Sex, Secrets, and Videotape
Chapter 1-Sins of the Father
Home of William and Elizabeth Reid
Somewhere in Las Vegas
A random Saturday
Lizzie's POV
I woke up this morning to the sounds of Dad leaving. I glance at my alarm clock, and notice it's already 10 am. He's leaving late; on Saturdays before a big case, he is usually in the office by 7. I climb out of bed, wincing at the chill-I forgot to turn off the a/c last night. I shrug into my robe and slip on my bunny slippers and head to the kitchen to see if there's any coffee left.
As I pour myself a mug of the steaming liquid, and fix it up how I like it-plenty of milk and two sugars-I review the shopping list that Daddy had left. We don't need much, and I decide to do the grocery shopping after I meet up with my friends. I pop some bread in the toaster, and pad back to my room.
I pull on some jeans and my Twilight shirt, and take in my reflection in the full-length mirror that Dad let me buy last year when my mother got married and sent me to live with him full time. I decide to let my brown hair just be for now since I am going to get a haircut later. I finish dressing, selecting my brown boots and my purple cardigan, and I put on a bit of makeup. I return to the kitchen to retrieve my toast, and sit at the table. From somewhere, my cat Mouse wanders in, and as I stand to feed him, I notice we have a voicemail. I press play as I grab Mouse's food from the pantry, and listen as my father's secretary relays a message.
"Mr. Reid, you received a phone call yesterday from a Dr. Fisher-"
I save the message. I will tell Dad to check the message when I see him tonight. IF he doesn't work all night.
I sigh deeply as the cat pushes past me to eat his kibble, and I head back to my room. I turn on my computer and find my phone in my purse. I text my girlfriend Reagan and tell her I will meet her at the Galleria in an hour. We have to start looking for Homecoming dresses, as this year, I am nominated for Queen and she is on the Homecoming committee.
I quickly e-mail Daddy, telling him I will be gone all day, and then I finish some math homework before leaving. I check my phone again before pulling out of the driveway and frown when I realize that Reagan hadn't replied yet. Oh, well. Sometimes she forgets to charge her phone, but we talked about shopping today at school yesterday, and I am sure she remembered. I take a moment to phone her at home, and I have to leave a message on her parent's voicemail.
I remember then that her little brother has piano practice on Saturdays, and since her stepfather is a firefighter, he's likely on duty. I shrug, and head out for the Galleria, sure that Reagan will catch one of my messages. I decide to text my friend April instead. I actually don't like April that much, she's more of Reagan's friend-they are both cheerleaders, and I am not-I play basketball and I am on the debate team-but the girl has decent taste and I need a second opinion on the dress I'd put on hold a few days ago. The dance is Friday night, less than one week away, and I really wanted to look unique and special.
She texts back that she cannot make it, and so, in desperation, I call a girl from the Debate team who agrees to meet me at the Pretzel place in fifteen minutes. I go in and order a stuffed pretzel with cheese, and a bottle of water, and I wait. A little while later, I see the girl, Megan, enter the pretzel shop. I wave, and she smiles. I wait as she buys her food, and then we decide to eat before we shop. We sit in silence, and after a moment, I try to make small talk.
"So, Meg. How did you do at the tournament?" This is a dumb question, as I am the captain, and I've already seen her score, and know that she placed second, but I ask anyway, because I don't really know much about her. She smiles lightly.
"Didn't you hear? I placed second." I decide to tell her a white lie, what could it hurt? I shake my head.
"No, Mr. Donaldson wouldn't allow me to see the scores. I will see them at practice on Monday." She nods.
"Let me know how I did." I nod, and reply.
"Of course. Are you ready?" She nods, and we head out to do our shop. I take her to the boutique where I have the dress I like on hold. I try it on and show her. We go to a private school, and unlike the local public schools, we have a dress code for our homecoming ball, and this dress is both cute and modest. It has an empire waist, but it's sleeveless, and made of white tulle. There are rhinestone beads along the waistline, and a full ball skirt.
I spin lightly as Megan gasps, and I smile. She starts to gush.
"Geez, Lizzy. You look great. Definitely like a homecoming queen." I nod, pleased.
"But should I buy it or should I look around some more? I want to make sure my dress is one of a kind." Meg shakes her head.
"Buy it now. Then, if we find something else that's really spectacular, you can return it." I nod, it's a great idea.
