The chilled air felt like heaven sliding down her throat. Her hands were shaky as she pulled on her coat and sunglasses but she felt better. She pulled her coat tight and turned the collar up against the wind.

“You alright?”

Vic asked

Gwen started; she hadn’t noticed her friend join her. She hoped she hadn’t seen the almost puking.

“I’m O.K. Kinda wished I smoked though.”

“Wanna start?”

Vic pulled out a pack of Marlboro and lit up taking a long drag.

Gwen had actually tried to start smoking. In Russia all the friends she had made outside of school had smoked. She could tolerate it but couldn’t make a habit out of it. It was actually pretty revolting when she wasn’t already drunk, so she shook her head at Vic’s offer and concentrated on keeping her breathing steady and even. She noticed Vic was eyeballing her and she met the stare head on.

“I’m fine.”

She stressed.

“Of course you are.”

Victoria agreed

“You know reverse psychology doesn’t work as well as you think it does.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

Gwen rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around her middle as she watched Mr and Mrs Deckard surrounded by family members head for their car. Vic reached up and squeezed her shoulder briefly and Gwen wished she didn’t feel like rolling her shoulders back once Vic had let go, as if to shake off the invisible caress. She couldn’t help the reflexive half shuffle backwards though.

“Oh unclench, I’m not going to hug you or anything.”

Vic said noting her distress.

And that, more than anything else that had happened that week, more than finding the body of a colleague stuffed inside her piano. More than watching Caroline’s family weeps for the loss of their daughter. More than looking at her piano at home and feeling nothing but disgust roll in her gut for something that use to give her so much joy, it was being admonished for not being able to accept a little physical comfort that brought tears to her eyes.

Crying did not bring the emotional release she was hoping for. It just felt like one more thing to be fucked up about. That she couldn’t cry for Caroline but she could weep for the fact that someone who had known her all of three months could tell she was so emotionally retarded that she couldn’t be comforted without cringing. Vic noticed the tears running down her face and looked at loss of what to do. She crushed out her cigarette and lifted her arms as if to hug her then thought better of it and lowered them helplessly.

“Hey, hey. Oh honey.”

“Don’t mind me.

Gwen told her.

“I just need my head examined.”

Man she could really use a drink right now.

“You going to the wake?”

Gwen asked once she had a hold of herself.

Vic shook her head

“Nah, thought I’d fine somewhere to get good stiff drink.”

Gwen mustered up a smile.

“Sometimes I think you live inside my brain.”

“All good friends do honey.

Vic told her with a smile.

“Come on let’s get the hell out of here.”

But before they could get far she heard her name being called.

“Miss Chambers?”

Turning around she watched two men approaching her. A fair chunk of the mourners stopped to stare and Gwen hoped they weren’t reporters because she was going to make a scene if they were. Vic placed herself in front of her and Gwen had to smile at the protective stance. Now that the two men were closer she realized that they couldn’t be reporters, unless reporters were packing heat these days. The tall skinny one’s weapon stood out like a beacon and she wondered how she could have missed it before, it was just so out of place on the young man who looked more like a college student then a cop. The other one was less obvious; his jacket covering the gun, but it was just as out of place ‘cause if the other guy looked like a student then this one looked like his professor.

“Miss Chambers?”

The professor asked.

“Yes.”

They pulled out identification and the situation climbed much higher on her weirdometre.

“I’m Special Agent Jason Gideon and this is Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. I realize that this is an inconvenient time but could we ask you a few questions?”

“She’s already gone through it a hundred times with the police. What else could she possible have to tell you?”

Vic said narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“We appreciate that but we specialize in a different branch of investigation. We’re profilers, even though there is no actual official position in the FBI with the title “profiler” but we focus more on the psychological aspect of criminal activity.”

“Reid.”

The professor cut in lightly.

Wow, she didn’t think she’d ever heard anyone sound quiet so earnest in her life. Dr Reid ducked his head and took a step back.

“Sorry, we just wanted to get your perspective on the events.”

Events. There was a euphemism she hadn’t heard yet. She wasn’t sure how many different ways she could say “I checked the piano, I got dressed, I felt nervous, I checked the piano again, it sounded funny, I found her body inside” but she had seen enough police dramas to know that the witness ends up coming off like a cry baby jerk if they start throwing attitude at the investigators, so she bottled up and addressed the two agents.

