Burlington,Vermont

Nathan glanced up at the large overhead clock he kept in his salon. Phoebe was running late; it was even possible she would not show up due to the snow. On the television in the waiting area, a breaking news flash came on; Heather had been discovered. The Anchor had turned the story over to a live reporter at the Precinct, who was trying to get answers from the attractive Brunette that was apparently on point during the profile he saw last night at Heather's apartment. Agent Prentiss, her name was. She was refusing to comment. The reporter asked who it was that found the body; Prentiss refused to divulge the witnesses' identity. Nathan took a guess that whoever it was; they were probably under police protection. The reporter also asked if the witness actually saw the suspect or had any idea who the Barber might be, and again Prentiss declined to answer, saying she was at liberty to reply to that question. It didn't matter; Nathan already knew the answer. Nobody saw him. If Dr. Reid and the BAU knew anything more about him because of this witness, they were keeping it to themselves for the time being. Although part of him was frustrated and doubted they were any closer to stopping him, he kept up a glimmer of hope that Dr. Reid would figure it out.

Nathan opened up the door to his salon and leaned out to look at the road, which was already covered with a compacted layer of snow; it was really coming down hard. That was when a familiar looking car pulled up to the curb of the plaza. It wasn't Phoebe's Civic, but Phoebe did step out of the passenger seat of this much more expensive looking car and after a quick wave to the driver turned and raced towards the salon as fast as she dared as the car pulled away. Smiling, Nathan stepped out and held the door open for the call-girl. It occurred to him he could make things very easy for the FBI; he could just kill her right here in his salon and walk away. Then they would be able to easily identify him has their 'unknown subject' and come for him. Then he could make sure Spencer paid for his mistake and all of this would be over...

"Sorry I'm late Nathan!" Phoebe cried as she bustled in past him. "I've been having a very bad day."

"I've had more than a few of those myself," Nathan replied. "What happened?" He asked, offering her a seat in front of the mirrored wall.

"It's that bastard the Barber." Phoebe answered. "He got to Heather last night, even with us doing our buddy system!"

"That's awful" Nathan exclaimed. "I'm so sorry for your loss; I know you two were close." Right then and there, he decided to hold off as long as he could. Her information might be useful.

"Thank you, Nathan." Phoebe replied. "On top of that, the Feds are trying to blame her for getting murdered!"

Internally, Nathan seethed. He was starting to get an idea of how Phoebe would have that notion; and understood that it meant that the BAU missed the point of his little message entirely.

"That's ridiculous." He said dryly.

"I know, right?" She agreed. "Just because that creep cut I BLAME YOU on her belly. I mean, maybe he's some kind of wacko that blames the girls, but that's on him, right?"

"He wrote on her?" Nathan played along as if he didn't know. "How do you know that?"

Phoebe glared at him through the mirror as if he hadn't been paying attention, but then relented. "Oh, right, I didn't say yet." She said. "When Heather didn't call me after she finished with her client, I went to her place to check in on her. I was the one who found her after the Barber got her. Then I called the cops, and then they took me to the station to talk about it."

"That sounds terrible! I guess the press were right on top of that, too." Nathan prompted.

"Well, yeah, they were." Phoebe confirmed. "One of those virtue signalling vultures at the Alt-Press actually came into the station, but I told him off. Then Samantha Kruger was outside. Don't get me wrong, I like Sam; she's actually pretty good about telling the truth in a fair way. She even gave me a ride here."

Nathan smiled. Samantha Kruger got the scoop. She would almost certainly write a piece on him – or maybe the ineptitude of the FBI and police. That might help him; he could use her story – maybe even Samantha herself- to achieve his ends.

Racine, Wisconsin

Dexter woke with a craving for pancakes unlike he had had in a long time. Happily enough, he had decided the night before to use Lumen's guest room after he had finished his reconnaissance. This was a happy piece of serendipity for Dear old Dexter because on waking and padding into the kitchen, he found Lumen making the very pancakes he was craving. Even better, she had already had a large stack of bacon cooked to perfection ready, and a pot of coffee freshly brewed.

"Good morning!" She greeted cheerfully, pointing with the flipper at the coffee pot before turning the pancake.