"Good idea. Thanks." I make the purchase, praying that Daddy won't be too mad when he gets the credit card bill, but he DID say I could get what I wanted, within reason. The dress was under $100, but I still needed some shoes. I am going to pay for my own hair and manicure, and any accessories I don't already have. I work three days a week at the Falafel Hut by the Hilton.
We wander around the mall for an hour, and then Meg says she has to leave. I take some time to check my phone again, noticing that Reagan still hasn't gotten back to me. I send her another text message, this time joking about the Val party that Reagan had attended last night, which I couldn't go to because of work.
"r u hangover? Call me, girl."
I sigh, and put my phone back in my purse and climb into the car to get my hair done. An hour later, I leave the salon, still not having heard from Reagan, so I drive by her house, since it's on the way to the store. All the lights are off, and her mother's car is not in the drive, and neither is Reagan's. I shrug, and head to the store to finish the shop, pulling Dad's list out of my pocket.
I complete the list, crossing things off as I go, sure to check the prices and coupons to save some money, which Dad probably doesn't notice, but at least I tried, right? As I put some bread into the cart, and try to decide what I will make for dinner that night, my phone rings. It is Daddy, and I answer it immediately, as I know that he hates the cell phone and will only call if it's important.
"Hi, Dad."
"Elizabeth, where are you?"
"I am at the grocery store."
"As soon as you finish, I need you to come immediately home. Do not make any extra stops. Do you understand?" I nod, noticing that his voice sounds odd, perhaps slightly panicked. So I decide that we can just order in tonight, and check out quickly, and rush home.
As I pull into the driveway, I can see Reagan's mom's car parked out front, and a police cruiser, as well. This is odd, and I carry the bags into the house, and am greeted by quiet sobbing. I call out, as I am in the kitchen and cannot see into the living room.
"Dad? Mrs. Morris? Why are the police here?" Dad's voice calls me into the other room.
"Elizabeth? Please leave the groceries, and come in the living room." I drop the bags to the floor, and walk quietly into the room. I notice that Mrs. Morris is crying, and Daddy appears upset. I stand, but Daddy indicates the end of the sofa. It is a moment before anyone speaks. Just then, the police officer opens his mouth.
"Ms. Reid? I am Detective Darryl Ford, Las Vegas Metro Police." I nod once.
"It's nice to meet you." He nods once, also, but continues.
"Ms. Reid, I came by to deliver some bad news. Your friend Reagan Morris was found dead this morning in the field behind the high school." Suddenly, my body feels as though someone has punched me hard in the stomach, and I bring my hand to my mouth in horror. I stutter when I reply, and Mrs. Morris cries again.
"What? How?"
"We believe it was late last night. Do you know anything about a party?" I nod, but glance at Dad, and bite my lip. He speaks to me.
"Liz, please answer the detective." I sigh, but reply.
"Yes. There was a party last night at Brock Davidson's house. Reagan was going with some of the other cheerleaders. I had been invited, but I couldn't go because I had to work. I work at the Falafel Hut on Tropicana and 13th." The police officer sighs.
"I understand. Thank you, that's helpful." I nod, feeling a little dizzy, and I take a deep inhale. Dad notices this, I think, because he excuses me to my room. I hurry down the hall, and shut my door, tossing myself on the bed to cry. I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember Dad coming in and covering me up.
The next morning, it is quiet again, and as I stumble into the kitchen for coffee, I am surprised to see Daddy sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by papers, photographs, and files. I remain silent while I pour my coffee. He clears his throat and speaks to me through a newspaper clipping.
"Sit down, please, Elizabeth. I want to talk to you." I sit across from him, feeling awkward, as we don't usually spend the mornings together. He sighs, and puts his newspaper aside.
"Sorry. Work stuff. I wanted to speak with you about your little friend. Mr. and Mrs. Morris phoned late last night, and they will be having a small memorial ceremony later this week. You may attend if you wish; I know your grades are fine. Secondly, there seems to be a rash of murders against young women, and I would appreciate it if you take extra precautions to be safe. That means no more going to the Galleria alone, no more late night coffee runs, and if you must work late, I would like a male coworker to be there with you. I will call your boss, if you like, and explain it to him." I shake my head.
"That's not necessary. Thank you." He nods. I sigh, and he continues.
"How often do you go to these Val parties?" I shrug, feeling busted.