“Where do you want to do this ‘cause I’m not sure it’s the kind of discussion we should be having here.”

***

Jason Gideon’s father had loved classical music. Every Sunday he could be found in his den leaning back in his chair, eyes closed letting the sounds of Bach, Vivaldi and Mozart drift over him. Jason had listened with him sometimes, looking back on it Jason could see he was just a boy trying to corner the attention of a Father he didn’t have much in common with but in the end a deep appreciation of music had been formed. He became especially fascination with musicians. Through hard work and many hours practice he had become a fairly proficient pianist but lacked the natural talent to take it any further. It was a nice hobby to fall back on, bringing back bitter sweet memories of curing up in his father’s den the scent of tobacco heavy in the air and his father’s deep rumbling voice explaining the difference between the composers. Even if over the years his interest in playing had waned his curiosity concerning musicians had not. Particularly those who possessed as much raw talent as Gwendolyn Chambers. Like Reid he had read about her, a musical prodigy if ever there was one. Playing for her seemed as natural as breathing and Jason could remember reading some critics remarks about her “she only has to so much as look at an instrument before it is already dancing to her tune.” Needless to say he was eager to talk to her and even more eager to find out why someone would stuff the body of a colleague inside her piano. Was about her or was it about Caroline? The lack of passion, of any real aggression against Caroline (particularly the lack of a sexual component) suggested that she was more of a pawn in this game, a way for the unsub to make his point, but what was his point? Was it against Gwendolyn or the orchestra itself? The fact that the show that was ruined was Gwendolyn’s own could not be ignored but neither could the fact that it was a big deal for the orchestra too, bringing in a higher profile of audience and of course more money with that profile. Was it a warning to Gwendolyn or was the unsub merely waiting for an instrument large enough to place a body in? Then there was the matter of the other three victims and their role but he would have to set aside speculation about them until they could be officially included in the investigation. As for the other questions Jason wanted them answered and the first step was digging out all the information he could from the woman in front of him.

The interview rooms in OnePolicePlaza were small and practical. They lacked the sterile environment of the interrogation rooms but Jason would have preferred something a little more comfortable. Gwendolyn looked edgy and off balance, she had the look of someone who had not been sleeping well. Jason could sympathize, there were many sacrifices to be made working for the BAU and the first was sleep, through lengthy investigations and emotional turmoil. The friend, Victoria, after a warning look at the two agents, had been lured away by the promise of coffee and a tour around the cells by a burly man in uniform. Reid had settled them in an interview room and Jason had excused himself so he might have a chance to observe Gwendolyn. Picking up on his silent communication Reid sat himself across from her and began chatting randomly about what Jason could only guess, Gwendolyn simply leaned forward looking politely interested.

The first thing Jason noticed was her hands. They never stopped moving. It put him in mind of Marvin Doyle the court stenographer with an over idealized sense of justice. His hands had constantly typed out the words of the voices he heard in his head. Gwendolyn, it seemed, simply couldn’t keep her fingers still. Her thumb was either running along her finger tips or knuckles and every now and again she seemed to be playing some kind of invisible instrument. He could recognize some of the movements, the cords of a guitar and more obviously the keys of a piano. The rest of the movements were too fast for him to follow but turning on the intercom so he could hear the conversation he did see a pattern, whenever Reid touched on something that made her uncomfortable the random fidgeting would make way for the more defined movements. Reid was asking her about her time in Russia as Hotch joined him in the observation room.

“How’s it going in there?”

He asked.

“Good, she seems at ease with Reid. What did Garcia have for us?”

“Gwendolyn checked out fine and the only disgruntled ex-employees of the orchestra the NYPD have already found and interviewed. Everyone has an alibi. You think she could be involved?”

“It seems unlikely that she could have hefted a corpse into the theatre and then into a piano with nobody the wiser but stranger things have happened.”

A burst of laughter caught the two agent’s attention and Jason was surprised to hear it coming from Reid. It was a rare sound even before all he had been through, it was good to hear.

“Honestly,

Gwendolyn said with a smile

He decided because his ring finger on his right hand was his weakness he would tied it with string to the ceiling while he slept. The theory was it would lengthen the tendons and improve his playing. Instead it paralyzed his finger and ruined his career.”