Dexter greeted her back and took a cup. He had to admit, she had a good memory; it was clear to him that she was trying to butter him up so he would share whatever he had come up with in regards to the suicides. SH remembered his love of breakfast; pancakes in particular, and was now banking on that to help her cause. It wasn't necessary; he would have shared what he found anyway if she asked. That didn't mean he would turn away a breakfast, though. From the kitchen, the living room was visible, and he had an unobstructed view to the television, which was muted on a news channel. The scroll along the bottom of the screen was reading something about a pipeline dispute in Western Canada involving the government and a First Nations tribe that Dexter wasn't even going to try to pronounce. The graphic behind the anchor changed to an image of an elderly man with the word suicide stamped across it. Dexter quickly recognized the likeness as that of one Pierre Beauchamp of Green Bay, Wisconsin.

"Hey, can we unmute this?" He asked, pointing to the television.

"Sure," Lumen answered, picking up a remote and taking off the muting.

"...once again, Metropolitan authorities in Green Bay were called to the docks where Pierre Beauchamp, aged eighty three, was found deceased on the pier where he worked until his retirement. All signs indicate that Mr. Beauchamp is added to the alarmingly growing list of apparent suicides throughout the state."

"I knew it." Dexter muttered.

That's circumstantial at best Dexter. Harry cautioned.

"Pancakes are ready." Lumen said, sliding a plate across the counter in front of him. "So this guy; is he an actual suicide, or a victim?"

"I'm pretty sure I know who's behind this." Dexter replied.

"I forgot how fast you work." Lumen commented. "So you're going to set your table?"

"Not yet, I don't have proof." Dexter answered. "You know how this works, Lumen; I have to be sure."

"Right," Lumen said, a hint of dismay in her voice. "So what's it going to take?"

More than you have. Harry said.

"More than I have," Dexter said.

Julian Bishop was satisfied with his research on the Wisconsin Animal Care and Protection Society and felt comfortable enough proceeding with his investigation; he kept in mind to be careful, however. They did have a good legal team representing them, and experience taught him that a good legal team could turn just about anything into a courtroom circus if they wanted to.

With that in mind, he decided it was about time to pay a visit to his client, Linda Tenant. Once at her door, her knocked and removed his hat as she opened the door, putting on his best look of sincerity and concern.

"Mr. Bishop," Linda greeted, sounding pleased despite her rather haggard appearance. "Am I ever glad to see you! Please, come in, I just made a pot of coffee."

Julian thanked her graciously as she stepped aside to make way for him to enter. She offered him a seat in the main room while she got the coffee. She soon came back with a tray that had two steaming cups, a glass bottle full of milk, and a bowl of sugar.

"Since you're here, I'm going to assume you have something new about my son?" Linda prompted. "You found something to prove Jeremy didn't kill himself?" She added hopefully.

"Well, Missus Tenant, I found something, I think; though I'm not sure yet what it proves exactly." Julian replied. "If I remember right, Jeremy died shortly after your family had to put down a pet. Now I know this must be difficult for you, but I promise you, this could be relevant. Do I have the timeline right?"

Linda, misty-eyed, nodded. "That's right," she confirmed. "Jeremy was so upset over it, but he wouldn't go and..."

"I believe you." Julian soothed. "That's not where I'm going with this. Here's what I need to know: By any chance did you have any contact with a group called the Wisconsin Animal Care and Protection Society?"

"Well, yes, of course we did." Linda said. "That was who we contacted to..." she hesitated, not quite able to say the words. "...to get it done. Are you saying that WACAPS had something to do with what happened to my son?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure." Julian answered. "It's just a matter of due diligence. Right now I only want to be sure I have reason to ask them a couple of questions. Can you tell me who in the group you specifically dealt with?"

Linda thought about it for a moment. "Well, first we tried to contact Dr. Morton, she's the most local, but she was apparently very busy, so we got referred to Dr. Abrams in Milwaukee. He was very nice about it. Why do you want to know about him?"

"That's Dr. Jonathan Abrams; right?" Julian asked for confirmation. "He was referred to you by Dr. Angela Morton?"

"Yes, that's right." Linda confirmed. "Well, actually, it was her secretary; Dr. Morton wasn't available to take my call."

"Thank you, Missus Tenant; you've been very helpful." Julian said, standing up and placing his hat back on. "I have to say that I cannot underscore this enough; right now all I'm doing is due diligence. I'm more trying to remove any suspicion from both of the doctor's names and their organisation as a whole than I am trying to implicate them in anything. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes..." Linda stammered. It was clear that she did not, but was willing to trust that the private detective knew what he was doing. That was good enough for his purposes. Now, in the event of any court action against him, it can be verified what his intentions were based on at least one witness.

