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Firebug
"I've got something that'll blow your socks off," Garcia said.
"Take your best shot, Mama," Morgan responded as Rossi rolled his eyes.
"I've been all over the Sanderson's' business. Jefferson Davis Sanderson the Fourth comes from family money. His pedigree goes all the way back to the Mayflower. His most direct ancestor, William Paul Sanderson was a judge during the trials. He personally condemned four of the Salemites hanged for witchcraft. William's grandfather came here from the British Isles with his wife, who was the daughter of a Scottish Earl. The family has maintained their money and status for over eight hundred years."
"What else did you find?"
"Only that the Sanderson's' have a private jet. I spoke to the tower in Boston and they filed a flight plan to Switzerland at 4 am this morning."
"Let me guess; the Swiss weren't helpful when you called them."
"No, not even my charm could pry information out of their oh so friendly police."
"I'm sure you did your best."
"Don't patronize me, Morgan. I'm not giving up."
"Be careful baby girl."
"You know it."
She hung up on him and he relayed this latest information while they finished their meal.
"Maybe we should call on our connection to Interpol," Reid said.
Hotch nodded over the last of his barbeque ribs and coleslaw. "I agree. Why don't you call her, JJ?"
She swallowed down a mouthful of cornbread soaked in honey and butter. "I'll call her before we quit for the night."
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When they arrived back at the police station, Detective Drake met them in the parking lot with a white bag and a paper cup in his hand. "Ran out for a burger," he held up the bag. "I just got the call that a couple of uniforms picked up Sherman Jarvis."
"Why?"
Hotch asked the question they all had on their mind.
"Apparently he had a couple too many and was involved in a fight down at "Dixie's." According to witnesses, he threw the first punch when a couple of the town bad boys started in on him about your visit."
"Where is he?"
"He's in Interrogation Room 2. He pulled a knife and cut Richie Dodd pretty badly. We've got him in chains."
"An assault with a deadly gives us an excuse for a warrant to look at his home."
Detective Drake nodded. "Judge Capp will sign it, but not after office hours. He's former military and his motto is that if it's not outright murder, it can wait until office hours."
Hotch indicated JJ. "That's your job first thing tomorrow."
"Yes sir."
"I don't know if anyone's explained to you that Sherman Jarvis is a little slow. He only made it through the sixth grade in school. I hear his IQ is about 70," Detective Drake said. "We've had him in the drunk tank before, but since he uncle had to pay off on that peeping charge when he was a teenager, he hasn't tried to hurt anyone."
"What about fires? Have there been any unexplained fires in the area in the past five years," Reid asked.
"No. I heard about his fire setting as a kid, Dr. Reid. He spent some time in an institution and they claim he's not a pyromaniac."
Reid flicked his eyes to Hotch. "Want to join me in interview?" The Unit Chief asked.
"Yes."
Detective Drake joined Rossi and Morgan in the observation room as Reid and Hotch entered the interrogation room with Sherman Jarvis. The tall, thin man sat with his shoulders hunched and his head down. He stared at the table as the FBI sat down.
"Mr. Jarvis, do you know why you're here?"
He didn't move or look up from his study of the pitted and scratched metal table. His chains rattled a little as his legs shifted. He clasped his hands as if in prayer, then his head lifted and he stared directly at Reid.
"I didn't do nuthin."
"That's never a good way to start a conversation with the police, Sherman."
"Don't call me that.
"You tried to kill a man."
"He called me stupid. You gonna let someone call you stupid."
People used to call me teacher's pet and beat me up for my brains.
"I don't think you're stupid, Sherman."
"I said don't call me that. I hate Sherman, makes me sound like a faggot. I ain't no faggot."
He pulled on the chains that held him to the table and the legs squeaked a bit. "Mr. Jarvis," Hotch said firmly. "Do you like setting fires?"
Jarvis's eyes lit up but then they shut down again in a hurry. "I only start fires in my fireplace at home. Daddy said it was bad to start fires in other places. He hit me. Hurts when people hit me."
"Yes," Reid said. "It does hurt when people hit."
"How would ya know? You're just a cop that thinks he's better than everyone like Detective Drake."