Jason could feel his surprise echoed by Hotch when Gwendolyn leaned forward and caught Reid’s hand in her own.

“Do you play? You have great hands.”

She said examining said appendage.

“Is she flirting with Reid?”

Hotch said with vague disbelief.

Reid had his back to the glass divider but Jason could well imagine the blush that would be making its way up the young man’s neck. Gwendolyn looked up from her perusal of Reid’s hand and her eyes went round and shocked, twin patches of color blooming on her cheeks. She let go and pulled back reaching up to yank on the thick braid hanging over her shoulder. A new mannerism.

“Sorry, I’m like a little kid sometimes. Got to pick up everything that fascinates me.”

She stilled, probably just realizing just how that comment sounded.

Reid being ever the gentlemen tried to rescue her but being Reid he managed only to make it worse.

“Don’t worry; at least you don’t put everything in your mouth. Er, well... you know the first thing babies learn to do is eat, so their first interaction with the world is through their mouth and seeing as there are more nerve endings in a baby’s mouth per square millimeter then any other part of their body it makes sense that in order to find out more about something the first thing they do with it is stick it in their mouth. It’s also a comfort gesture from the act of breastfeeding, its thought that people with an oral fixation were either never breast fed or weaned properly therefore have never learned to move on from that first instinctual interaction with the world.”

Hotch had a hand covering his mouth and his shoulders were shaking in silent laughter.

“Perhaps you should go and rescue them.”

Hotch suggested

Jason nodded and left the room smiling to himself. It was nice to see to Reid acting like, well, Reid. When he entered the interview room the two younger people seemed over there embarrassment and were trying to hold in giggles.

“Am I interrupting?”

Jason asked

“Not at all. I’d say you have an impeccable sense of timing actually.”

Gwendolyn said.

Jason had to note that with her eyes shining and a grin on her face Gwendolyn looked ten times prettier. Part of him felt bad that he had to break up the atmosphere but as much as he appreciated the levity they were here on business.

“I’d like to go through the events of Saturday night.

He said plainly  

“Talk us through what happened that day.”

It was like switching off a light. All the humor was sucked out of the room and Gwendolyn once again looked like a young woman haunted by the image she had seen.

“I arrived at the theatre by about seven...”

“No, no.”

Jason interrupted motioning with his hands trying to come up with the right word to communicate what he wanted from her.

“We didn’t ask you here to review the facts. If we needed that we could have just re-read your statement. We’re looking for something a little deeper than that.”

Jason explained.

“Why don’t you take us through what you did that day?”

Reid suggested.

She looked a little confused but nodded and shifted back in her seat, her thumb moving restlessly against her fingers.

“I was up pretty late the night before, couldn’t sleep for the nerves and excitement, I think it was sometime past two by the time I went under so I didn’t get up until about ten thirty. I just bummed around my flat really, spent some time on the treadmill but I didn’t want to tire myself out so mostly I just read or watched television. I made sure I had everything ready for the performance, had a shower then, that’s right, Cynthia came round. She’s one of my neighbors. We talked until it was nearly time for me to go.”

Reid looked up from the notes he was taking.

“You don’t practice before hand?”

“No, I kind of like save it for the performance.

Jason could tell from the way her hands had taken to playing her imaginary instruments that there was more to that statement. She looked at Jason then down at her hands and realizing what they were doing folded them in her lap. Jason mentally cursed himself for giving that away. Her expressions were hard to read, the only time in her conversation with Reid he had been able to read her face was when she had been caught flirting. She looked to Reid who was silently encouraging her and relented.

“I um, kind of have this irrational fear that I’ll be involved in some freak accident if I practice the day of a performance. Like the piano cover smashing down on my fingers or the strings of my cello snapping off and catching me in the eye. I think I just read too much Greek mythology.”

“A self fulfilling prophecy, practicing diligently is the very thing that will ruin the performance.”

Reid surmised.

She nodded, her cheeks coloring once more.

“It’s kind of stupid but it’s become a bit of a ritual for me. The only one I have really, aside from checking my instruments before a performance, but everyone does that, just common sense. Anyway after Cynthia left I gathered all my stuff together and called a taxi to take me to the theatre.”