"I've been to a few. Mostly, it's the jocks who go, and I am not into that scene. I don't know, Mom was cool with it. Until she met Dan, that is. He wasn't too keen on my partying. He said it was encouraging teenagers to act stupidly. Even though I never did. I hardly ever drank at them, and if I did, I called Mom to pick me up. I haven't been to a party since I moved here, though." He sighs.
"I didn't know your mother was allowing you to do that, and if I had known, you certainly would not have been permitted to do so. But I am glad you realize that that kind of behavior is not accepted in this household." I nod again, as he speaks some more.
"Finally, I am going to be spending the morning with Diana; something is going on with our son, and I'd like to discuss it with her. Please make sure the doors are locked and all the windows are secured. If you leave, please phone me." I nod, and speak.
"Is he alright? Spencer, I mean." Dad shrugs.
"I think so. I understand that it is a medical problem, but I am unsure as to what that entails." I consider, but nod again, feeling like an idiot.
"Well, I don't think I will go anywhere. I have homework, and a speech to write." He nods, satisfied.
"Great. Thank you." He stands, gathers the papers that are littering the table and hurries towards his office. I stand, too, and head for my room. I settle myself onto the bed and close my eyes.
I fall asleep for a few hours, dreaming of Reagan and me at the Homecoming game, hearing our names announced as co-Queens because, of course, there was a tie. I flash to winter break; we were planning on spending it together skiing in Tahoe. I flash forward to our final semester as Seniors; prom, the Spring musical, and softball season, all snatched away from us. I will have to do these alone. Or not at all. The pain is beginning to seep in-when my mother sent me to live full time with my father, Reagan was the first and only person I told outside of my family until the actual move. She and I grew up in the same neighborhood, and while she had gone to the local private school her whole life, Mom enrolled me in the public school. It was Dad who pulled me out of public school when I started junior High-he said it wasn't challenging enough, and he was right. Reagan and I were fast friends and good friends-she, too, came from a broken home, and could kind of understand my home life, albeit her parents were actually married once and co-parented most of her life, while my parents were never married, and in fact, Mom was a neighbor of Dad's and his first family, until some kind of accident happened, and they turned to each other for support, at least, according to my mother.
I wake and look at the clock-it's 11:30 PM, and I turn off my desk lamp and put on my pjs and fall back to sleep.
0900 Hours
FBI HQ
Quantico, VA
The team sat in the meeting room, exchanging their usual weekday greetings and waiting for JJ and Hotch to present the newest cases. Spencer sat reading the last few pages of his novel, but put it away as Hotch entered, followed by JJ, who turned on the projector and caused images of young, bloodied women.
"Good morning, everyone. I hope you all had a good, relaxing weekend. I'll let JJ take over now." JJ nods as Hotch settles in at the table, and began to address the group.
"These photos are crime scenes from a series of murders in Las Vegas. The unsub seems to be targeting teenaged girls. The most recent victim is an 18 year old woman by the name of Reagan Morris. The other two are Rebecca De La Garza, 17. and the first girl was the youngest so far, Brittany Walker, who was 16. Vegas PD has gathered that the only thing these girls have in common is that they are all cheerleaders, and attend two of the local high schools. All three appear to have also suffered post-mortem sexual assault."
"Really, post-mortem sexual assault? That's kind of rare, isn't it?" inquired Seaver.
"Yeah. It usually indicates a sexual sadist with tendencies towards necrophilia. But it's usually seen in adults. 65% of necrophilia occurs because the offender believes that they are reconnecting with a former lover or someone they hoped to have a relationship with, and were jilted by. Occasionally, it can be an opportunistic crime, and is 98% prevalent among men between the ages of 81 and 27. By then, they are usually in prison, as the perpetrators are usually not careful. It's purely a power-driven sexual deviation, although there are some fetishists, and those who simply fantasize about it," came Spencer's reply.
The others shrugged, and Hotch continues.
"Thanks, Reid. Ok, people. Get your go bags, and let's all plan to leave in an hour. Dr. Reid, I'd like to see you for a moment." Spencer nods, and follows his boss to the man's office, settling into the visitor's chair the man indicated. He waited for Hotch to speak.
"Will you be OK going with us to Vegas?" Spencer considers.
"I think so. My father and I have said what we will say, and I will see my mom only if we have some downtime." Hotch nods.
