Author's Note: In the last chapter I touched on a religious aspect to the killings and it will be brought up again in this chapter. I am not a religious person and this is in no way meant to insult or disparage any who do believe. The prayers I've taken excerpts from are part of the Catholic faith and I hope I do not offend anyone with their use. Just thought I should mention that.
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.
July 28, 2009 (5:45pm)
"Welcome to Hartsville, Agent Hotchner, Agent Reid." The thirty-something uniformed man shook the BAU agents' hands, his countenance grim as he saw only one other agent with him. "I have to admit, we were hoping for more of a response from the FBI."
"Thank you, Chief," Spencer answered the greeting.
"Lieutenant, actually, Lieutenant Jerry Thompson, I'm only the Interim Chief."
"There are two teams of my agents already in the field," Aaron told the man. "We thought it best, with what little time frame we have to work with, to begin our investigation right away. Myself and Agent Reid will be debriefing you and your deputies before we start interviewing Mr. Evans' employees. Our media Liaison, Agent Jareau and Supervisory Special Agent Rossi remained in Darlington to manage the press conference that will be starting momentarily, which will be giving the public and outlying Departments the initial profile of our Unsub. Agents Morgan and Prentiss are en route to Bishopville to meet with their Police Chief and Lee County's Sheriff Department."
"May I ask, why Bishopville?" One of the nearby officers asked.
"It was the location of the first grave site discovery," Spencer replied easily. "It would be logical that the killer was living there at the time, and may still be."
"So he's a local then?" Another asked, listening in with the growing number of law enforcement officers.
"Why don't we move into the conference room," Deputy Thompson suggested, motioning to a larger room set up with several large tables. "We've got about forty five minutes before Rhys shows up with the girls. Though I don't know what else they can tell you, we've already interviewed them."
"Yes, about the night Mr. Evans was abducted." Aaron followed the deputy to the front of the conference room. A dry erase board was set up, one side covered with pictures of the known victims, the other side covered with a blown up smiling photo of Harrison Evans and notes pertaining to the investigation. "We'll want to talk to them about Harrison himself."
"Why do that?" a deputy in his early twenties asked as he took a seat close to them. "Harrison's the victim here."
"Knowing what we can about Mr. Evans will give us clues as to why he's been targeted and taken," Spencer explained. "The more we know about him, the more we can compare to the other victims and hope to get more insight into the killer and who he is."
They waited a few minutes longer before Deputy Thompson closed the door. "We've got someone from the Lamar and Society Hill PDs here; they'll make sure their departments get the information."
Nodding, his expression as collected as always, Hotchner began. "Our Unsub will be in his late thirties to early fifties. From the video evidence of Harrison Evans' abduction, we know that he is Caucasian, six foot to six foot two, approximately one hundred eighty pounds.
"Now this man has been a member of the community for a number of years, most likely going back to his early childhood. He's comfortable here and in the outlying counties. He may have left for a few years before being drawn back; he may resent this. However, it is more likely that he was anxious to come 'home'.
"He's someone you know; someone integrated and known in the community. He's not prominent or powerful, but he's not an outsider either. He has found the perfect balance between anonymity and familiarity. "
"He has hidden for eight years, so he's not looking for recognition for these killing," Spencer took over the profile. "He's not going to be following the media more than wanting to know if he's at risk of discovery or not. Outwardly, he'll be properly disgusted by the murders but he'll want to change the topic quickly because inwardly he's pleased with himself."
"Each of the victims has been treated respectively," Aaron told them, many of them taking notes. "There are no major injuries, no sign of torture or mistreatment. While naked, there is no evidence of rape. The eyes and mouths have been sewn shut but it was done with precision and care. It was done just prior to death but the lack of tearing or infection tells us that the victim was most likely unconscious or restrained to prevent unnecessary injury. "
"The presence of Myrrh oil, or consecrated oil, suggests a religious background. The way the hands were bound together," Spencer pressed his palms together in front of his chest, pulling his arms together until his elbows touched, "like the victim was praying. The Unsub may be devoutly religious; a member of one of the four denominations that still use consecrated oil in their religious rites: Anglican, Catholic, Lutheran, or Mormon. He will have been raised and educated almost fanatically."
"He's been hunting his victims," Aaron turned to the board of pictures behind him. "He's a hunter, but not necessarily a predator. He may not actively go looking for his victims, but he notices them. Something about them offended him to the point where he had to learn everything about them. He would have watched them, stalked them, and learned their patterns and habits until he was certain that they were what he perceived them to be. Then, and only then, would he make his move: take them, kill them, and then bury them."