“Your stuff?”

Jason asked.

“Just my outfit for the performance, the dress I was wearing to the after party and my sheet music. I don’t really need it but I like to have it on hand just in case.”

Jason nodded

“Right so you arrive at the theatre, what was the atmosphere like?”

She paused for a moment, obviously not expecting such a question. Jason had a lot of experience dealing with traumatized witnesses and when he saw how she had been barley holding it together at the funeral he knew he would have to tread carefully with her. Having her relive the night of the concert so he might be able to walk it with her and find clues that could be useful was a tricky endeavor. Leaving her alone with Reid was a tactical move, she had seemed uncomfortable with him so Reid was left with the task of forming an alliance with her. Jason was now trusted by association but this was the crucial time in his questioning.

“It was tense, everyone usually stares at me but it felt worse this time. I kept my head down and dropped my stuff off in the dressing room. Everyone pretty much leaves me alone before a show, I don’t think I talked to a single person from the time I got there till the police arrived. S’ept Vic she popped her head ‘round when she arrived at the theatre, she’s almost always last to arrive.”

She was stalling; there was something about when she went out the first time to check the piano she was hesitant to talk about. He could see her forearms moving and he could well imagine her fingers dancing along her thighs.

Jason kept his voice low, intimate, trying to coax Gwendolyn into remembering what had her so unsettled.

“So you dropped your things off then made your way to the stage, things felt tense, you kept catching people watching you as you crossed the stage to sit at the piano.”

She nodded, a hand coming up to rest on the back of her neck.

“When I sit at the piano everything usually falls away, I can’t hear anything else and I forget that people are watching but when I sat down everything felt off. I don’t know if it was because I was so nervous, or if I’m just thinking now in hindsight but I couldn’t get settled. I fumbled notes! I haven’t fumbled anything since my hands stopped growing. I think it’s why I was so wrecked before the performance, why I came out again to see if I could regain my equilibrium. I just... I felt like...”

“You were being watched.”

She head snapped up, as if she had forgotten she was not alone. Just as quickly she ducked her head back down her hands coming back onto the table to play her unheard symphony.

“You’re use to people stopping and watching when you pick up an instrument, even when they don’t know who you are, they stop and stare but this wasn’t like that. They weren’t interested in the music. They were staring right at you, you could feel it boring into the back of your head.”

Jason said, raising his fingers to his head for emphasis. She was looking at him now, her eyes pleading with him for some kind of answer, an answer Jason could not provide, not yet.

“What about when you came out the second time?”

Reid asked

She shook her head.

“No, the second time, its weird there were more people around but I felt less... exposed. I felt better sitting at the piano, ‘til I tried a few notes of course.”

She looked pained and Jason wanted to pull her back before she could get lost but a knock at the door interrupted them. Hotch entered carrying the files from the other cases.

“Miss Chambers. I’m Agent Hotchner.

Hotch introduced himself, reaching out to shake Gwendolyn’s hand.

We have a few other matters we’d like to discuss with you if that’s alright?”

“What kind of matters?”

She asked him

“During the course of this investigation we became aware of other deaths in the music world. Do you know which cases I’m talking about?”

Gwendolyn nodded

“Tragedies always come in threes, I suppose fours now. Tony, Katya and Grace. Apart from my Grandmothers I’d never known anyone who had died before, now four in one year. Why are you investigating them?”

She asked

“We think their deaths may have been connected.

Gwendolyn looked surprised but didn’t offer any comments.

“How did you know Mr. Gamble?”

“I met him when I was touring in Boston, about a year and a half ago. We became pretty good friends at the time but I’m not great at keeping in contact and we lost touch. I was in Australia when I heard what happened.”

“The two of you use to date.”

It was more of a statement then a question but it made Gwendolyn smile.

“If you could call it that.”

She said

“What do you mean?”

“Tony was gay.

She said matter of factly. Seeing the confused looks that must be etched on their faces she explained.

“Before we started “dating” he’d been with this guy who sounded like a massive closet case. He preached this sort of weird ideal that men were suppose to marry women and have a family as their duty but what happens in the locker room stays in the locker room sort of thing. Tony ended up dumping him ‘cause this guy, Gordon I think his name was, he was apparently putting his theory to practice by dating other women while still seeing Tony. Anyway, Tony was kind of naive when it came to relationships and he thought the reason guys kept screwing him around was because he didn’t have enough experience.”

