American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop

"Sigh!" Hotchner uncharacteristically let out a deep breath. "The suspect can survive solely by pawning the stolen goods. Why would he still follow these migrant workers, moving around with them?"

Jack glanced at the Mexican laborers working under the scorching sun. They wore traditional wide-brimmed Mexican hats, their clothes filthy, and the group included men, women, and even children.

"He can go anywhere; the country's freight railways span nationwide. Yet he hasn't left California. Maybe there's something holding him back," Jack speculated.

"Maybe a wife, children, or other family members?" Reid followed Jack's gaze to see JJ and Jane offering chocolate to a few seven or eight-year-old Mexican kids. 

A section of the field had turned muddy due to irrigation runoff, and the children used it as their personal playground, sliding around like it was an amusement park, becoming little mud-covered monkeys.

Seeing this, everyone smiled. No one noticed the deep sense of compassion flicker in Jack's eyes.

He had read One Hundred Years of Solitude and knew about Ernesto "Che" Guevara's early experiences in Guatemala. Over time, as the red specter came and went, the United Fruit Company had transformed into today's more socially responsible and humanitarian conglomerate.

But for the poor in Latin America, their nightmare simply shifted from bananas to cocaine. Compared to their peers back home, who faced drug dealers and gang violence daily, these children, who had come to this country with their parents and could play freely in the sun, were fortunate. They didn't have to endure the stifling and creativity-killing pressures of standardized education. 

---

The next morning, Jack arrived at the Sacramento Police Department, holding a cup of juice, a stack of coffees, some vegetable pancakes, and a few newspapers under his arm. 

The newspapers all had the suspect's photo on the front page and reprinted JJ's public relations statement verbatim, warning Central Valley residents to be cautious of strangers.

Even though the BAU team knew they were just a step away from identifying the suspect, they were all visibly tense. The killer's intervals between murders were growing shorter, and it was likely that another innocent family would be targeted within the next few nights.

Jane Banner, sporting a pair of panda-like dark circles under her eyes, had spent the night in the conference room. Seeing Jack's breakfast, she let out a cheer and lunged toward him.

Jack nearly jumped in fright. It wasn't just her who had been up all night—JJ had been there the whole time, and Garcia had stayed connected via video call as well.

Jack quickly cleared his throat and handed over the breakfast, barely blocking her enthusiastic embrace. Across the room, JJ glared at the two with a look of playful annoyance.

Before long, the rest of the BAU team arrived. Garcia, yawning, began to report on the all-night effort.

"A quick primer: Mexican migrant workers typically form teams called 'cuadrillas,' which is a Spanish word meaning 'gangs' or 'crews.' 

We found one such 'cuadrilla,' and their work locations match up closely with where the suspect committed his crimes—Chico, Modesto, and Vacaville."

"And what about Tehachapi? We suspect that's where the killer first struck," Rossi asked.

"That's the key part," Garcia said with a hint of pride. "We cross-referenced the employee lists of apple farms near Tehachapi. Two days before the elderly woman was killed, I found that this 'cuadrilla' had worked in the area.

One member of the crew was a man named Armando Salinas. He appeared on the roster, but after that, his name vanished from all subsequent lists.

Jane then contacted ICE officer Cesar again, and with his help, we found records showing Salinas had been expelled from a temporary camp for theft and assault.

We also matched one of the 17 sets of fingerprints found in the elderly woman's house to Armando Salinas."

The photo of a thin Latino man appeared on the screen. Hotchner exhaled slowly.

"JJ, notify Detective Lehmann to issue a warrant and release the photo to the media. By tonight's news, we need everyone to see his face."

He paused, glancing at the exhausted expressions of the team, and added, "You've all worked hard. Rest up after this. We'll take it from here."

"Ah, one more thing," Garcia added just before hanging up the video call. "That 'cuadrilla' arrived in Rockford two days ago."

"Who speaks Spanish?" Rossi asked the group.

Emily raised her hand first, followed by Jack. Everyone's eyes turned to Reid, who awkwardly looked away.

Reid's language skills were impressive but, by his standards, he wasn't a genius at it. He spoke French, Russian, Italian, and even the less common Yoruba, but Spanish wasn't in his repertoire.

"Emily and Jack, join Officer Cesar and visit the camp. See if you can find out why Salinas has been following this 'cuadrilla,'" Rossi suggested.

---

By evening, Jack and Emily, guided by Cesar, arrived at a makeshift camp on the outskirts of Rockford. It was a shabby collection of row houses made from prefabricated wood planks.

It wasn't that they had been delayed; it was simply that the only time to meet the Mexican laborers was after they had finished a full day of back-breaking work.

"So, they work from 5 a.m. to 5 p.m., and they only earn $50 a day?" Emily asked in disbelief after hearing Cesar's explanation.

"Actually, it's less," Cesar explained. "After deducting visa, transportation, and housing costs, plus the fact that they don't always have work every day of the month, their net income usually amounts to around $800 a month.

That's for adult men. Women earn about a third less, even though their workload is nearly the same."

Emily looked angrily at Cesar, who shrugged helplessly. "We try to help them as much as we can. We provide clean accommodations and drinking water, and we work with USDL (Department of Labor) to recover unpaid wages.

Last year alone, we recovered over $15 million in back wages for these workers."

"You've done what you can," Jack said, turning the wheel and parking the car at the camp's entrance.

Despite the poor conditions, many Mexicans were still desperate to head north. The reality was, if they stayed in their home country, they'd be lucky to land a job that paid even a tenth of what they could earn here.

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