Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. Or A Modest Proposal. At all.
A/N: I apologize profusely for updating so late, but do keep in mind that this chapter is quite long, rambling, and perhaps maybe even a bit confusing towards the end.
WARNING: Moderately disturbing material ahead.
Chapter 9: Profile
The next morning, John rushed to his butchery and eagerly opened up his store. Oh, this was a splendid day! He had new meat to share with everyone! See, Stephen? You were so beneficial!
John whistled as he threw on his apron and turned on the lights of his butchery. He couldn't wait to see those happy customers leave with more food.
After about a half an hour of waiting, a few customers trickled in.
"Good morning, John." Mr. Stevens said as he walked in the store. "Do you have anything good today? It's my little lad's birthday."
Oh, yes…This time, John would not dishearteningly turn away these people. "Yes. I have a few extra slabs of meat for the little one." He gestured at the new meat.
"Oh…that looks so tender! Would it cost us….extra?" Mr. Stevens asked.
"No. We have enough for everyone, and so it will not cost you any extra." John replied.
Mr. Stevens' countenances immediately softened in relief. "Thank you so much, John. Thank you. I'll take a pound or so of that meat."
And, everything was worth it, then.
John loved to see that smile and relief written all over Mr. Stevens' face. This was what Kensdale needed to look like all the time. Its citizens needed to be happier and not as stressed as they were now, worrying about money and food.
John picked the largest piece of…meat and wrapped it in bright green paper before handing it to Mr. Stevens. Mr. Stevens waved happily before exiting the butcher.
That day, in a few hours, more and more customers flooded in and left with a bit of extra meat and gratitude written among their faces, as John happily sold bits of Stephen to unsuspecting customers, pleased that perhaps everyone could eat a bit more.
At lunch break, though, he withdrew to the corner of his butchery and pulled out that worn English reader.
Ah, this essay.
John reread the work again and again, marveling at the ingenuity of it all. It was rather amusing. Kensdale's salvation would come from, more or less, a few pages of words. It really wasn't him. No, John was quite modest about it all. The real hero of this was Jonathan Swift himself. John only followed his words, and look how greatly it helped these Irish people already!
John scanned the lines once more. Then, he stopped at another line and thought of how he could pull this one off.
"Infant's flesh will be in season throughout the year…"
Huh.
Infant's flesh.
That too, could be useful?
How…interesting.
Really?
John couldn't help but feel pity for the babies. They were too young, and they had no way of defending themselves. And John, now, was to go take a few infants and…and also use them to feed Kensdale?
John hesitated just a bit, but then got out his car keys with resolve. No. He needed to push back all the sentiment and pity in him. Kensdale needed to be saved. And, if it took the lives of children and now…infants, then those lives would have to be taken.
John climbed into his truck and pondered where could he get some infants?
He couldn't exactly creep into everyone's house and take babies. That would be too time consuming, and he would probably get caught.
….But, oh!
Mrs. Hayes ran a day care center somewhere around here for children and infants.
If John was going to sneak around and snatch some babies, he might as well sneak around there, as there was a large nursery in one of the rooms.
John parked his truck near the center and cautiously moved towards the back of the day care center, praying that nobody would see him. He moved towards the windows and tried to find the nursery.
Was it this one?
No…That was the toddler's room….John moved on, peering into windows until he found the room he was looking for. He finally located the nursery and looked at the sleeping infants inside.
Ah! The window was open just a crack.
This was too easy.
John crept up to the window, making sure no one was around, and slowly lifted up the window. The infants had not stirred and nobody had seen him yet. Climbing through the window, John made sure to land softly on the brightly covered carpet. Brushing himself off, he moved towards the cribs.
Which infant should he choose to better Kensdale?
But then, voices drifted out from the door, and John froze, afraid that he'd been caught. He dove into a corner and cautiously peered out from the slightly open door.
Moira?
…What was she doing here?
John peered out anxiously and sure enough, Moira appeared, presenting Mrs. Hayes with something wrapped.
"Here. I cannot imagine what you must be going through right now, but…to save you some stress, I've cooked a few mincemeat pies for you and your family. John stopped by with some meat for us, and...I thought you could use it more than Seamus and me right now. If you need anything else…don't hesitate to ask, yeah?" John heard Moira say.
Oh…..
Oh.
Well. It's funny how everything works out, isn't it?
The Hayes would now be benefitting off of their own son now.
Mrs. Hayes sniffled her thanks, and John watched Moira leave with some deep…feelings of longing? Was this longing?
Anyways, with wry amusement and pleasure, John watched carefully as Mrs. Hayes opened the parcel Moira gave her. Inside were quite a few small pies with a few plastic utensils. Dejectedly, as she was still struggling to mend that gaping hole in her life, Mrs. Hayes carefully opened one of the pies…and….began to eat it.
Mrs. Hayes ate it.
…Look! Even Stephen's own mother has benefitted from him!
Oh, but the infant!
His purpose!