“So you agreed to date a gay man?”

Reid asked sounding incredulous.

“I knew nothing would come of it. We just went out for dinner, went to gallery openings together. It was less dating, more hanging out and bitching about guys.

 She smiled at some memory.

“I once asked him if was ever going to kiss me, he looked horrified at the suggestions.

She sobered reaching out to take Tony's picture.

“What a waste, he could play Bach’s Concerto in A minor like nobody’s business.”

“Did you know that Boston PD is keeping the investigation into his death open?”

Hotch asked while Jason watched her reaction carefully.

She frowned but her hands remained folded on the table her thumbs circling each other, until this point Jason didn’t think he’d ever met anyone who actually twiddled their thumbs.

“Why? Didn’t he fall down some stairs or something?”

“Yes, but he was found in a building he had never been seen in before. Do you recognize this place?”

Reaching into one of the files Hotch managed to accidentally knock Grace Campbell’s folder sending pages of notes and a few photos across the table. Letting out a huff of irritation Hotch placed the photo of the derelict building in front of Gwedolyn before he and Reid began to gather up the spilled file but Jason’s attention was on Gwendolyn. There was a hint of recognition on her face but she wasn’t looking at the photo Hotch had laid before her, she was staring just past it at a photo half hanging out of Grace Campbell’s file. 

“What is it?”

He asked her.

Reid and Hotch stilled shifting their attention back to Gwendolyn.

“That locket."

She said nodding to the picture.

What she had recognized was the necklace that had been hanging around Grace Campbell’s neck, the necklace no one in her family had seen before.

“I had one just like it but I lost it.”

She made a move to pick the picture up but stopped and looked up, silently asking permission. Jason nodded, alarm bells ringing in his head. He was obviously not the only one who heard them as Hotch spoke up from his right.

“When did you lose it?”

She looked up from her perusal of the photo, forehead lined in thought.

“I noticed it was gone a couple of months ago. I’m always loosing things, accidentally leaving them behind in hotel rooms, though it could be hanging around in my flat somewhere. I probably dropped behind the bed or something while I was moving in. It’s a bugger though; I like to wear it to performances. My parents gave it to me for Christmas after my Nan died.”

“That why you keep a picture of her in it?”

Jason asked softly.

“Yeah."

She said nodding. Her head then jerked to his.

“Wait, What? Ho...”

But Hotch was already handing over the next picture of the locket. This was the photo which showed the lockets contents. Gwendolyn opened her mouth to say something but seemed unable to form words. Dragging her eyes away from the pictures she peered at the file name.

“Grace had it!? But I haven’t seen her in years.”

“It was found around her neck when she died.”

Hotch explained

“Or rather it was placed around her neck after her body washed ashore as there was no water damaged done to the photos inside.”

Reid explained.

“But why would somebody do that?”

Gwendolyn spluttered

“That is an excellent question.”

Jason agreed.

***

The sack on my back is heavy but that’s alright, I spend every other day at the gym. I’m ready for this, I’ve spent time preparing. I live for this, it’s what I do and I’m good at what I do. The thrill of sneaking in here, passing by right under their noses, that’s what gets me off. Yeah I don’t hide in the shadows, I belong here and I walk out in the open, blending into the crowd. No one questions me and I slide right on into the theatre, no skulking, people see that, in this day and age people actively watch for it. What nobody sees, watches for, is the regular hustle and bustle of someone going about their business.

 I know this theatre, I’ve been here before, I know what people will notice and what they won’t, even on an important day such as this. That makes me smile, this is an important day but nobody knows just how important yet. I walk confidently through back stage ‘til I reach the stage. I know this part too. I lay my bundle carefully between the curtain and the brick wall of the back of the stage. Nobody uses this area when the curtain is down, no need to, nobody even glances back here. It’s a risk but this whole business is a risk, it’s what makes it so enjoyable to me. I feel a rush in this moment, everything has been timed perfectly down to the second. Too long back here and the risk of being caught climbs higher, my palms are sweating inside my gloves but I remain calm. I’ve watched and I’ve waited and I know that after she checks the piano the stage manager calls his little meeting and I have less than five minutes to get out there on stage place my burden without making a sound (I’ve practiced this part to, nothing is left to chance.) and get out without calling attention to myself. From back here I can see though the curtain, I’ve peeled back the tape that secures the gap in the curtain. I watch as she leaves and the manager calls his little meeting. I move soundlessly, in and out and it goes down just as I imagined. The scene is set and all that’s left is to get out. I move back to the curtain, stick the tape back in place and sweep up after myself. I leave the way I came, once again no-one notices no-one would think too. Just another working stiff dong his job. I walk back to my van and...and...

