“How long has she been in there?” Hotch asked after having taken a look through the little bull’s eye in the inside of the small bunker.

“Presumably one year.” Sheriff Logan replied. “Mr. Porter paid two million dollars – but this guy never told him where he buried his wife.”

“Is he already informed?” Hotch wanted to know and stepped back allowing the CSI team to open the door.

“Yes” Logan nodded “he is… relieved I guess. He’s finally able to bury her.”

“So you assumed she was dead?” this time Morgan was posing the question.

“We didn’t give up hope until…” the Sheriff sighed. “…until we found his second victim, buried in a bunker similar to this one only half a mile from here.”

“Does that mean Mrs. Porter was the first victim?” Hotch looked at the now opened door. On its inside there were bloody scores, obviously from Mrs. Porter’s finger nails.

“No, she wasn’t.” Logan replied. “But… well, we hadn’t heard of this guy for almost ten years. When we heard about the abduction and the call we thought it was a copycat. Mr. Porter was our prime suspect until we heard about the second abduction.”

“How many victims?” Morgan simply asked.

“Three until now” was the answer. “twelve ten years ago.”

“Twelve victims and then what?” Derek Morgan frowned and crossed his arms above his chest. “Serial killers do not simply stop killing.”

“Maybe there was some… major happening.” Reid suggested. “Statistically…”

“Maybe he was in jail.” Morgan interrupted him fishing his cell phone out of his pocket and walking away.

“Garcia?” he heard the familiar voice.

“Hey Pen, I… um… check out all guys who’ve been in prison here in Chicago for the last ten years.”

“Seven names” she responded. “One of them is dead, two are back in prison. The other four are…”

Derek took down the names and addresses she gave him, thanked her and hung up. He missed their bantering, their flirting, hearing her calling him pet names. Of course, he’d never admitted that. After their spat they’d talked only if necessary. She avoided him most of the time when they were both at the bureau – but he called her whenever he was on a case, silently asking her forgiveness which she refused to grant him.

“We have four names.” Morgan told the rest of the team. “Maybe he never was in prison and stopped killing for other reasons but it’s a start.”

“Definitely” Hotch nodded. “Prentiss, you and Derek screen those guys. Be careful, maybe one of them is the killer!”

“Yeah, thanks for the warning.” Derek mugged. Then he and Emily left.

Hotch stepped inside the bunker taking in the scene in front of him. There was barely more left than Mrs. Porters skeleton. The bunker was small, yet gave enough place for a small person to stand in it, maybe taking two or three steps. “How long can someone survive in here?” he asked.

Spencer Reid took a look inside the room, frowned for a couple of seconds and then said: “Twelve hours.”

The Sheriff looked at him in confusion. How could he be that sure? He had simply looked inside the bunker, not measured a single wall nor had he seen him calculating something.

“Believe me” Hotch almost smiled pointing at Spencer. “If he says twelve hours there’re no more than ten minutes difference to the exact time.”

Spencer smiled shyly. Although he knew how much his colleagues appreciated his intellect he was always slightly embarrassed by such compliments.

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“Well” Morgan sighed. “At least we know that prison term was not the reason for this killer to stop. All four men have cast iron alibis.”

“What else could be a reason for a serial killer to stop killing?” Hotch posed the question to everyone in the room.

“Well, statistically…” this time it was Hotch’s phone that cut him off.

“Hotchner?”

“Sir, I found an interesting report from a local hospital dated ten years ago.” Hotch’s glance told Morgan who was calling.

Damn it! he thought. A few months ago she would have called you instead and your bantering would have made even Hotch smile.

“What’s it about?” he asked.

“A young girl” Garcia replied “aged seventeen back then. She had a black eye, a laceration at her forehead and a mild concussion. The carbon dioxide level in her blood was almost deadly according to the doctors.”

“What was her name?” Hotch wanted to know feeling some kind of excitement. They had a trace, maybe a victim that survived.

“Sorry, Sir, the file only says Jane Doe.” she answered. “She refused to tell them her name.”

“Thanks anyway.” he murmured. “We have a surviving victim.” he informed the others. “At least I assume that. Ten years ago a seventeen-year-old girl was treated in the local hospital for a concussion and a carbon dioxide intoxication. We don’t know her name but maybe someone in the hospital can remember her and help us create an identikit picture. JJ, I want you and Emily to talk to the staff.”

“Yes, sir.” they both nodded and left the room.

“Alright, so what do we know so far?” Hotch asked the two men.

“He attacks his victims in parking lots or even at their homes.” Morgan answered. “He beats them down and when they’re unconscious he buries them in that bunker. He’s built them on his own, buried them at least one meter under the surface making sure no one will accidentally find them. There are microphones and loudspeakers which means he cannot only hear their agony – they can hear the pleasure their torture gives to him.”

“That means he has to be in a radius not exceeding twenty miles I guess.” Garcia said over the phone.

“You guess?” Hotch repeated.

“Sorry, Sir, I’d need some more information on the technology he uses to be sure. I mean, if he manages to use satellites then he could be practically everywhere.”

He sighed again. “Considering he has buried the victims in a radius of about ten miles I don’t think that he’s everywhere. He’s definitely here in this area.”

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