American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop

Boston has a typical temperate continental climate, and by early November, nighttime temperatures were nearing freezing, which was quite a shock for the BAU team, who had just gotten used to California's year-round sunny weather.

Even with Jack's current physique, stepping out from the warmth of the meeting room into the cold wind made him shrink his neck. He finally understood why Finley always wore those thick wool suits.

On a cold night like this, it seemed like a waste not to have a hot pot. Jack thought as he opened his phone's map to search for nearby restaurants.

This case was clearly going to be a long one, so there was no need to work through the night on the first day. Everyone agreed with Jack's suggestion, and after reviewing the case, they all headed out to find food.

Jack didn't even bother asking Finley's opinion on where to eat; the guy had no taste when it came to food, so there was no point expecting any useful suggestions from him.

Some might associate Boston with lobsters or the Boston Tea Party, but in reality, Boston doesn't produce lobsters at all.

Just like how "wife cakes" don't contain wives, Boston lobsters are misleading. Not only do they not come from Boston, but technically, they aren't even true lobsters. The so-called Boston lobster is actually the American lobster, part of the clawed lobster family, and they mainly come from Maine and further north in Canada.

Boston became known for lobsters because it was historically the largest shipping hub in the area, so lobsters exported overseas were flown out from Boston's airport. As a result, the lobsters shipped to Asia bore the label "from Boston," and over time, Asians began referring to them as Boston lobsters. In North America's East Coast, though, they're known as "Maine lobsters."

Unfortunately, it was already late, and after searching for a while, they only found a few fast food places still open. After a quick meal to fill their stomachs, the BAU team parted ways with Finley and returned to their hotel to rest.

The next morning, Jack was woken by a phone call. After kissing JJ, who was still in his arms, he saw it was a video call from Garcia. Lazily, he got up, walked into the bathroom, and answered the call.

"Ahhh!" Garcia gasped, covering her mouth in shock at the sight of the half-naked man in front of her, momentarily speechless.

"Is there something you need?" Jack asked, unfazed by her reaction, as he casually started brushing his teeth.

"Oh, right," Garcia wiped away the tears that had started to form at the corners of her eyes, seemingly remembering the purpose of her call.

"I can't find George Foyet."

"What? He's missing?" Jack paused mid-brush.

"I don't know, but he's vanished. What I mean is, it's like he's disappeared from the face of the earth. I can't find any trace of him online," Garcia said, looking a bit haggard, as if she'd been working through the night.

"How is that possible?" Jack rinsed his mouth and began washing his face.

"I'm serious. The last record I could find was nine months after he was discharged from the hospital. He quit his job, sold his car, canceled his bank accounts, credit cards, and even his phone."

"I can't find any documents or records on him," she added.

Jack frowned, "Do you think he did this on purpose?"

"Not only that," Garcia replied, chewing nervously on her pen.

"Even a dead person's records remain for decades. To erase all traces of yourself like this takes a lot of determination—it's like social suicide. You have to cut off contact with everyone and everything in your life. I have to admit, I'm impressed."

"No wonder—he's the only one who saw the 'Boston Reaper' and survived. I'll talk to Hotch, but regardless, since the killer left his glasses at the scene, there must be a reason. We need to find him."

Jack finished and stood in the bathroom doorway, smiling at JJ, who had just sat up in bed, revealing her beautiful figure. He put a finger to his lips, though he didn't actually make a shushing sound.

"I'll keep looking," Garcia said, unaware of the exchange. They chatted a bit more before ending the call.

"Garcia can't find him?" JJ asked, catching the gist of the conversation while tying her long blonde hair into a bun.

"Maybe he was just too scared. After all, there were over a dozen more victims after him, and the killer was never caught. But I'm curious why he didn't just move to another state. At least he wouldn't need to go to such extremes."

As Jack spoke, he couldn't help but be drawn to JJ, and, unable to resist, he suggested, "Since we're already up, how about we take a shower together?"

"What?" JJ hadn't even processed his words before he swept her up in his arms.

Later that morning, Jack hurried into the meeting room, slightly embarrassed as he apologized, "Sorry, the line for breakfast took longer than expected."

Rossi glanced at the logo on Jack's coffee cup, then at the one in JJ's hand, but said nothing.

Hotchner, who had been deep in thought, looked up as everyone gathered and began outlining the day's tasks.

"Jack, you'll go to the airport this morning to pick up D.B. Russell from the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Since CSI's New York lab is still under construction, we need CSI-LV to handle the forensic work for this case."

Jack nodded to acknowledge the task, and Hotchner continued, "Garcia couldn't find George Foyet. I'll be meeting with Roy Coulson. He interviewed all the victims' families, and he may have some connection to the sole survivor."

With tasks assigned, Jack sat in the office for a while before heading to the airport with a few local FBI agents to pick up the CSI team.

The last time Jack had seen Russell was during a weekend trip to Vegas, when he'd helped the lab solve a child abduction case that had been delayed due to a power outage.

This time, Russell didn't come alone. He brought nearly half of his lab with him, along with a ton of portable equipment. They would begin working from the local medical examiner's office.

Russell seemed very intrigued by the "Boston Reaper" case and dove right into work as soon as he arrived. The CSI team would be working in parallel with the BAU to solve the case.

After getting the forensics team settled, Jack returned to the office in the afternoon. He hadn't even had time to catch his breath when Hotchner called, asking him to meet at a specific location.

"How did that reporter find him?" Jack asked between bites of a burger as he sat in the passenger seat.

Their car was parked in a narrow alley, and Hotchner kept his eyes fixed on the street ahead.

"Roy interviewed Foyet many times while writing his book. They've stayed in touch ever since, and Roy is probably his only friend left. But Foyet never gave him a phone number—only the address of the apartment he's been renting under a fake name. That's here."

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