No, no that’s not right.

Derek spins in a circle taking in his surroundings. It’s bright and open in the parking lot, nothing like the dark pull of his imagination. It feels wrong out here, he didn’t just get in his van and drive away. Where’s the satisfaction? The body was on display, he would have waited for the discovery. That’s where the satisfaction was, seeing their looks of horror. He would have stayed inside. Back stage? No... the audience. Gwendolyn wasn’t supposed to come out again until the curtain rose, that’s when this was supposed to go down. He had the schedule down, knew where everyone was suppose to be at what time. He knew that the stage manager called a quick meeting of all the backstage crew to make sure there were no last minute hitches. That was his window to get the body inside the piano. He would also know that Chambers checked the instrument once before the performance, he just didn’t count on her nerves being bad enough that she’d brake with her own traditions and come out a second time. He would have wanted the best vantage point and that was from the audience. This guy was an exhibitionist and he would have wanted front row seats to his own show. Turning to head back inside he saw Emily heading towards him.

“You get anything?” he asked her

Nodding she pulled out her notebook checking the details.

“One of the stage hands says he saw a guy walking in with a rolled up carpet slung over his shoulder. Thought it was a little weird as everyone else moving stuff was either carrying lights or musical equipment but didn’t think it was odd enough to give it much thought. All he could remember was that the guy was tall and wearing a dark colored baseball cap.”

Derek nodded changing his mental picture of a guy carrying a non-descript bundle to carrying a rolled up carpet.

“Listen, this guy has got to have been in the audience for the show. “

Emily considered the information and nodded.

“He’d want to savor the reaction, she suddenly frowned.

“There was nothing but the elite of music and the social scene in that theatre.”

“Then one of New York’s elite is a murderer. “

Emily nodded sagely then cleared her expression.

“I’ll go talk to the theatre manager. An event like this there’s bound to be a list of those expected to come.”

“I’ll call Garcia, get her to access the ticket sales. Meticulous as the guy is I doubt he would have paid by credit card but it may just give a long list of witnesses.”

Emily turned on her heels and walked back to the theatre. Derek looked around the parking lot once more. He’d been here, walked this ground but they were catching up to him. “Yeah” Morgan thought. You hear that? That’s us on your heels and we’re coming up fast.”

***

Bartolomeo Cristofori is credited with the invention of the piano in 1709 although the use of a keyboard striking action to produce music had existed since the early 1440’s. A piano produces its unique sound though the striking of strings, the vibration of the strings is carried to a soundboard by means of a bridge over which the strings are stretched. The soundboard amplifies the sound and affects the tone quality. Spencer knows this because when he was then a teacher had suggested he learn to play, have a hobby that didn’t include memorizing large volumes of text. So the first thing Spencer had done was to read all he could about pianos and piano playing. There had been an old piano at his high school and after reading all he could and practicing on a cardboard cutout of piano keys at home he felt he was ready for the real thing.
Apparently there were things you could not learn by reading instruction manuals. 
After that he saved the money he usually set aside for his monthly additions of Scientific American and invested in some lessons. There was something oddly mathematical in piano playing. First of all the notes themselves could be broken down into formula. A# has a frequency of 440 Hz and the constant value in music is 12th root of 2 (1.0594630943593...) which is the ratio of the frequencies between half tones. A# is 440 x 1.059... = 466.16376... Therefore B is 466.1637 x 1.0594 = 493.8833. After you do this 12 times you end up with A# an octave higher which equals 880hz. It was a relief for Spencer, some of the books he had read made music sound like some kind of mystical experience. It was good to realize that it could be broken down to scientific parts just like everything else.