Spencer once again took control of the debriefing. "After he's killed them, he'd be withdrawn, introverted. He is lucid enough to realize that he's taking a human like, it's the reason he's respectful to the bodies. He buries them instead of just dumping them. The ground he buries them in is treated with consecrated oil, creating to him what could equate to holy ground: he wants them to find peace in death. The graves themselves are close together, ensuring when one is found they all will be. They are also near populated areas or where there is a high human element. He wants them to be found eventually. "
"He feels guilt for their deaths," Aaron clarifies, "But not for the act of killing them. In his mind, death is the only option to protect his territory, his home. Once they're dead, his mission is complete for the time being. During his withdrawal he will do something; a means of penance to absolve himself of his crimes. After he's completed this, he'll be almost euphoric. His world is once again safe."
"We believe we've found the deciding factor in how he chooses his victims," Spencer told them and pointed to the smiling image of Emma Tinkerton. "When her parents reported Emma missing, it was the last week of August. The information given by her family to police said that she attended a private boarding school in Seattle Washington nine months out of the year. They never applied to the school, only that the offer came to Emma on her eleventh birthday. After that, Emma Tinkerton disappeared completely from public records."
"The same pertains to each of the victims, including Harrison Evans." Aaron expanded. "Their public records end after their eleventh birthday. Family interviews all result in the same: they attended a private boarding school somewhere in the US or Western Europe.
"There is no other commonality between the victims, so we can safely conclude that this is the factor that drew the Unsub's attention to them. Because it's not a noticeable trait the Unsub will have had to invest countless weeks and months investigating his targets. This means he's patient, obsessive, and still in enough control of his impulses that he can take the time to be certain of his victim. He's not psychotic or a sociopath. He's doing this for a, at least in his mind, perfectly rational and logical reason that only he knows."
"Most of you will have seen the Evans abduction video," Spencer saw all of them nod. "Then you saw how much of a fight Harrison put up despite being drugged and surprised. We suspect he succeeded in hurting his kidnapper."
"This man may have, or is still, suffering an injured right wrist." Agent Hotchner informed them. "He'll have been favoring that arm more than usual, perhaps wearing a wrap or brace to keep it immobile. He may have even sought medical attention. "
"We don't believe there is an immediate threat to the public," Spencer continued. "But they should be warned to stay in public places, stay with a friend or group. Don't make an easy target. Even though he has a specific victim type, now that we have been brought in he may feel cornered. He may strike out violently or even try to flee the area. He won't run, but he'll be making plans for his escape."
Aaron nodded his appreciated to Spencer before watching the silent and thoughtful police officers in front of him. "Any questions?"
"What are the odds of finding Harrison before this bastard kills him?"
Aaron looked over to Lieutenant Thompson and the fury and concern conflicted in his expression. The look was shared by most of the officers inside the room. "I'm assuming you know him, Lieutenant."
"It's a small county, Agent Hotchner. Less than seventy thousand at the last census. You're unlikely to find anyone within a hundred mile radius who doesn't." An officer wearing a different uniform stood and introduced herself said. "Police Chief Kayla Capers, Society Hill PD. "
"The killer's timeline is sketchy at best," Spencer told them gently. "We know he doesn't kill his victims immediately, but we can't be precise on the length of time we actually have. The months and even years between their abductions to the finding of their bodies, the decomposition makes pinpointing an exact time of death very difficult."
Each of them was bleak, but it was Thompson' angry voice that demanded an answer. "How . Long."
"Working from the most recent victim, Delilah Watterson," Aaron answered, "we're hypothesizing that we've got a few days at best yet. Worse case? Seventy two hours from when he was taken."
"Just over a day left," a local officer in his mid twenties hung his head and the man beside him placed a comforting hand on his back.
The room was heavy with their shared despair and had Spencer clearing his throat at his sense of intruding on a private grief between friends. "We're, uh, advising a higher patrol presence in the rural areas: parks, fields, wooded areas. The Unsub has likely prepped the burial site in advance and they have all been secluded, natural areas. They were only discovered when civilization expanded into that territory."
"The County Sheriffs and Department Chiefs will be assigning the patrol areas immediately following the Press Conference in Darlington." Aaron informed them.
"So we are looking for a body," the comforting officer sighed sadly.
The two BAU agents shared a remorseful look. "I am sorry," Hotchner said sincerely. "But realistically the chances of finding Harrison Evans alive at this point are small. We'll be airing the profile with a tip hotline every hour and we will follow every plausible lead, but in cases like this… Retrieval after this long is doubtful."