Quantico, Virginia

"This is Prentiss," Emily answered when Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia called. "What do you have for us, Garcia?"

"I'm glad you asked." Garcia answered back. "You'd probably be surprised at just how many hairdressers there are in Burlington, but I narrowed the field down by focusing in on those who keep client lists, particularly those who are sex workers. That brought me down to a dozen names, four of which are particularly popular with this creep's victimology and I am sending you their names and contact information...now." She clicked the appropriate keys to send the information.

"Okay, I've got it, thanks Garcia." Prentiss said. Emily ended the call abruptly, before Penelope could say anything else.

"Hey, Pen," Kevin Lynch called from behind her at her office door, causing Garcia to nearly jump out of her skin. She swiveled quickly in her chair and glared at Kevin.

"Why do you do that?" She demanded. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack, or are suddenly a ninja super-spy?"

"Sorry," Kevin said, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "I just wanted to keep you in the loop. I think I found something that might get us closer to finding Dexter Morgan."

That caught Garcia's attention. Kevin pointed at one of Garcia's monitors to ask if he may use that system to demonstrate. Garcia waved off to indicate she was okay with it. Kevin jumped on and ran his fingers over the keyboard to link up with his system upstairs.

"Check it out," he said, "here in Tijuana I found Jennifer's Flowers, owned briefly by Jennifer Fisher." He zoomed in on a picture of an attractive woman with hair dyed red. "Other than the hair, doesn't that look a lot like Hannah McKay?"

Garcia looked closely. "Yes, it does." She agreed. "That's her, isn't it? It has to be her; right?"

"I think so." Kevin said. "But Jennifer's Flowers was suddenly sold off, and Jennifer Fisher can't be found anywhere in Mexico; weeks later, a flower shop opens up in San Diego." He clicked a few keys. "Look at the name of the shop, and the name of the owner."

"Fisher's Flowers," Garcia read, "owned by Jennifer Fisher."

"The only problem is I can't get a clear picture of the owner in San Diego. There's always a chance that another woman with the same name opened up a flower shop, too. Mind you, that's a pretty big coincidence, and I don't believe in coincidences."

"I do," Garcia countered, "but not like that. It definitely bears investigation, and I know that Reid would agree."

"There's a little bit more." Kevin said. "In San Diego, Jennifer lists a dependant for tax purposes; a son named Harrison, and has named a Frank Castle as a co-habitant. Frank Castle has recently opened up a courier business called Castle Couriers."

"Frank Castle; why is that name familiar?" Garcia asked.

"He's the Punisher," Kevin replied. When Garcia looked at him blankly, he continued. "That's a character in the Marvel Comics Universe; a no-nonsense, no mercy type of vigilante."

Garcia was silent for a moment. "That sounds like an alias to me." She said. "Did you check his background?" She asked, imagining that Kevin had, not that it would matter much. She had no doubt that this Frank Castle would have a fairly thorough, if uneventful history. She remembered that Dexter Morgan was good at creating aliases and making them look legitimate; the last one she tracked when he was Stan Liddy was very convincing. Either he was a digital wizard, or he had some serious help that was magical in the cyber-world. Penelope tended to think it was more likely the latter and she actually wanted to know who it was; they could trade recipes or something.

"You know I did," Kevin replied. "It looks pretty legit, if uneventful apart from a stabbing when he was in his senior year."

Miami, Florida

Astor Morgan waited ten seconds after Vince left the lab at Miami Metro Homicide to make sure he wouldn't turn around and come back in unexpectedly. Maybe because he was getting long n tooth, or maybe realizing he had a daughter had mellowed him out, but Vince Masuka wasn't nearly the perv that most in the department made him out to be; certainly not towards her. If anything, he was super respectful of her; although that might be a hold over for his respect for Dexter back in the day. Sure, the little weirdo made the odd off-color joke at crime scenes, and would find sex innuendos in just about anything if he put his mind to it, but at the end of the day he was a professional and actually very good at his job.

Once she was sure he was gone, she opened up her personal laptop; Vince was usually very adamant about that being verboten. He was worried about department data getting leaked out; what a noob he was in the digital world.

Astor chuckled to herself as she clicked to check messages and email. Right away her eyes sort of floated to the most recent email; from Castle Couriers, Mid West Branch in Racine, Wisconsin. She knew Dexter was planning on expanding his business there, so it wasn't much of a surprise. This was most likely just a message to let her know he was all set up there. She clicked the message to read it.