It wasn’t until years later when he was playing around on YouTube (a guilty pleasure that began when he was searching the net for any new theories on stalking behavior and ended up accidentally clicking on a link that lead him to a video of a trailer for a movie of a man who was stalking Santa Claus) and found an amateur video recording of an eight year old girl playing Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 16. The video was obviously old, the young girl had long crimped hair and was wearing a black puffy sleeved dress. What had mesmerized Spencer was the look on her face. Her hands were dancing over the keys, at complete odds with the content and peaceful look on her face. Her eyes were closed and her head was slightly inclined as if she was trying to keep her ear as close to the instrument as possible. It was as if she was not an active participant of the performance, her hands a separate entity entirely. After watching this little girl play so beautifully and so effortlessly he began to understand that not everyone had such a mechanical approach to music.

As fate would have it said little girl was all grown up and standing not ten feet away from him. She looked lost, confused and just about ready to drop from exhaustion. Spencer was well acquainted with all three feelings.

“You should go home and get some rest.”

She started at the sound of his voice, turning tired blue eyes on him.

“I mean, you ah, look about ready to collapse.”

At that she gave a humorless laugh and rubbed a hand over her face.

“I would love to go and sleep but it’s not so easy these days,” She said.

Spencer frowned at her tone and moved to sit down next her on the desk she was leaning against.

“Nightmares?” He asked

“In order to have nightmare you have to be asleep first.”

“You can’t sleep, or you don’t want to sleep?” He asked tentatively.

“Oh I want to sleep, I’d loved to sleep but I can’t seem to keep my eyes closed for more than an hour at a time. It’s... ergh, never mind. I’ll figure it out.”

She rubbed at her temples and Spencer couldn’t help but notice she was also covering her ears.

“Are you alright?”

“Its fine, it’s just... loud in here.”

Spencer looked around the precinct. He wasn’t really aware of the background noise but he listened now to the hustle and bustle around them. The murmur of conversation, the clicking of keyboards, shuffling paper, plodding footsteps and slamming doors just the general sounds of people in close quarters. Then it clicked. He remembered reading that Gwendolyn had some kind of perfect recall of sound. Spencer himself could recall roughly 70% of everything he heard spoken verbally (and over 97% of everything he read) but apparently Gwendolyn had a 100% recall of musical sounds, it was one of the reasons he supposed people had labeled her as a savant. Such a gift probably didn’t just lend itself only to musical notes and he wondered briefly how sensitive her hearing was. He was jolted from his musings by her voice.

“Sorry, I just, I need sleep.”

She had pulled her hands away from her face and was now absently drumming her fingers along the desk when an odd thought stuck him.

“Has there ever been a day in your life since you started playing that you haven’t sat down with a musical instrument?”

She gave him a weary look.

“A couple.”

“And did you sleep on those nights?”

She closed her eyes and Spencer knew he’d hit the nail on the head.

“Every time I sit at the piano, at any instrument, I just freeze up. I can, see her and...”

She had a white knuckled grip on the desk and was blinking rapidly. Spencer wanted to do something, wished that he was the kind of person that could easily reach out and touch someone, give them comfort but that wasn’t him. He had his mind, that was his gift and that was what he could use to help her. He could use his skills to help catch this killer.

“There’s no easy answer I can give you. I can tell you that we are going to do everything we can to catch this killer and we’ll keep you safe until we do.”

Amazingly Gwendolyn released her hold on the desk.

“Thanks, but it’s not really me I’m worried about,” she turned to look at him.

“Did you know I was one of the last people to talk to Katya? We spoke in the morning and she was dead by that afternoon.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Just about the orchestra, I was in New York and we planned to have dinner sometime that week. She had another call and said she’d call me back later. She sounded fine, happy with work and everything else. You think he went after her too?”

Spencer’s hesitation in answering was apparently all the answer she needed. She sighed and buried her face in her hands.

“We don’t know anything concrete yet. It’s all just speculation and theory.

Following an impulse he pulled her hands away from her face and looked her in the eye.

“The one thing I can tell you is that this is not your fault.

She looked set to protest but Spencer barreled ahead over any objections.

“If this person is doing these things because of some kind of perceived relationship with you, then it actually has less to do with you then you think. It’s about them and their short fallings. They’ve latched onto you because of reasons that are only justified in their mind. If it wasn’t you, it’d be someone else.”

