Emily hated late nights with a passion unrivalled by anything else in the world. Even the most boring political functions had nothing on late nights. Late nights, to her, meant problems. They meant that something wasn’t settling right in the case she was working, meant the team was unsettled about something. And there were often times she felt that some of them had to pick up slack from the others. She didn’t mind it, especially if it was JJ they sent home early, but that didn’t make her like the late nights anymore.

But the worst late nights were the ones where they stood around for ages waiting for a suspect to crack. Emily had refused to go talk to the school teachers earlier in the day when they figured out exactly who they were dealing with. She wanted to be in close contact with Leah, who was now asleep on the couch in Spring’s office, and wasn’t planning on leaving the Seattle field office any time soon. But she couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. Dave had taken Reid to pick up the White’s from their safe house. Derek was in with Hotch trying to get Tim Sivill to admit not only to why he’d been mulling about the White home, but that he had committed all of the murders that had brought them to Seattle in the first place.

But the guy wasn’t budging.

Emily sighed wanting to bang her head on the one-way glass. They were getting nowhere. Then she had an idea. Her phone came out, the new one the Seattle tech department had given her complete with all of her numbers and she hit the number for Garcia.

“Glinda, Good Witch of the North, how can I help you Auntie Em?”

“You have facial recognition software, right?”

“Of course I do. Made it myself. How’s Leah.”

“Asleep, thank goodness. I don’t think she can believe her high school soccer coach killed her family. Can it find someone too?”

“Honey, it can do whatever I need or want it to do.”

“Take Tim Sivill’s picture and run it against local newspapers?”

“What are you thinking?”

“If we want to get this guy, we have to be able to put him in all of the cities. We’ve got his prints on my phone and we’ve got Leah, but we need to be able to put him in the other cities.”

“Oh, sweetheart, is my Chocolate Adonis in there with him?”

“And Hotch. He’s not budging.”

“Ah, you want to drown him.”

“Please,” Emily agreed. “Thanks, Pen.”

“It’s no problem, though it’s going to take a couple of hours to work through it.”

Emily could tell there was something else Garcia wanted to ask her. The silence that followed was too filled with tension not to be. “What’s up, Pen?”

“How are you doing?” the other woman asked.

“Leah’s safe, so I’m good,” Emily replied honestly, no accusation in her voice. “Now we just need the evidence to put someone away and I’ll be a happy camper.”

Garcia hummed her agreement. Then, “Em...”

“Don’t,” Emily cut her off gently. “I’m not upset, Pen. I’m not mad at you for anything, okay? She’s old enough to make decisions for herself.”

“I just-“

“You just nothing.” Emily’s tone was firm. “The fact that we can’t change what happened aside, she’s fine and that’s all I can ask for.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Garcia asked, blowing out a breath.

Emily laughed. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll call when these results come in,” the other woman promised.

“Cross them with-“

“The schools the victims went to, I know,” Garcia said with a laugh. “This ain’t my first rodeo, cowgirl.”

“Thanks Pen.”

“Anytime.”

“Damn it!”

“Morgan,” Hotch reprimanded sharply. They’d just left the interrogation room. Tim Sivill was not budging and both men were starting to lose their cool. Morgan just preferred to express it by slamming a fist into the nearby wall.

“Are we even sure it’s him?” Morgan asked as the men moved off down the hall.

“Leah’s sure and she’s our witness.”

“You know eyewitness testimony is the least reliable form of evidence.”

“We know he made the call to Leah. His prints are all over Emily’s phone.”

“Why didn’t Leah identify him before now, Hotch? Why couldn’t she tell us?”

“I don’t think even she knew the connection.”

Hotch and Morgan had made it to the room allocated to the BAU for the duration of their stay where Emily was spread out across the conference table. She had pictures upon pictures laid out in front of her and a spark in her eyes that not only made Hotch’s heart jump, but made him curious as to what she’d managed to find.

“There’s a connection?”

“Oh yeah. I’m not sure why we didn’t see it before.”

Morgan sat down across from her, sliding a few pictures his way. She reached across and slapped at him. He raised his hands in defence. “Okay, then what is it?”

“Soccer.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow.

“I know, it seems really convenient,” Emily said, understanding the things he didn’t say. “I mean, especially coming from me who would like nothing more than to see someone fry for this, but I’m not kidding. Garcia’s running facial recognition software on school photos, teacher logs... whatever she can to see if Sivill’s been travelling across the country. Meanwhile, I went back and looked through the files. I found soccer.”

That was good enough for Hotch. He sat down beside Morgan. “I’m listening.”

“Each family member had a soccer player in their midst, whether it was with school or house league,” Emily began. “These pictures are of the younger kids’ rooms. What do you see?”

Now he was looking for it, Hotch could see the little bits of soccer scattered throughout. A soccer ball here, a complete soccer-themed room there... “What does this have to do with Sivill?”

“Garcia did a full background check on him. Turns out, he referees for house league games. He did in Chicago and he does here.”

“That gives him access to a whole raft of kids,” Morgan agreed.

“Exactly,” Emily nodded triumphantly. “That’s not all.”

Goodness, she was beautiful when she was on a roll. Hotch tried to get himself to focus on her words. “Keep going then.”

“I had Garcia go back to check records. When the families were killed and we identified them as part of a stream, we did full scale background checks. We looked at what the kids were doing, what the parents were doing, anything and everything. Between the Chicago families and the Seattle families they all had a younger child registered in soccer.”

“Right...”

“A younger child,” Emily stressed. “And look at these rooms. They’re scattered with trophies plaques... these are the fridges from a few of the households. See how they’re plastered with things? Garcia blew up the pictures, they’re all from the same kid.”

“And none of it belongs to the oldest,” Hotch said, catching on.

Emily’s smile widened. “Bingo.”

“Then what about the Scotts?”

“A mistake,” Emily answered, shuffling pages around. “Here’s a picture of the whole family.” She slid the glossy page towards them. “And here’s a picture of Lindsay O’Reilley.”

“The babysitter?” Hotch asked to clarify.

“You’re kidding. You’re sure they’re not sisters?” Morgan asked, holding the two pictures side-by-side.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure. Leah was the oldest of two. Lindsay just acted like an older sister.”

“An unsung hero,” Hotch murmured absently, his mind catching up with her conclusions.

“Whoa, you mean this guy targeted families with a star kid?” Morgan asked, not fully following.

“A soccer star, younger kid,” Emily agreed. “We already know he watched the families, knew everything about them. He knew where they lived, and since the blood was always confined to the upstairs and the specific rooms, he knew the layout of the houses.”

“Footprints on the carpet are methodical,” Hotch agreed. “As little backtracking as possible.”

“And look, see the deaths of the younger children?”

“That’s rage,” Morgan agreed. “So what?”

“He’s only raging at the one kid. Why made the eldest look like a suicide?” Emily asked, posing rhetorical questions. “There’s no point.”

“Unless the rage is directed at a younger sibling of his own and he identifies with the oldest,” Morgan finished. “Holy cow, Em.”

The brunette plopped into her seat, energy spent now that she’d explained her findings to someone else. “It’s not concrete, but it gives us something to work with.”

Hotch agreed with a nod. “Have Garcia find a sibling for Tim Sivill and pull as many records as she can. I want to know what has this guy so angry at his own blood.”