She was right and she was wrong. It was certainly a message letting her know that Castle Couriers was indeed open for business in Racine, but it was presented more like an advertisement than a family message. She supposed that made sense; Dexter was nothing if not cautious. Which made the next part of the email a little odd; it seemed a little bit reckless of him. He mentioned a possible new exclusive deal with the Wisconsin Animal Care and Protection Society, and was requesting she do a background check on them; specifically on their financial records and transactions. While it was worded in a safe enough manner, it was a little reckless to come to her for this kind of thing.

"Maybe he thinks I can do a deeper dive than he could." She said to herself. If that was the case, he'd be right. Also, he was probably counting on her having security protocols in place that would make this request quite safe; which would also be correct. Still, it seemed a bit risky for Dexter.

Shrugging, she set about fulfilling his request. At first glance, everything seemed like it was legitimate. Vets placing orders for supplies, medications, and of course for Pentobarbital and Pheytoin otherwise known as Dilatin; which vets commonly use to euthanize animals. At first, she didn't think much of it, until she looked a little deeper. It looked to her like an inordinate amount of that combo being ordered, especially by one of the members; a Dr. Angela Morton. For a moment, Astor pondered if maybe this was one of Dexter's other projects; that maybe he was doing the Butcher thing again. The concoction that Dr. Morton seems to getting a lot of would kill humans as easily as it would an animal; so unless there was some kind of cat or dog pandemic going on in Wisconsin, it would fit. Maybe someone in the WACAPS group was killing people and somehow Dexter got wise to it. That would make sense of his asking about their financial records; he could be compiling evidence. She'd rather not have too much to do with this part of his life, she sent her findings.

Just when she was about to carry on, that was when she saw it. Someone was watching her online activity, and she had a pretty good idea who it was; that agent that was working with SSA Reid. It took Astor a second to remember his name was Lynch. There was no telling how long he'd been there.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Astor?" she chided herself. "Are you high? How could you miss that?"

She made quick work of removing Lynch from her system. Luckily, Dexter's message was from the Wisconsin office and not the one in San Diego. He also made a point to word his message as if he was writing on behalf of Lumen Pierce, the branch manager. Hopefully that was all enough to throw Agent Lynch off the trail if he happens to even see this thread.

Burlington, Vermont

Prentiss had divided the team into pairs, one for each of the four hairdressers that Garcia had sent information on. Dr. Spencer Reid and Agent Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau were sent to the home of one named Monique LaFleur, who lived just a few blocks away from Heather, the latest Barber victim. Given the cause of death was strangulation, JJ had her doubts the UnSub was a woman; strangulation generally took a considerable amount of strength, even with a garrote. Also, it didn't really match the profile for a female UnSub to go to strangulation; which was up close and personal. Women usually tended towards distancing themselves; either with a firearm or maybe some kind of poisoning. Still, she supposed it was possible a woman might have some serious grudge against these women, or perhaps she knew something about them that they didn't.

The house was a small rancher with a sizable front yard and long driveway that ended in a garage with a coach house attached to it' actually, the garage looked more like a miniature barn that was converted into a garage. The overall look of the place and the surrounding properties led JJ to think that this was all once farmland that broken up into smaller properties, and that Monique most likely acquired the original homestead property; judging from how run down the rancher looked.

JJ and Spence quickly took note the front door was closed and locked, and there was a note taped to it that advised clients to go around back to the coach house.

"I guess she's on the clock." JJ commented.

"It certainly appears so," Spence agreed. He gestured for her to go ahead of him. "Shall we go around back then?"

"Yes, let's," JJ said as she passed by. Along the way, Spence's phone rang. He looked at the call display and advised he would catch up; he had to take the call. JJ nodded and continued towards the coach house; she heard Spence greet Kevin as she did.

She got to the coach house to find a heavy-set woman in a floral dress and too much make up outside the door, smoking a cigarette; the ashtray set on a stool beside her suggested she was a heavy smoker.

"Excuse me, are you Monique LaFleur?" JJ asked.

"That's right," Monique said; her voice surprisingly clear as she tapped out her cigarette. Monique gave JJ a once over; focusing on her hair. "Well, you're a natural blonde, well groomed, so let me guess; you were referred by a friend and now you're looking to get a trim, right?"

JJ flashed her badge. "Actually, I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jareau with the FBI. I'd like just a moment of your time to ask you a few questions, if I may. My associate Agent Reid will be joining us shortly."

Monique scowled. "I already told the cops everything I know about that Barber; which is nothin'." She objected. "So maybe you and your partner should go talk to them."