“But it is me. People are dying because they picked me and I can’t just let go of that.”

 Spencer nodded in understanding and they sat in silence for a moment until Spencer realized he still had hold of her hand. He pulled back somewhat clumsily folding his hands in his lap and gave her an apologetic smile. The silence turned uncomfortable and Spencer was trying to think of a way to excuse himself when a voice interrupted them.

“Hey”

The two of them shot off the table like two proverbial kids caught with the cookie jar under the amused stare of Gwendolyn’s friend Victoria.

“Um, O.K, so we have your details if we need to talk to you again and there will be regular patrols in front of your building until this is all over. Your doorman is under strict instructions not to let anyone up unless they are accompanied by a tenant and remember if...”

She held up a hand to let Spencer know she understood.

“If I receive any strange phone calls or deliveries I’m not to open them and I should call you guys immediately. I got it. Thank you”

 They kept eye contact for a moment before Spencer nodded and held a hand up in farewell. She turned and left with her friend by her side who began whispering intently, probably quizzing her on what was going on. Spencer wondered how bad this situation was going to get. After Gwendolyn told him she’d been on the phone just hours before Yekaterina’s supposed suicide he was more convinced than ever that Gwendolyn was being stalked by this unsub. As he watched her being escorted from the building Spencer’s mind drifted back to that little girl with her big hair and serene expression. He was going to her help her back to her music, before he left New York he wanted to see her play, wanted to see that expression on her face once more. With that thought in mind he made his way back to the others to add his thoughts to the profile.

***

Penelope Garcia’s office was usually filled with the sounds of a dozen modems humming, fan belts whirring and the rapid fire clicking of fingers dancing over keyboards. Anyone passing her office at the current moment, however, would hear none of these sounds. They would be treated instead to the strains of Bach played by a fifteen-year-old prodigy.  Penelope didn’t really care for classical music, she preferred something with a beat that you could dance too (just one more bone of contention between her and her parents).

She tried to concentrate on the music being played by the young girl on her monitor but instead found herself simply itching to take the girl aside and add a little colour to her. She was wearing a drab and vaguely ill fitting black dress and Penelope was dying to add a bright pink scarf, paint her nails orange or give her a crazy pair of earrings, something to liven up the dull scene. She had to admit that she was a little awed by the sheer talent of the girl, in the same way she was awed by Reid’s intelligence but that didn’t mean she wanted to sit around all day listening to Reid’s thoughts on String Theory.

The ringing of the landline interrupted the symphony, Penelope paused the video and clicked on her headset.

“Ask and you shall receive for you have reached the office of the FBI oracle.”

The deep rumbling laughter of Derek Morgan reached her ears and Penelope grinned at the welcome intrusion.

“Hey there baby girl, what have you got for me?”

“A long list of credit card purchases for big flashy companies and even bigger flashier individuals for the three concerts being performed by our little prodigy. These tickets were hot property, even the tickets released to the general public only went to those who were smart enough to join the theatres website and pre order their tickets”

“So what you’re saying is...?”

“We have lists of everybody who attended each concert.

Penelope frowned calling a few lists to the front of her screen.

“Except of course the companies who bought tickets. I have the company details, but not who attended. You want that info and you’ll have to contact the companies themselves.”

“Huh and I thought I’d called the F.B.I oracle?”

“Do you want this list or would you like to sort through the records manually?”

“Alright, sorry you are and always will be a goddess. So can we have the lists?”

“Your apology is acceptable”, Penelope said imperiously. “And also kind of unnecessary because I already faxed over the lists to the station.”

Morgan chuckled again.

“You’re far too quick for we mere mortals.”

Penelope grinned, delighted at the praise.

“Well the rest is up to you handsome, you know where to find me if you need info on someone more specific.”

“Thanks Garcia.”

The call disconnected and Penelope twirled in her seat picking up one her favourite pens, brushing the fluffy head under her chin and turning her attention back to the old recording of Gwendolyn Chambers. The same thought occurred to Penelope that had ever since the Tobias Hinkle case. “I hope you’re worth what they sacrifice.” She hit play and let the sounds of Bach drift over her as she opened a search engine for another B.A.U case.

 

***