More than one officer was surreptitiously wiping at their eyes. Chief Capers' thicker voice was the only outward sign of her grief. "You have to understand, Agents, that despite being a foreigner, Harrison became a favorite son of Darlington County."
"Why is that?" Spencer asked, genuinely curious.
"His little shop, for one," Thompson explained. "It's done wonders for the economy around here and it brings in tourists."
"But it's more than that," one of the younger officers said from the back. "He's more than that. He once told me that the feeling of community and family is why he moved to such a small town. He didn't, and couldn't, have his own so had to make one."
"I play on the same softball team with him every Sunday," one officer said with a competitive air to the statement.
"He volunteers each week in my wife's kindergarten class," another spoke up with a smile. "She raves about how great he is with them."
"Harrison and I dated for five months last year."
Every eye turned to a faintly blushing officer in the front row, the one that narrowed the time to a day. Some of the looks were knowing and others in surprise.
"He was homosexual?" Spencer asked.
"Is," the officer snapped, leveling a glare at Spencer. "He's not dead until I see a body!"
"He never hid that fact," Lieutenant Thompson spoke over the rising tension. "But he wasn't in your face about it. Like Lieutenant Gough, they just were. In a community this small, there're not that many secrets."
Aaron nodded. "We'd like to speak with you too, Lieutenant Gough."
"Wayne, Wayne Gough," the young man said calmly. "I'll answer whatever I can, but there were some things he just wouldn't talk about. Not to anyone, no matter how close they got."
"Whatever you can give us will be fine," Spencer assured him.
"If there are no more questions," Aaron prompted, and when none were forthcoming the officers took their leave of the conference room until the two FBI agents and Lieutenants Thompson and Gough were left.
"You can use my office for the interviews if you like," Thompson told them. "I'll let you know when Rhys and the girls get here."
"Thank you," Aaron nodded his appreciation and motioned for Gough to follow them. "We can begin with you, if you're all right with that."
The young man nodded and a moment later they were sitting in the Chief's office.
"Lieutenant," Reid asked the young officer once the door was closed. "Did Harrison ever mention the feeling of being watched, or seeing someone following him?"
"You mean the security upgrades?" Gough shook his head. "He didn't say anything about seeing someone or whatnot, but he's always watched everything. He was – is – very cautious. When the bodies were found at the club he had the new system installed within the week. I think he had one placed in his home as well."
"Was he always that paranoid?" Hotchner asked.
"He never talked about why but," the lieutenant paused and nodded. "He has scars. There's the one on his forehead, but there are more. There's one on his forearm that looks like a knife wound; burn scars on his neck and arms, and I swear to god he has a scar on the back of his left hand that looks like someone carved words into his skin."
"So he's been hurt before," Reid commented.
"He won't talk about his past," Wayne told them. "I do know that whatever happened to him was bad. Really bad. A couple of nights we spent together, the night terrors were like nothing I'd seen before."
Aaron made a note of this. "They weren't just nightmares?"
"You don't scream and thrash and stop breathing during a nightmare. " Gough said unevenly.
"He would stop breathing?" Spencer blinked in surprise.
"Only the once I know of." Wayne ran a hand over his face at the memory. "I couldn't wake him. His screams… sometimes I could hear him screaming for people, shouting their names. But it wasn't just the screams. His body was contorting and he was thrashing around and then he just stopped. I thought he'd had a heart attack. He wasn't breathing and when I found his pulse it was so weak and erratic. I called an ambulance and started mouth to mouth. He didn't start breathing on his own until the EMTs got there and tried to intubate him.
"Doc Samson said it happens sometimes with vets; people who has seen real war and atrocities. He told me it can be even worse for former POWs."
"Post-traumatic Stress Disorder," Aaron named.
Wayne nodded. "I tried to get Harrison to start seeing someone, to get help. Hell, I just wanted him to talk to someone about whatever the hell happened! But he said he was managing; told me it was only as bad as it was on the 'Anniversary'."
"The Anniversary to what?" Spencer questioned.
"He never said," the Lieutenant sighed somewhat sadly. "We stopped seeing each other after that."
"Who's decision?" Aaron already suspected the answer he received.
"His. We're still friends, at least I like to think we are, but he withdrew for a long time after that. It was nearly a week before anyone saw him at the store and even longer before we saw him anywhere else."
"When was this?"
"Last May."
"Did it happen again this year?"