"We're working with the police," JJ replied gently. "Actually we were wondering if you could tell us anything about Heather Camp."

"Yeah, she's a client." Monique's expression softened a little. "She's a nice girl; just got into the wrong line of work is all. As far as I know what she actually does ain't actually illegal, so what is she to you?"

"Would you say you two had a good relationship?" JJ asked.

p class="MsoNormal""I just told you she's a nice kid." Monique shot back. "Yeah, I like her, she takes good care of her hair which makes my job easier, and she always leaves a decent tip." Monique was silent for a moment, and then asked, "What's this about? Why'd you ask about her in the past tense?"

JJ hesitated. It was clear to her that Monique had no idea that Heather Camp was the Barber's latest victim. For reasons she couldn't quite explain to herself, JJ found she couldn't quite find the right way to advise Monique of this news. As luck would have it, that was exactly when Spence came around the corner and made his way to the coach house, disconnecting his call.

"Monique, this is my partner Special Agent Dr. Reid." JJ introduced, to buy herself some time. "Agent Reid, this is Monique LaFleur."

Spence raised a hand in a kind of wave as he flashed his badge.

Monique nodded impatiently as a return greeting. "What's going on here?" She demanded.

JJ cleared her throat. "Agent Reid, I was just about to update Monique here on our case regarding the Barber." She faced Monique. "We regret to have to inform you that your client Heather Camp was attacked last night."

Monique gasped, speechless. It was clear to both JJ and Spence that Monique was able to discern that by 'attacked' they meant killed. Hands shaking, she lit another cigarette.

"She had just finished telling me that she and Heather had a good relationship, albeit more professional than personal." JJ said to Spence.

"I see," Spence replied meditatively. "Mrs LaFleur, let me ask you this; did Heather ever mention any of her clients that maybe liked to play a little rough or made her uncomfortable?"

"No, she didn't talk much about her work when she was here." Monique replied. "She did say that she was always careful and vetted anyone who came up as a new client, though."

"How about a prospective client that may have gotten mad that she turned him away," Spence suggested. "Did she ever mention anything like that?"

Monique thought about it for a moment, but shook her head to indicate that she didn't recall anything like that. JJ thanked her for her time and handed her a card in case she thought of anything that might help.

"Oh, wait," Monique stopped them as they were about to turn and leave. "She did say something a few months back, I think. She said something about seeing some lanky guy skulking around her apartment building. She didn't report it to the cops because..well, you know what she did for a living, so she figured they wouldn't take her seriously."

JJ grimaced at that. She understood why Heather might think that, but given what she had seen from Burlington PD so far, she doubted that there were any grounds for that assumption; especially since that would have been well within their search for this UnSub.

"Thank you, that's very helpful!" Spence said, his voice hitting that pitch it goes to when he starts to get excited. "By any chance did she give you a description?"

Monique pursed her lips, exhaled her smoke. "Nothing that I can think would help you much. She said she only saw him from her porch, see? She said he was kind of lanky, dark clothes, a ski cap," she hitched her thumb towards Spence, "maybe around your height."

JJ had to admit, that was pretty vague. Still, they could go back to the building and canvass the other tenants.

"Thank you again for you time." JJ said, smiling.

As they turned to leave, JJ wondered vaguely how much business Monique would be getting with the amount of snow falling. Then her thoughts began to wander over to what it might have been that Kevin was calling Spence for.

SSA's Lewis and Simmons managed to fight through the blizzard until they got to the small plaza that held the salon owned by Nathan Lewis only to find the shop was closed. Along with the salon, there was a coffee shop, a convenience store, and a sports supplements shop on the ground floor. On the two floors above were a gym and the offices of the tabloid newspaper the Alt-News, run by the Wellingtons. Previous investigations indicated the tabloid took a strong left-leaning stance on most if not all things even remotely political. Of course, that was their right, but to the experience of Simmons, that did not make for particularly fact-based reporting; such publications always read as largely opinion-based editorials to him.

Fortunately, they weren't here for the Alt-News. They were here for Lewis. For a fraction of a moment, Simmons contemplated if there was any connection between Nathan Lewis and Tara. He quickly dismissed the idea, though; according to Garcia's information, Nathan Lewis was white.

"It appears that Nathan is closed for the day." Tara commented. "I guess this is hardly a surprise given the weather."

"Or," Simmons added, tapping on the glass door where a sign clearly read the salon was open by appointment only, "he has no appointments today."