He twisted his head as far around as he could to look at the two-way observation mirror. "I know you're back there. You're all watchin' me like birds sittin' on a telephone wire. I watch lots of TV and I know someone's always watchin' ya behind the glass."
"Mr. Jarvis," Hotch said sharply. "Did you kill those girls?"
Sherman began to laugh and bob his head up and down. "They burned, pretty orange and yellow flames, but I didn't kill them. I don't like none of those girls. They laugh at me and point their fingers. No one tells them not to laugh. I ain't gonna talk. I want a lawyer."
He laughed again and it sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard to Reid. "I'm smart, I know cause I watch TV. I don't have to talk to you."
"No," Reid said. "You don't have to talk to us. I know what it's like, Sherman. They hit me to when I was a kid and sometimes now that I'm a man."
"Don't believe you. You're tryin' to trick me."
"We don't want to trick you, Sherman. If you want to talk to us, you can ask for me. My name is Spencer."
"Spencer is a better name than Sherman."
Hotch and Reid left the interrogation room. Detective Drake met them just outside the observation room. "What do you make of him asking for a lawyer?"
"If you're asking if he's smarter than everyone thinks," Reid said. "It's hard to say. Someone of low IQ can appear to be more cunning than they should be. He definitely knows something, but we can't talk to him again until he has a lawyer."
"You might be sorry about that," the detective said. "His lawyer is Greg Faulkner, one of the best in the business."
"How does a grounds keeper afford a lawyer like that?"
"His uncle and Mr. Falkner went to college together. He's worked for the family pro bono for years."
Hotch sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't think there's anything else we can do tonight. We should call it a day."
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Amber Findley hurried to her car from "Dixie's." Her long blond hair flew out behind her like a flag in the wind. She pulled her red windbreaker around her waist and fumbled with her keys.
"Amber…"
She stopped in the middle of the parking lot and looked around in utter surprise. "Jazz, is that you?"
"Amber…"
The voice didn't sound like Jazz at all. "Jazz," she called, "really funny, stop screwing with me or I'll kick your ass."
She turned back for her car and fought the urge to run. Her high heels clacked on the blacktop and her short black skirt swished around her bare legs. She heard someone was keening like a frightened animal and realized that it was she.
"Amber…"
"Stop it," she screamed.
The wind picked up and tugged at her hair and her skirt. Her car was just across the parking lot. If she could get there, she'd be safe.
"It not funny," she said as she increased her pace.
She should've brought her tennis shoes for after work, but it was too late now. The wind began to whisper in the trees like many tiny voices.
"Calm down," she said and deliberately made herself slow to a casual walk. "There's nothing in the dark that isn't there in the light."
One night when she was a little girl, her father had come into her room when she was crying. "What's wrong, my little princess?"
"Monster in the closet."
He gathered her into his arms. She loved the smell of him. She didn't know what it was about the scent on his shirts, but it made her feel so safe and warm.
"Hey, don't cry little one. There's nothing bad in the closet."
She sobbed hard into his shoulder for a minute. "Saw it."
"Where did you see it," he asked gently.
She didn't dare look over her shoulder. She pointed in the direction of the closet. He started to pull away from her, but she held on. "Monster get daddy."
"No, the monster won't get me. I know something very important."
She pulled back and wiped at her face with one hand. "What daddy?"
"I'll show you."
He stood up and switched on her lamp. He went to the closet as she sniffed back her tears and flipped on the closet light. "See," he pulled the jacket that hung near the door out to show her then turned off the light. "Is this what you saw?"
She looked at him and then nodded her head very slowly. "It's just your coat making a shadow on the wall."
She sniffed again and hung her head. "I sorry daddy."
"It's okay," he hugged her tight. "I promise you that nothing's there in the dark that isn't there in the light."
She reached out her hand and put the key into the door. She sighed with relief and nearly sagged against the car. She'd be inside in a minute and on her way home.
A hand reached out of the darkness and clamped on her arm. She tried to scream, but it cut off with a gurgle when another hand clamped over her mouth.
Daddy was wrong. There was something, something horrible in the dark that wasn't there in the light.