John remembered why he was sneaking around in this daycare after all, and quickly, he carefully grabbed the nearest sleeping infant next to him and leapt out of the window, cradling the sleeping child's head while still looking back to witness the last glimpses of Mrs. Hayes and her…meal.
He carefully placed the infant into the passenger seat of his truck, and prayed that the infant would not fall while the truck was in motion. John drove slowly, checking to make sure the infant had not fallen from its precarious seat.
When he reached his butchery, he quickly ran inside, hugging the stolen infant against his chest.
Nobody was in his shop right now, but lunch break was over, so he couldn't close the shop up. Eh. This was more important…
John rushed downstairs to his secret basement and plopped down on the soft armchair and stared down at the sleeping infant. Cradling the baby, John rocked his arms back and forth a tiny bit, marveling at the tiny body he was holding.
Aw. John never really raised a baby before. Seamus was a toddler when he first came into his life. If things were different, John would've loved to raise an infant of his own.
But, was this really right?
John had to ask himself that. Could he really kill this innocent, defenseless baby? Widening his eyes, John observed that tiny bundle slowly open its eyes and yawn. Blinking, the infant gazed at the foreign face hovering above.
That was definitely not mummy.
After a few more moments of taking in its foreign surroundings, he baby started to cry, overwhelmed by the coldness of the basement and the absence of familiar people.
No….Stop it!
STOP.
John's head throbbed painfully, and as every second passed by, he grew more provoked by the incessant crying. He was not used to babies, as Seamus was six when he first met him.
This needed to end.
John roughly shoved the baby onto the ground in the next room over, causing the infant to cry harder and harder, its red face strained with the tears and sobs. He clutched at his head and his ears, hoping that the noise would cease.
THIS NEEDED TO STOP.
Out of final desperation, John quickly grabbed a knife…any knife around him, and roughly sliced the neck of the baby.
Ahh….The noise stopped, and a certain solemn silence filled the air.
Oh….but the poor baby….The ghost of the baby's last cry still was printed on its contorted face, though blood rapidly began to seep everywhere.
There really was nothing else left to do, but….but to butcher it now…
Swallowing audibly, John tilted the infant over on its stomach after carefully taking off its garments and tossing it in the trash, raised his knife, and aggressively brought it down on the neck. This time, the head rolled off neatly, and John, after picking it up, placed it on another metal table away from the remaining body.
Pushing away remorse, John swiftly began to butcher the body, listening to the familiar sounds of his knife tearing into and cleanly hacking at flesh. After finishing, John stared at the meat he had produced.
Whoa. This meat looked so tender. Kensdale deserved the best. So, John would present its citizens with the best.
John piled up the new meat in his cold, glass display along with the other meat. He could probably get rid of the infant's head later.
The front door of his butchery was pushed open, and Mr. Grisham walked in. "Hello, John. What do you have today?"
"Hello. I've got some quality cuts for a moderate price. Would you like some?" John asked, gesturing at the freshly butchered meat.
"Wait….Quality cuts I can afford? Yes, please." Mr. Grisham chuckled.
John cheerfully smiled and began to open the glass display to pull out some of the fresh meat.
"Oh, and did you hear, John? Some American FBI agents are here…in little Kensdale." Mr. Grisham casually stated, leaning against the counter.
Oh….Oh God.
"The FBI, you say?" John said as he fought to keep his voice level.
"Oh, yeah. They're investigating the murders of the children around here and helping to straighten out our police. God knows we could use some help." Mr. Grisham said.
"Ah. Please excuse me for a second. I've just run out of paper to wrap your meat up. Would you mind waiting a bit? I'll just have to fetch some from the back." John said.
Nodding after Mr. Grisham shook his head, John calmly walked to the back of his butchery. He paced back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. He had a baby's head for God's sake. If these American FBI happened to stroll by while investigating, they wouldn't understand at all.
John needed to get rid of it.
Forget respect to the infant and how he would normally dump the remaining body parts. He couldn't be caught. What were….what were some things he could use around here to help him?
Knives?
No.
Paper?
No.
Scissors?
NO.
There had to be something around here that John could use effectively.
Tape?
…Wait…that was different. How could he use tape?
Quickly, John began to formulate a plan. He grabbed the tape and the infant's head and ran out the back towards the parking lot. Mr. Grisham was still patiently waiting inside. Perfect. John remembered which car Mr. Grisham drove up in and crouched down and looked at the very bottom of the car.
Ripping some tape open, John carefully pressed the tiny head on the underside of the car and lightly taped it to the metal compartments. It took quite a bit of tape for it to stick, but in the end the head was definitely stuck to the cold bits of metal.
And the best part?
When Mr. Grisham would drive off, the light tape would probably fall off, and the head would come tumbling down.
Pleased with his quick thinking, John ducked back into his butchery and rapidly wrapped up Mr. Grisham's meat.
"Thank you for waiting. Here you go." John smiled as he placed the wrapped parcel in the other man's hand.
"Thank you." Mr. Grisham said, waving as he left.
