Chapter Four
Once upon a time the Miller household had been a beautiful Tudor house that some people would kill to have the money to afford. Now, it would be a miracle if a buyer even showed up. There was something about knowing someone had died inside a house that made people reluctant to buy it. Make the death a homicide and the city had a motive for knocking the place down.
Only one room showed any signs of the tragedy that had occurred. Pools of blood spotted the living room floor. Not all of it was dry yet, so the agents skirted around the pools, aware of each step they took. Gideon slowly meandered up the stairs, noticing the bloody tracks leading up and down them.
Upstairs there were only two bedrooms, Travis' and his parent's bedroom. Just from the top of the stairs, the older agent could see the difference. The door to Travis' room was closed while the door to the parent's room had been kicked in. The lock was destroyed.
Who would he go after first? Travis or the parents'? he asked himself.
Making his decision, Gideon entered the parent's room first. Everything in this room told him that there had been a struggle. The mother had gone first. From the disarray of the blankets, the man could tell that their killer had dragged the woman from her bed. The husband had jumped out of bed, his portion of the blanket folding over neatly in contrast to the kicked around heap on the wife's side.
The wife had kicked and struggled, knocking over everything in her path. A small patch of blood told Gideon when the father had been stabbed in the chest. More than likely he had attacked the killer, defending his wife. Wounded, he had waited helplessly for the killer to drag his wife away and then return for him.
A shiver ran down the agent's spine. How could the father have even known the killer would come back? He could have left him there to die slowly while he stole off with his son in the night. Trying not to dwell to long on the thought, Gideon continued. He followed the path of chaos out of the room and into the hallway. Here he paused to look down the stairs to confirm his thoughts.
The bloody boot prints made two paths up the stairs. The killer had indeed killed the mother first and returned for the father. Seeing him, Prentiss approached the stairwell.
"He tracked blood all through this room," she said.
Gideon nodded, "Upstairs too,"
The dark-haired woman nodded before returning to examining the scene downstairs. Turning away, Gideon reached out with gloved hands to open the door to Travis' room. He paused, looking down. In the pictures, a bloody towel had been placed like a welcome mat in front of the door. Having examined it closely earlier, he had found that it held the faint prints of two shoes continuously wiped.
What kind of killer wipes the blood off his shoes before entering a room? Gideon asked himself.
Filing it in his brain for later use, he entered the room. The sight before him made everything in the other rooms seem like another planet. Travis' room was clean of all evidence. There was nothing to lead anyone to suspect that anyone had been killed. No bloody footprints, no evidence of a struggle.
Thinking like the killer, Gideon started towards the bed. Travis had not been asleep. He had been sitting up before being grabbed. The blankets weren't terribly disorganized; it looked like the little boy had only slipped off to the bathroom. Or been picked up and carried, but not dragged. Travis had either been drugged or he had gone willingly with his parents' killer.
Drugging the little boy wouldn't have been difficult, however, there was still a lack of evidence to prove it. If the killer had tried to drug the boy after entering the room, he would have struggled. The boy had obviously been awake when the killer came in.
"What child doesn't come running when his mother screams?" he muttered to himself.
Behind him someone knocked on the open door. Gideon turned to see Morgan standing there, examining the room with a few quick glances.
"This is the kid's room?" he asked doubtfully.
The older agent nodded, his mouth quirking into a sour smile. "Doesn't look like a killer walked through here, does it?"
Morgan shook his head before Gideon looked up at him, his eyes absently staring at the other agent's phone.
"Oh, Garcia called," he began, "All our families have different banks, jobs, preferences, but they all have one thing in common,"
Gideon's eyebrows raised a little as he waited for the answer. He had a suspicion he knew what it was going to be.
"They were all being investigated by child services,"
Nodding away, the older agent turned back to the boy's bed. Well he had been right. It explained a lot about why the boy had not come running. More than likely, he had been afraid of the consequences. What child wouldn't consider turning to an adult they trusted when they couldn't trust their own family?
Suddenly, everything in the puzzle fell into place. Gideon lifted his head to look at Morgan, who was still standing in the doorway.
"Let's go,"
The surprise was written all over the other agent's face. He opened his mouth to question the order before Gideon interrupted him.
"Call Hotch, tell him we'll be presenting the profile in thirty minutes," the man ordered.
Shaking his head in confusion, Morgan followed the agent, already dialing his supervisor on the phone.
Everything in Reid told him that it was over. He had failed his duty to protect. He had been too late to keep the girl from getting snatched again. A piece of him wanted to believe he was overreacting. Maybe the girl wasn't in the mood to face the world today. After all, she had been through a harrowing ordeal in the past few days.
From the crime scene photos of the Yates' house, he remembered seeing footsteps in the blood. The killer had been wearing boots, but a pair of small feet had slipped through the gory redness. Dawn had come downstairs and she had undoubtedly seen the horror of her parents' murders, despite the original intention of the killer. That memory alone was enough to send any kid running to the bathroom sick.
Unable to convince himself that he was too late, Reid looked to the secretary again.
"Call her up here," he demanded, voice hoarse.
The secretary stared at him with wide eyes as if she was still waiting for him to give her a direction to go in. The man waved a hand at the intercom.
"Jus-Just make an announcement, tell her she's being picked up or something like that!"
The more he waited and pondered on all the things that could have happened, the closer he was to losing his mind. He watched with suspicious eyes as the secretary reached for the phone to use the intercom. Above him he heard the message that echoed throughout the entire school.
"Dawn Yates, would you please come to the office to sign out?"
Reid hoped that the killer was nowhere near her and that if Dawn was still capable, that she would come. Time ticked by in agonizingly slow-motion. What seemed like hours was really only a minute or two. A minute or two that it took for the young girl to appear at the doorway of the office.
As the door opened and Dawn walked in, the agent felt relief rush over him. The girl didn't stop moving, she did not even look at him. She walked right past him, her eyes glancing at every corner suspiciously, never stopping at one place for longer than a second.
Hesitantly she asked the secretary who was there to pick her up. Her voice was hoarse and quiet. She looked like she hadn't slept and a faint voice told Reid that he doubted he would either if he had seen his parents murdered. What aroused his curiosity was the key hanging like a charm around her neck.
The secretary waved a hand at him and he stepped forward to do his own introduction. He held out his hand, wishing that he hadn't noticed he was shaking a little bit.
They can smell fear! he chastised himself.
So far the girl had not taken off screaming, that was a good sign. He forced a weak smile.
"Hi Dawn. My name's Spencer Reid, I'm with the-,"
"Taylor, would you mind copying these for me, I've got an appointment today,"
Dawn's head spun at the sound of the new voice. A young male teacher had entered the office through the back. Reid watched the drastic effect it had on her. All the color drained from the girl's face. He heard a squeak as she choked back a scream before she turned and ran back out the office door.
Turning, Reid saw the teacher and the secretary looking at him. The teacher was extremely tall and muscular, but he had the kind face of someone you could trust. Reid did not take the time to think on it anymore before he realized he was still in the office.
His feet moved without his knowledge until he found himself running after the light-footed girl.
I told Hotch this would happen! he groaned.