Lindsay Vaughn's father, Keeson Vaughn, spoke in a completely different manner from the Owens.
Everyone at the BAU could sense the anxiety and unease in his tone, but he tried to maintain his speaking speed and coherence, even keeping his volu moderate—enough for everyone around to hear clearly without being too loud.
He continued, "I went to the movie theater to look for them, but to no avail. The usher told that they saw them leave halfway through the movie."
"Where did they go?" Hotchner asked.
"He said they went out for a smoke." Keeson Vaughn said with a hint of helplessness.
"I didn't even know Katie smoked," Mrs. Owen sobbed, nestled in her husband's arms.
No one was surprised; teenagers in their rebellious phase sneaking a smoke wasn't a big deal. In his previous life as Kenji Tanaka, Jack had developed a smoking habit while studying alone in another city.
"So they never returned to their seats?" JJ pressed.
"No" Keeson Vaughn shook his head, his face somber.
"We've been waiting here all day, why won't they let us in?" Mr. Owen, holding his wife, looked at the crowd.
Before the FBI agents present could answer, Keeson Vaughn provided the answer for them, "Because they don't know who's inside, right?"
"Why? What did they do to her?" Mrs. Owen cried out, the answer obvious.
"You're the FBI, right? The FBI is in charge here, right?" A slightly overweight middle-aged man next to Keeson Vaughn suddenly spoke up.
Jack gave the official answer directly, "We're here to assist the police."
"Don't you think it's a bit too late?" Keeson Vaughn suddenly showed a completely different agitation than before. As soon as he said it, he realized his mistake, walked to the side, took out a pill bottle, and swallowed two pills.
"My na is Pat Mannan." the middle-aged, overweight man introduced himself. "I'm a friend of Keeson's. Please don't mind his attitude; his wife passed away a few years ago, and Lindsay is his everything now."
No one minded. Everyone had seen plenty of hostile victim's families; this kind of rational and communicative person was a rare find.
Hannah walked over from the side. As the FBI agent who first followed up on the case, she had been communicating with the sheriff of the Southeast Precinct. "The dical examiner's office needs to remove the body now for further autopsy."
Keeson Vaughn suddenly stepped forward, blocking Hotchner and Rossi. He clearly believed that Hotchner, dressed in a suit and always looking serious, and Rossi, the oldest person present, were the ones who could make decisions.
"Let try. I can recognize her," he pleaded.
"I can recognize whether it's Katie or Lindsay. I can do it."
"Co back to the police station with us first." Rossi said softly, offering reassurance without giving a direct answer.
The chances of the family recognizing the mangled body, with its head completely smashed, are slim. Furthermore, the family is likely to experience the first stage of psychological grief due to the excessive stress, leading them to deny the facts.
The most probable scenario then would be mutual accusations and even direct conflict, which would do nothing to solve the case or uncover further clues.
After all, one of the girls has already been murdered; the most important thing now is to find the other girl who might still be alive.
By the ti everyone arrived at the Southeast District Police Station, it was past 7 PM. Garcia had already finished analyzing the audio file Jack had sent her.
"The call lasted 55 seconds, but the extracted audio only lasted 23 seconds, after which it was completely silent." Garcia said grimly as she played the audio.
The recording contained the voices of two girls. One girl was screaming desperately for help, pleading with the assailant to stop, repeatedly saying, "Daddy, save !"
Clearly, she was the girl being assaulted—the sa girl whose body they had found in the drain.
The other girl's voice was relatively calm. She only said two things: one was telling the assaulted girl not to resist and not to further provoke the assailant; the other was particularly striking: "Don't let them know you're scared!"
"I think she was strangled after that. What should we do next?" After listening to the recording, Emily looked at everyone, her face grim.
Actually, everyone had so guesses at this point. From the behavior of both sets of parents, they could roughly deduce which family's daughter the victim was.
Of course, this was just speculation; they needed actual evidence.
"What to do? There's nothing to do. Parents can recognize their own daughter's voice." Rossi replied decisively.
Emily's eyes widened in surprise, seemingly unable to believe that he had said those words. Perhaps the emotional and vulnerable Rossi from the previous case had left a deep impression on her.
"Are you serious?"
"This is the fastest way right now. We need to confirm the other girl's identity as soon as possible."
Rossi, though his face was grim, still insisted on his idea. Clearly, won and n have different understandings of emotion.
Emily insisted on her objection; the girl's screams from the recording still seed to linger in the room.
"There must be other thods."
"I can try to expedite the DNA testing." Hannah, seemingly reluctant, whispered from the side.
But everyone present knew that even if they could expedite the testing, to ensure accuracy, comparing gene sequences would require nurous repeated tests, still taking a lot of ti.
And now, even an hour was extrely precious for the other girl who might still be alive.
Jack didn't speak, but simply pushed the evidence board that he and Reid had just put up in front of everyone.
On it were grueso photos of the corpse; the dead girl was covered in countless knife cuts and large bruises.
"After discussing it with my colleagues, we believe that waiting until we get the test results before trying to save her will be too late."
In the Southeast District Police Station's conference room, Hotchner, as usual, played the stern role, offering this difficult suggestion.
"Of course, it depends on you. I hope this will buy us more ti for the girl who is still alive."
It was Keeson Vaughn again who asked the crucial question, "What did the recording say?"
"That's the voice of one of your daughters before she died." Hotchner frankly replied.
"My God." Mrs. Owen, who could barely stand with her husband's support, let out a sob.
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