"Ok. I will allow you to come along, but I need to tell you that Strauss is watching again since Prentiss, and if there's anything not on the up-and-up, I will be required to tell her." Spencer sighs.
"I understand. I can handle it."
"Ok. We leave in an hour."
"I'll be ready." Hotch excuses him and Spencer stands and leaves the building, hurrying home.
0900 Hours
Las Vegas Day School
Las Vegas, NV
Lizzie's POV
As I enter the school, several people approach me to tell me how sorry they are to hear about Reagan. I smile and nod, and struggle not to fall apart. As I make my way to homeroom, I hear an announcement on the PA system that grief counselors will be on hand if anyone needs to talk. I will check this out at lunch, as I know that Dad is worried, because he phoned my mother, who emailed me and said she could come out immediately if I needed her to.
I told her that wasn't necessary, but now I am not so sure.
I sigh, and settle into my desk, preparing myself for what is sure to be the longest day of my life.
1600 Hours
Las Vegas Police Dep't.
Las Vegas, NV
The team settles around a meeting room for a final briefing with the detectives they will work with. Hotch and JJ give the briefing, and they are all excused for the evening. The agents head for the hotel where they are staying, and agree on dinner at the restaurant in the lobby. As they change clothes, clean up and meet downstairs, a phone call to Hotch interrupts their easy evening.
"It's Garcia. Hey, Garcia. I'm here with the others." He put the phone on speaker so the girl could be heard by everyone.
"Hola, muchachos. I just got word that there has been another murder. You should be hearing from the police captain soon, but I wanted to give you the heads up. It's all over the news. They're calling the unsub the Heartthrob Slayer, because all of the victims are teenaged girls. And rumors abound that the unsub is the star Quarterback." The others exchange looks-it was never a good sign when the local media started nicknaming killers.
"Thanks, Garcia." They hang up and Hotch speaks to the group.
"I'll phone the Captain. Please, sit down and eat. Enjoy yourselves; we have a busy day tomorrow." The others nod quietly, but gather around a table as a waiter appears to take their drink orders. They all sit around, chatting lightly about the case, and awaiting Hotch's news. He returns after a few minutes from around a corner he'd ducked into to make the call.
"Captain says he won't need us until tomorrow. His detectives are there now. It's another teenaged girl, her name is Amina Karshani. Her father owns a Falafel restaurant in town. She's 17, and goes to the same private school as Reagan Morris." They decide to skip the crime scene, since both detectives call and assure them that they will fill them in tomorrow, and proceed with their dinner. They discuss the case, and decide that the killer is probably a teenaged male, or a young adult, and that the victims represent a girlfriend he'd lost, but whether through tragedy or break-up was what they didn't know.
As they head off in various directions to bed, they agree to meet early the next morning to firm up a preliminary profile before meeting up with the detectives.
1700 Hours
Home of William and Elizabeth Reid
Somewhere in Las Vegas
Lizzie's POV
I am now thoroughly scared. I got a phone call from the man who owns the Falafel Hut, his daughter, Amina, had been killed earlier today and he's closing the restaurant for now. I email Dad to tell him this, and he replies back that he will be home early today, and that he wants to talk to me. I tell him that I will be home for the rest of the evening, and I take some time to phone my mother.
I dial her new work number, and ask the woman who answers to transfer me.
"Stacey Jenkins, please." I wait as the woman puts me through, and I can hear mom's voice trilling down the phone.
"Sweetie, you know it's not Jenkins anymore. It's Stratford now." I sigh, I know this, but really, how could she be so flippant about forgetting her past? I try not to let my voice sound annoyed, and instead change the subject.
"Sorry. It's still weird, that's all."
"I know. How are things? How is William?"
"He's fine. Working, as usual. I guess you heard that there's a serial killer on the loose."
"Yes, I did. Do you want Dan and me to fly down there? He has only a few weeks of training left; he could probably sneak away for a family emergency." I roll my eyes. My step-father is a minor-league baseball player, and is in Utah for pre-season training or something. My mother is a preschool teacher, and thus, can move pretty much anywhere and still be OK.
"That's not necessary, Mom. I just wanted to tell you that I am safe, and that the Morris's will be having the Memorial on Wednesday. You should send some lilies or something." I can hear her jotting notes.
"Good idea. Ok, well, keep me informed. I am sorry about Reagan, I know you two were close, but I am glad that you are with your father. His firm knows people that can keep you safe." I roll my eyes again; my father is a litigator at a large firm here in town, but I doubt that the local police department cares. I tell her this, and she clicks her tongue at me.
