Chapter Two - The Case
As Hotchner opened the door I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. He flicked on the light and I fought a gasp. The room would have been ordinary (round table with chairs, carpet, white board, projector screen) except that it was covered with pictures and red lines/circles everywhere.
The pictures were gruesome. Four women all with their hair pulled back in a bun, wearing sundresses that went down to the floor and long sleeves, no makeup, and no shoes. They were lying on the floor like they were in a coffin. Their arms folded across their chests and they were perfectly straight. It was obvious that they had all been redressed this way.
But there was blood everywhere. Their throats were slashed and wrists cut but the blood had not pooled like it should have. Beside each of them was a bucket of their blood; the killer had collected it. The blood had been thrown around the room and had pooled unnaturally in several places.
Their names were written at the top of the whiteboard: Laura Miller, Allison Hugo, Victoria Loveless, and Miriam Trent. Across the whiteboard where written four phrases with numbers attached to them. They were as follows:
‘Do not permit women to teach or have authority over a man - 212’
‘Women watch over the affairs of the household and nothing else - 3127’
‘Women shall not wear men’s clothing - 225’
‘Women shall not change their natural use for men that is against nature - 126’
I was immediately drawn to them. I placed my saddlebag on the table and put my reading glasses on. They were black rimmed but they had a modern shape. Taking out a notebook and pen I quickly scribbled them down.
“All the women were killed within a ten block distance of each other at their homes,” Hotchner said pointing out four dots on a map. It was hung on the wall. “They also have nothing in common. They are of different races, ages, backgrounds. The only common thread is that they were all killed by the same person.”
I paused and looked at the pictures of the women again. He was right. Laura Miller was African American and in her late 30’s. Allison Hugo was white and in her late 60’s. Victoria Loveless was Hispanic and in her 40’s. Miriam Trent was also white but in her teens. None of them had the same hair color, eye color, age, height, and background. They were just ordinary women.
I brought my thoughts back to the phrases and numbers. “What are these quotes from?” I asked looking back from the map to the board. “A book, religious text, movie…”
Gideon cut me off and said, “We can’t tell what they are from.”
I looked back sharply at him, surprised. He and Dr. Reid, with their brilliant minds, couldn’t identify them what gave them any inclination I would.
I began with the obvious question. “What gives you the impression that their quotes? How do you know the suspect didn‘t just make them up?” I asked going back to copying them down.
Spencer came over to where the quotes were on the board and shook his head. “The rhythm of the lines. They’re almost like a poem. Each feels like that they continue into the next sentence. The unsub is organized and educated. He has probably at least been educated through High School. Its seems like he twisted them from some other text to say what he wanted it too. But there is an original source we just have to find it.”
I nodded and frowned at my paper thinking hard. That made sense. Which is why Spencer couldn’t recall it. “So that means that you probably have read it but it has been twisted so that you can’t recall it. Because if you had read it you would have remembered it perfectly.” I was more pondering this to myself about him. A fact that I was suddenly recalling.
He wasn’t meant to hear that but he said, “Precisely.”
I fought back the urge to flush. I took back control of the conversation. “But,” I said taking off my glasses and tapping my pen against the board, “what do these phrases have to do with the crime? How are they connected?”
JJ walked in and hit a few buttons on the computer. “They were all found at the scene,” as she said this four pictures popped up on the projector screen. They were the phrases and the numbers written in a dark red on a wall behind the women. “And they were written in the victim’s blood.”
The gag reflex, I had been fighting since I had walked into the room, was nearly choking me. But I remained professional. Dr. Reid meanwhile had jumped in to explain.
“Which means that these phrases are very important to him. He spent time collecting the victims blood.” The container of it popped up on the screen. “But we have no idea where they came from. We don’t know who he really is.”
I wanted to scream at them and jump up and down. How could they think I knew any more then they did? It was Dr. Spencer Reid for goodness sakes! The complete genius that had three PhDs. Who had read more books than I ever will in my lifetime. What did Gideon think I knew that he didn’t? This was ridiculous!
“Well…” I said my voice trailing off. They looked at me waiting for me to take control.
“This is what I need. Penelope,” I exclaimed. She jumped up a little. I ripped off the paper that I had just written the phrases and numbers down on. “I need a computer geek. Can you take these and type them into every search engine you know. See if you find any good hits and print them out to me. Jen and Morgan, can you get me all the case files on these women? I need to know the ins and outs of their lives.” Jen got up from the computer and went out of the room with Morgan trailing behind her. “Agent Gideon if you could bring out all your resource material for me to look at.” He followed behind JJ. “Agent Hotchner you are free to do what you want.” Hotchner frowned like he didn’t need my permission to do anything. But he walked out of the room anyway.
I took a step back from the white board. Each one was derogatory towards women. The question was why? What caused him to hate women? It was clear that each of them had been redressed, which puzzled me. Most killers when they redressed their victims were to make them sexier, more appealing. They put makeup on them or in more revealing clothing. I had never heard of a killer trying to make ordinary women less desirable to men. As I had been pondering this I began chewing on the temple tip of my glasses. I was so deep in my reverie that I had forgotten about one other person.
“What are you thinking about, Dr. Smalls?” Spencer asked coming to stand next to me.
I jumped a little but quickly recovered. “It’s Beth,” I said automatically correcting him, “and I’m wondering why he redressed them in this particular way. Well I mean I know why he did it to make them less appealing. But I mean what his ulterior motive was. What caused him to become like this? I mean…” He was staring at me intently like he was interested in what I had to say. How could he really find this interesting? I was babbling because I was nervous. How could he make me nervous?