"Not as bad," Gough answered Reid. "Harrison's Sous Chef, Rhys Davies, can tell you more about it, but he had told us that Harrison hadn't come in to work for two days. He was worried about him, since it was around the same time as what happened last year, so Rhys went to go check on him at the house. Apparently, he was drunk and had been the entire time."
"I'm guessing that's unusual for Mr. Evans?" Aaron clarified.
"He has a drink or two, but never in excess. Rhys told us that there were almost two dozen empty bottles in that house, and not the mild stuff. Hardcore liquor you only drink when you're trying to drown something. It took Rhys another two days to get him sober enough to go back to work."
Spencer creased his forehead in thought. "You keep saying 'us', 'he told us'. Why is that?"
"Us, all of us," Gough made a circular gesture, "The whole town, we all care about him. Before he moved here, Hartsville was dying. Shops were closing down, families were having to move, the drop in the economy really his us hard.
"Then he just shows up one day. A stranger in town was unheard of then, so of course everyone knew when he arrived. He walked around the town, talked to a few people, and the very next day he's bought the store on Main Street and a house a few blocks over. The day after that, he has one construction crew renovating and fixing up the house while he's overseeing a second crew doing the shop. He had them working practically around the clock. In just two weeks he was done and went to work.
"The store wasn't even named yet, I don't think he was ready for business, but the door was never closed. Anyone and everyone who wanted to talk to him was welcomed in that shop of his. And by God, if the heavenly smells coming from inside didn't draw the entire town in at one point or another.
"He started volunteering where he could and became involved in the community. Within the year he brought new life to the town with that chocolate shop of his. At first he didn't have a lot of local sales, I don't think, but he was a genius when it came to online marketing. From that, the tourism started picking up across the county which in itself is a miracle because there's not much to see. People were coming from across the country to see his shop first hand and talk to him.
"Businesses started coming back and the town came back to like. We don't know exactly how he did it, but somehow he did. It's why, this past spring, the town council vote to change the sign coming in to town to read "Home of Baker's Dozen" and feature the business logo.
"That's why if we don't find him… if he dies Hartsville dies."
: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :
The grating and light returned sooner that he thought it would, and Harrison wondered if he had dozed off. He hadn't realized if he had, the hollow feeling in his core having spread to his heart and soul until despair was overwhelming. He watched with defeated eyes at his killer approached.
"It seems I've been careless, Lord Black," the man said with a sigh. "Not only did you install a security camera, but you managed to capture me on video. This has led the local authorities to call in the FBI."
Harrison refused to let the spark of hope catch. He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, turning away from his captor.
"Yes, you're right, it doesn't matter at this point," a hand was heavy on Harrison's shoulder and a twinge of pain through the joint had him cringing and trying to pull away. The hand was removed quickly. "I'm sorry, I had forgotten. I had hoped my limited first aid skills would have been enough once I realigned your shoulder. Your pain and suffering will be over soon, Son."
He was aware of the man moving around him and heard him ascend the stairs only to return a moment later. The stones above closed over the entrance, sealing captor and captive together. When the first faint splash of water touched his forehead he tried to ignored it, but with the second and third he opened his eyes to see the heavy shadow of the man standing next to him.
"Purify me with hyssop, Lord," the man was saying reverently, "and I shall be clean of sin. Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Have mercy on me, God, in your great kindness. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. Let us pray."
The words were like ice and a heavy dread replaced Harrison's despair. He pulled against his bindings, his heart racing against his chest as the man continued chanting. He shouted a demand to know what was happening, but the thick gag muffled his cries. He tried again, but a calloused hand clamped down over his mouth and gag while the man continued to pray.
Harrison twisted his head from side to side, desperate to get away from the touch that seemed to burn his skin. He tried to move, but the ropes tying him to the altar were unforgiving and he only succeeded in abrading his skin.
The unrelenting hand was finally taken away from his face with the man's intonation of 'Amen' but his relief was fleeting. The shadow moved from his side to stand over his head. A moment later, a heavy leather strap was draped over his forehead and tightened. He cursed and spat a dozen different profanities around the gag as his last means of mobility was taken from him.
The blood froze in his veins when he saw the flash of metal at the corner of his eyes and a thin hook-like needle came into his view. It was gone a moment later, when the thumb of the man's other hand pressed down on Harrison's eyelid and an oily liquid was left behind.
His heart was pounding against his chest, his breathing coming in panicked pants through his nose. And then his eyelid was pinched closed and pulled up and away from the orb beneath it.
The man began to pray again. "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…"
And the needle pierced his eyelid.
Harrison gave in to his fear and screamed.
