Finishing School Read Online Free PDF Page A

of violence. The coroner’s doing toxicology, but we won’t have the results for at least a few days.’’
    Looking at the screen through slitted eyes, Prentiss said carefully, ‘‘They were laid to rest as if by someone who wanted to protect them from the cold, wanted them to be . . . safe.’’
    Rossi gave her a humorless smirk. ‘‘Possible—killers have killed to ‘protect’ often enough.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘But it’s just as likely that the killer’s a police buff, who knows about fiber evidence and just doesn’t want any clues left in his car.’’
    â€˜â€˜Wayne Williams,’’ Reid said as if on autopilot. He didn’t need to explicate—they all knew the Atlanta child killer from the eighties, one of the BAU’s first big cases and a cornerstone of their reputation. Williams had been convicted with the help of both fiber evidence and the BAU’s profiling skills.
    Looking from team member to team member, Rossi said, ‘‘I know we don’t have much to go on yet. And I also know we don’t play favorites. But the forensics guy on this was a student of mine. I’d like it if we could help out. But I’ll understand if we take a pass, at least till we have more.’’
    â€˜â€˜Three girls whose descriptions are nearly identical,’’ Hotchner said, ‘‘buried in three nearly identical ways, in three adjacent graves. Anybody think this is a case we shouldn’t be investigating?’’ He was greeted with silence as his eyes slowly scanned the room, landing on Jareau. ‘‘Call the sheriff in Bemidji,’’ he told her. ‘‘Say we’re on our way.’’
    She nodded.
    â€˜â€˜Now,’’ Hotchner began, ‘‘I don’t mean to sound like a mother hen . . .’’
    â€˜â€˜Then don’t,’’ Rossi said.
    That earned a grin from Hotchner, a fairly rare occurrence. ‘‘Just the same—it’s going to be cold. Pack appropriately. We’re wheels up in two hours.’’
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Bemidji, Minnesota
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Between not leaving until late afternoon and the length of the flight, they didn’t land in Bemidji until evening. The regional airport looked like a hundred other small-town airports, with little foot traffic inside, and when they went outside, the first thing everyone noticed was that mother-hen Hotchner had been right—the wind seemed to be blowing straight down from the North Pole.
    As the team stood on the sidewalk with their breath pluming, Jareau was wondering where the hell their SUVs were. The vehicles were to be brought up by agents from the Minneapolis field office, which was admittedly over four hours from here, but the field office had received plenty of notice to get up here on time.
    Jareau tugged the drawstrings on her parka tighter. The chill reminded her of early winters in the Pennsylvania town she grew up in. She was about to punch the number of her contact into her cell phone when two Beltrami County Sheriff’s four-by-fours rolled up.
    Stepping out of the driver’s door of the lead vehicle was a tall, sinewy, middle-aged Native American. He had gray-white wavy hair, pouchy cheeks and a small bulge just above his waistline that said he probably didn’t work out regularly. Still, as he approached, his gait was just short of a swagger and, even with the biting wind, he still wore only a flannel shirt and jeans—and had considerable presence.
    A younger deputy, in uniform, got out of the other Durango and came around to the passenger side, but stayed with the vehicle.
    The plainclothes officer walked up to the group, and stopped in front of Hotchner as if he’d known the agent for years. Most people, when confronting the team for the first time, approached Rossi as the leader, and before that, the assumption had usually been made about Jason