It was Spencer! It was the boy who I had known from Las Vegas. He obviously didn’t remember me, which was fine. But he hadn’t changed that much at all even his reputation. He didn’t know it but his reputation made him so intimidating. And he probably wouldn’t understand why I was so scared. He was good at analyzing people who were not personal to him. But the second you made it became personal he had no idea what you were thinking. It was because he had never felt intimidation. He was always sure that he was right and that he could remember everything. He didn’t think the same way we did-in fact no one thought the way he did.
Again I got the urge to jump up and down and scream. Why did they think I could help? I was saved from doing this by the entrance of JJ and Morgan with the many boxes of evidence and files on the case. And Gideon entered right behind them with eight thick books of resource ranging from the Roman Era to the Bible. The three of them slammed the books and boxes on the table. I gave a little jump
“Thanks,” I called to them as they left the room. I handed Spencer the top book and said, “Dr. Reid, can you please read through these. Mark possible phrase matches with pink sticky notes, number matches with blue, and any other that might be of some importance with yellow.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the sticky notes I was talking about and placed them on the table in front of him. “I would do it myself,” I continued, “but you’re a faster reader than me and,” I said picking up a box, “I have to get to know these women inside and out.”
We sat in silence for sometime. I was reading through files while taking notes and he was quickly flipping through the resource material. Every so often I saw him pick up a sticky note and place it on the page. I put my iPod on and started listening to Mozart’s Concerto NO. 1 in G Major. How long we sat there I don’t really know. I could see all the lights being turned off one after the other. It got really quiet and I knew we where there after hours. I knew everyone had left besides us. No one had stopped by to ask how we were doing. No one came by with any new information. It was just us, together.
After awhile the words began to blur together and just as I was nodding off Spencer asked, “Why did she still love him?”
It was a tone that he hadn’t used before this. It wasn’t the lecture voice or the know-it-all one. It wasn’t to test me to see if I knew the answer. It was a genuine question. I jolted up and looked at him. He had stopped his wild pace through The Free Masons Resource Guide and was looking very intently at me.
I had no idea what he was talking about. So, I took my glasses off, looked at him and said, “What?”
He placed the book down on the table and took his glasses off as well. But he had lost that childlike quality and had gotten back his lecture tone. “In your novel Last Impression, Abby still loved Jackson even when she found out that he had killed all those people. Why?”
I was a little taken a back. Why was he so interested in my first (and worst in my opinion) novel? But I answered him anyway. I took a deep breath and said, “Abby fell in love with both sides of Jackson. The good and the bad. She didn’t care because in the end he was still the same person she married. Love changes people, Dr. Reid. You of all people should understand that. You see how people change from it or from the lack of it.”
“But he was a psychopath not a sociopath,” he exclaimed sounding exasperated. “Psychopath’s can’t feel remorse. There have been several papers, done by very well respected scientists, saying that they born that way. There is some chemical imbalance that causes they to kill. Sociopaths kill because of the environment that they are brought up in. They know what they are doing is wrong but can’t stop. They have one personality unlike psychopath’s who have two.”
“So?” I asked placing my glasses back on and going back to taking notes.
“In the book, on page 396-paragraph three-line six, you wrote:” He closed his eyes. I could see them move rapidly back and forth as he recalled what I wrote.
‘He looked at me sadness growing in his eyes. He never looked lovelier to me than then when he was dying- when I was about to lose him. The blood pooled around his middle and he began to cough. He rasped out, “I did kill them Abby and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I love you, Abby. I love you so much.” I reached out to him but he closed his eyes and died where he had shot himself.’
He wouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have said that. It is factually wrong for him to have said that.”
“In my personal opinion,” I said looking back up at him, “I think he really loved Abby. That’s why he took his life in the end because he couldn’t deal with the reality of hurting her. Love changed him. Love always changes everyone for better or for worse.” He gave me an odd look. I quickly retracted my statement. “But it’s just a story. Yah know, I exaggerated everything. I’m sure that it would never really happen like that in really life.” I smiled at him and he smiled back. But he didn’t look too convinced. He went back to reading but the silence became uncomfortable. I couldn’t concentrate so finally I asked, “Why do you care?”
“I was just thinking how many less killers we would have if someone loved them like Abby loved Jackson.” He returned to flipping back through The Free Masons Resource Guide.
“But you just said that it would be impossible for someone like Jackson to feel remorse. So now you‘re saying that if someone like Jackson felt love they wouldn‘t kill.” I was trying to hide the surprise from my voice.
“Yes.” He paused. “Well, the Sociopaths anyway.”
I smiled at him and fought the laugh that was trying to escape my throat. He was so confusing. He just said that it would be impossible for Jackson to love Abby and feel remorse and now…He was still the same confusing Spencer.
I placed my headphones back on my head and picked Tchaikovsky’s Swan
Lake from my play list. The hypnotic sound of the ballet and my tired body finally gave out. I feel asleep in the middle of reading the file on Victoria Loveless. What happened after that I don’t know. But I do know that I had a horrible dream.
I was on the floor crying and the whole room that I was in was hazy. Where I was I don’t know. What I was doing there I don’t know. All I do know is that I was screaming Spencer’s name over and over. He appeared out of the haze with a gun. He was studying it-flipping it over and over in his hands. I was imploring him now. I was telling him to put it down and to listen to me.
He quietly said, “You were right, Beth. Love really does change a person. I can’t do this anymore. I wish I wasn’t this way. I wish I hadn’t killed them but they were too perfect. They were too much like you.” I was sobbing now barely able to breathe. “I loved you too much, Beth.” He held the gun to his head. “Goodbye.” I heard the sound of a gun going off and everything went black.