"What kind of a salon is open by appointment only?" Tara asked.

"It could be he's that good," Simmons replied, "or the salon is more of a hobby than a job. Garcia says Nathan was living off a trust fund his mother set up for him. Either way, he would be able to afford to keep whatever hours he wanted to."

Tara scoffed. "That must be nice." She said.

"Tell me about it." Matthew said."Shall we try his home, then?"

"We might not need to." Tara replied. She indicated towards the street where a blue sedan, a Mazda, was pulling up to the curb. Simmons was not completely sure if that was a legal parking job, but perhaps the driver was only going to be here for a moment. Also, given the weather conditions, the parking was not really an issue.

A thin man about Reid's height stepped out of the driver's side. He had dark hair and slight features; he looked pretty much the way Simmons imagined a male hairdresser pictured. The man from the sedan made his way towards the salon, stopping short when he saw them making their way towards him. He glanced around, more as if he was checking to see if anyone else was around than for a way out.

"Nathan Lewis" Simmons asked.

"Yes," Nathan replied, clearly nervous.

"Agents Lewis and Simmons of the FBI," Tara said as they both produced their badges. "If you don't mind, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

This wasn't the way it was supposed to be happening. Yes, the FBI were supposed to eventually profile that he was their Unknown Subject, but it was supposed to be Dr. Reid that realized who he was and the mistake he made years ago. More importantly, he needed a chance to correct his mistake. As it was now, Nathan had no choice but to play this out until he knew that Spencer understood everything. Maybe this was a good thing; he could use this as an opportunity to set the stage exactly right. If Nathan had any regret, it was that Agent Gideon was already dead and therefore unable to be part of this. To be fair Jason Gideon didn't do anything wrong.

"What's this about?" he asked, looking from one agent to the other. He imagined they would clock him for looking nervous or shifty. He had no doubt that would be added to his profile, and that Spencer would hear about it. Even though he made the mistake he made that caused all of this to happen, Spencer was a smart man and would piece it all together.

"We're here to help your police department investigate a string of homicides that have taken place in your city over the past few months." The man, Simmons, declared. "You're probably aware of them."

"Do you mean the prostitutes?" Nathan asked, trying to sound nervous. "The ones the news is calling 'the Barber'?" This second part he made sure to sound as if he was a little indignant.

"Yes, sir, that is the case we're working on." The woman, whose name ironically was Lewis, confirmed.

"What does that have to do with me?" Nathan asked. "Do you think the killer is actually a barber?" He figured he might as well fish a little bit; that would be one of the things they would look for in an organized killer.

The agents exchanged a glance, signalling to Nathan that they were indeed taking note of his behavior; his stage was being set. Without directly answering his question, the female agent asked him if he ever worked on the hair of any of the victims, naming them off in chronological order starting with Sugar.

"No, I can't say that I have," Nathan said truthfully enough. None of them were ever his clients. "You see, I work by appointment only, and have a client list. I also keep a record of all appointments and clients. I can even show it to you if you like." He indicated inside his salon to prompt his offer.

Shrugging, Simmons said "Sure, let's see it."

"Alright," Nathan replied, fumbling with his keys to unlock the door. He made a little bit of a show of it, just to make sure these would like him as a suspect if only by profile; as part of his plan to get to Spencer. "Here we go," he said finally as he got the door open. He let the agents in ahead of him. "Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable while I get the list for you."

Nathan knew exactly where he kept his client list, but he took his time getting it so he could observe the agents and gauge whether they were looking at him as a potential match for their profile. It was hard to tell; these agents had very good poker faces. They were talking, but they kept their voices just below audible levels from his vantage point. He came back, list in hand.

"Here you go," he said, smiling weakly as he handed it to Agent Lewis. She shifted her weight slightly and moved herself so that Simmons could look over it. They scanned over the names, and then Simmons asked about Phoebe. Nathan admitted that Phoebe was indeed a client and asked what she had to do with any of this.

"Were you aware that Phoebe discovered the remains of the most recent victim?" Lewis asked.

"No, I wasn't!" Nathan lied. "Although that would explain why she was a little late and seemed distracted. What did she tell you?"

"She wasn't very cooperative." Simmons replied. "She had it in her head that were trying to blame her friend for her own death."

Nathan let out a sigh, disguising his relief as a hint of frustration.

"Can we have a copy of this list?" Lewis asked.

"Sure," Nathan answered her, taking the list back. "I have a copier in the back, I'll make you a copy right now." After making them a copy and handing it off, they left.