American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop

Jack stayed at the crime scene until noon, watching as the coroner's team transported the body away. He was just about to return to the office to check on Reid and Garcia's progress when John, who had been at the scene as well, approached him with his phone.

"A woman called in saying she's seen the guy."

An hour later, Jack and Emily met the woman who claimed to have seen the suspect in downtown. She was a slightly overweight white woman, and from several feet away, they could smell the strong perfume she wore.

"I'm not sure if it was him, but he clearly lost control at the time," she explained.

According to her, she had been in a hurry, talking on the phone and randomly flagging down a taxi on the side of the road. After opening the back door and getting in, she was unexpectedly thrown out by the angry driver. The two had a loud argument right there in the street, but the muscular cab driver didn't seem interested in escalating things and quickly drove away.

"I was so mad he treated a paying customer like that. When I realized it was an illegal cab, I tried to report him but only managed to write down the last two digits of his license plate."

She then showed the two the numbers "33" written on the back of her hand in permanent marker.

Jack mentally rolled his eyes, wondering why she thought that was worth writing down.

"Okay, can you remember anything else unusual? Anything that stood out?" Emily, perhaps displaying more patience than Jack, pressed on.

The woman thought for a while before suddenly recalling, "Oh yes, when I got into the cab, he was listening to something."

"What do you mean?" Jack asked.

"Like, some weird recording of himself, muttering things about illusions and disguises. I didn't pay attention to the specifics, though," she said, sounding irritated.

"How much longer will you be questioning me?"

Seeing that further questioning probably wouldn't yield anything more, Emily waved over two nearby officers.

"We might need you to look at some photos and work with a sketch artist. Sorry for taking up your time, but you're actually helping to save lives."

After they left downtown, Jack took a deep breath. "She should be grateful for that strange perfume she was wearing. That scent definitely saved her life."

They picked up two Margherita pizzas and some tiramisu from a downtown pizzeria called Mozzarella before returning to the office. As they arrived, Garcia rushed over, grabbing a slice of pizza and devouring it enthusiastically. 

Curious, Jack asked, "How's Reid's equipment list coming along? And any leads on those chemicals?"

Garcia confidently patted her chest, her confidence evident. "The program is running an automated search. We should have results any minute now."

Just as she finished speaking, her phone rang. "We got him!" she squealed, shoving her half-eaten pizza slice into Jack's hand and sprinting toward the elevator, nearly colliding with Rossi on his way in.

"What's going on?" Rossi asked, confused as he was swept along into the elevator.

"It's incredible! Everything on Reid's list matches, including large quantities of methanol and high doses of chloroform. The address is here."

On Garcia's computer screen appeared the image of a stout white man with an unruly beard. 

"Umberto Muller, 34 years old. That's him."

"Can we get his license plate information?" Emily asked quickly.

"8Q49933."

"Notify LAPD. Let's move out!" Rossi ordered, and the team quickly geared up and headed to the parking lot.

Since it had been nearly 24 hours since the suspect abducted the latest victim, the team wasted no time, driving with sirens blaring and lights flashing toward the address Garcia had found.

Due to the "Mammoth" being bulletproof, Jack insisted that Emily ride with him on all field missions lately. JJ drove a Suburban in the lead, with Rossi and Reid inside, clearing the way.

The suspect's home was a rare brick structure. By the time they arrived, LAPD officers had already surrounded the building.

John, holding a shotgun, stood by the door, loading breaching rounds. Tim and the other LAPD officers were dressed in heavy body armor and helmets, armed with assault rifles, eagerly awaiting the signal to enter.

"Bang!"

"LAPD!"

As the front door lock was blown off, LAPD officers poured inside. Jack, along with the rest of the BAU team, headed straight for the backyard.

According to their profile, the suspect had a self-made laboratory, which wouldn't be small and likely wouldn't be inside the living quarters.

Sure enough, at the rear of the house, they spotted a large warehouse-like structure, around 100 square meters, adjacent to the garage. Jack, fully extending his senses, heard faint cries of a woman coming from inside. He kicked open the flimsy metal door.

"FBI!"

"Help me!" 

"Please, help me!"

Inside was a fully equipped chemical lab, complete with workbenches, distillation equipment, beakers, and test tubes. In the center stood a large glass tank.

Above the tank, an iron bedframe was suspended, and on it, a young woman, completely naked, was bound, crying out desperately.

The lab was in full view, and Jack quickly scanned the room, finding no signs of anyone else. He shouted, "Clear!"

JJ rushed forward, taking off her jacket to cover the girl while Jack grabbed his radio to check in with Tim, wanting to know if LAPD had found the suspect.

They had arrived just in time. The kidnapped woman was about to be lowered into the glass tank filled with methanol, meaning the suspect hadn't had a chance to flee far and was likely still nearby.

Suddenly, the sound of an engine roared outside, followed by a loud crash, and a voice came through the LAPD radio, "He's trying to flee!"

Jack sprinted out of the warehouse, just in time to see the garage door shattered and a yellow Ford taxi weaving around the police barricade. In a flash, the vehicle disappeared, leaving only its red taillights in the distance.

"Stay here and search the house!" Jack shouted as he grabbed JJ's arm, pulling her toward the "Mammoth."

At the same time, Tim, John, and several other LAPD officers rushed to their patrol cars.

Sirens blared behind them as Jack's "Mammoth" roared ahead, its powerful engine echoing through the streets. Turning the corner, he managed to catch a glimpse of the red taillights of the yellow taxi just before it vanished from view.

"Tim, call for helicopter support. This guy knows Los Angeles too well," Jack said, gripping the steering wheel tightly with one hand while speaking into the radio with the other.

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