"No need to be snippy, Elizabeth."
"Sorry, Mom. Look, I have to go. I need to make dinner and finish some homework. Send my best to Dan, OK?"
She says she will, and we hang up. I sigh deeply, and head to the kitchen to feed Mouse and start dinner. I decide to bake some skinless chicken breasts, as Dad has started to have cholesterol problems. I prepare some salad and potatoes to eat with it, and pull the chicken out as Dad comes home. He strides into the kitchen and places his briefcase on the landing of the stairs before washing his hands and sitting at the table. I usually bring the food to the table, so we can eat what we want. I have put some glasses and iced tea out already, and he pours a glass before speaking to me.
"Elizabeth, I have been listening to the news at work today, and it doesn't sound good. Amina Karshani now makes four victims, and that means a serial killer is out there. I would prefer that you not be alone until this killer is caught, and so I have asked my paralegal if it is OK for you to come to the office after school. You can do your homework there." I sigh deeply, and formulate an argument quickly.
"But what about Debate team? And basketball practice? Those are both held at school, with plenty of adult supervision." He appears annoyed, but considers my words. He shakes his head.
"Well, basketball practice is on Tuesdays and Thursdays, right? And Debate meets are Friday evenings, but you meet on Monday's during your lunch hour. I suppose that's OK, but those three days ONLY. I expect you to have your cell phone on at all times, and if Irene phones you, you must answer it immediately, OK?" I nod. Irene is Dad's paralegal; she's been his paralegal for years and years, and while the woman is much older than he is, I like her immensely because she talks to me like I am an adult, and not a child.
"I promise I will do that. This Wednesday is Reagan's memorial, at 10 am at the Lutheran church on 28th." He nods once.
"Fine. Go there, and then call Irene if you decide to spend some time at the Morris's. Also, from now on, Lucy will do the shopping along with her usual duties." Lucy is our housekeeper.
"Ok. I understand."
"Thank you. Finally, I got your mid-term report card, and I am pleased with your grades. Have you begun to apply for college?" I nod.
"Yes. I think I want to check out Caltech, and maybe Yale. Perhaps Stanford, too." He nods.
"Those are excellent choices. Do you still plan on becoming a lawyer?" I shrug noncommittally, as I have recently discovered that I am interested in science.
"I am considering engineering, actually." He looks slightly surprised, but nods.
"That's great. What kind?"
"I am not sure yet."
"Well, you have plenty of time." I nod, and pick at my dinner. I haven't really had much of an appetite lately, and I think he realizes this, because he speaks again, his voice softer.
"Lizzie, if you're too upset to eat, I do understand. You should have a little something, though, especially if you have basketball practice tomorrow." I nod, and smile lightly at him.
"I know. I ate the salad. I am just-I don't know. I just don't feel hungry right now."
"It's OK. Have you finished your homework?" I shake my head; I still have several pages of Calculus to wade through.
'No, I have to finish some calculus work."
"Well, put your plate in the dishwasher, and go to it. I can clean up."
"Really?"
"Yes." I stand, hurry into the kitchen and rinse my plate, discarding the uneaten food into the compost bin. I head down the hallway and settle in at my desk, pulling my books out of my backpack. I flip on the radio to hear the news, and begin to work.
I perk up at the news that the FBI is in town, and wonder if Dad knows this. His son, Spencer, from his marriage, works for the FBI. I don't know what he does, exactly, but I do know that he is super-smart and has a good job. I don't know if he knows about me, or the fact that his father had a romantic relationship with my mother, but I do know about him, and I've met his mother once.
I finish my homework in about an hour, and turn to my computer. I scroll over to the Facebook page that the Morris's set up for Reagan. They are taking donations for Victims of Violent Crime groups in lieu of flowers, and there will be a donation table at the Memorial. I share some thoughts and memories of Reagan with all the people who have joined the page, and then I flip off the unit.
I prepare for bed, and find the cat, and say goodnight to Dad. I remind him that he has a doctor's appointment in the morning before his first client, and that it's with Dr. Fisher again, and that he can't eat anything after midnight. He thanks me and encloses himself in his office.
As I fall asleep, I say a little prayer like I do every night, that someday my life will make sense, and that I will understand the problems and hurdles I have faced.
End of Chap. 1