John watched as the man go into his car and drove off.
Excellent.
He had just gotten rid of the damning piece of evidence, and his only regret was that he had not gotten to place the head in a nice place for everyone to see.
But, he just couldn't get caught now.
Kensdale still needed loads of saving…
OoOoOo
"So…leaving cards is his sort of his….signature." JJ mused as the team looked at the card left at the crime scene.
"…the fore or hind quarter [of the child] will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt will be very good boiled on the fourth day…." Rossi read aloud.
"…Well. Now we know why Stephen Hayes was kept for four days." Hotch grimly stated.
"But, wait…I think I know what he did with the rest of Stephen Hayes…" Reid said, already disturbed with his realization. "Just look at the words that he left….He's…either eating Stephen or selling Stephen's flesh to unsuspecting customers."
JJ wrinkled her nose. "Well…that's unpleasant, but it does make sense…"
Sheriff Byrnes solemnly walked in the room and announced some grave news. "Agents….I am afraid that another…body part as been found. This time, it was an…infant."
"Damnit…." Morgan muttered.
The news of yet another death weighed in heavily on the team. The team should have been used to death by now. It was just a part of this job, but yet…the news of such a young death always hit the team just a bit harder. Life is such a fragile thing…and every single damned soul reeks of mortality.
We all have to go one day.
Some go forcibly through unwanted violence.
Others…like this innocent infant…go too young.
Much too young…
Sheriff Byrnes cleared his throat. "…Are you already used to this? How many horrid things did you have to….witness so that you could react almost emotionlessly when I just told you that a baby has been brutally murdered and decapitated."
"It's part of the job, Sheriff. Yes, it's absolutely unpleasant, but after a while, the extensive depths of the brutality of humanity doesn't really shock us much any more." Rossi answered.
"Now…The baby…You said it's been decapitated? The unsub only left the head again?" Hotch quickly attempted to stay on the subject before the Sheriff could respond.
"Ah, yes. All we found was a head, but it's been dumped in an odd way. What was that term you used? MA? Oh...MO...Yes. It's changed. Last time, like you said, the unsub neatly dumped the bodies in public areas so that people could see them. But, this time…we found it on the side of some road with loose tape around it's head." Sheriff Byrnes said, rubbing his forehead, the stress evident upon his face.
Reid cleared his throat. "So…tape? Why the sudden change in his method of dumping the bodies?"
"It doesn't make sense…" Rossi said thoughtfully. "Everything suggested that he would have placed the body in some populated area…not dumped by the side of the road with some tape. Could he have been interrupted or almost got caught? If he did, then…he could have desperately ditched the head or whatever was left of it using any means."
"Hmm….Maybe to the unsub, his mission is more important than the bodies, and if he was interrupted, then he wouldn't do anything to risk jeopardizing his mission." JJ said.
"It sounds like we should probably deliver the profile now…you know, before any more kids' heads turn up and more people unknowingly eat their own kind?" Morgan stated, to the agreement of the rest of the team.
Moments later, the team stood in front of the assembled police force.
"So, tell us, agents." Sheriff Byrnes began. "Exactly what type of a bastard are we looking for?"
"We're looking for a white middle-aged man who is most likely working as a butcher, judging by the skill and precision of the cuts on the bodies that he has left." Rossi began.
"He's organized, as these kills were most likely thoroughly planned. He drugged the first two children first with chloroform, not by knocking them out with whatever object he could find, and he seems to most likely have an average or above average intelligence, judging by his ability to abduct, kill, and dump the bodies without getting caught." Hotch continued.
"He believes that he is on a mission to save Kensdale from total economic poverty, and the root of that poverty is the children. So, by abducting and killing off the children, he believes that the town can slowly recover and regenerate." Morgan stated.
"We believe that because this unsub is holding an unfulfilling job menial to his standards such as working as a butcher, these killings give him some sort of a new...purpose and meaning." JJ said.
"And, our unsub is basing his kills off the work of Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal, a satirical essay that offers various propositions on different methods of alleviating Ireland's poverty through using the children. He leaves cards with text from this essay and if he has been following through with the essay, then...we expect that the unsub has been using the children as...as a source of food. He sells them in his butchery in order to alleviate some of Kensdale's slight hunger problem." Reid said, looking a bit downwards as the angered and disgusted policemen turned their eyes upon him as the true weight of his words hit them.
"…Finally, with this deadly sense of purpose...the unsub may stop at nothing until perhaps all the children are dead. And because he is so devoted to his mission, if interrupted, he would most likely lash out, and when he does, it will end only in the death of others and even his own death." Hotch finished.
The whole police department remained silent, slowly taking in exactly what they had just heard.
"Well...If only our boys could figure that out about criminals, then you wouldn't be here, agents. Now, you heard them! Let's go find that blasted bastard." Sheriff Byrnes wryly stated.
OoOoOo
"Guys, Garcia sent us a narrowed list of names. It seems kind of short, so what if we just asked them to come to the police station for a quick chat? It could also be helpful to these officers, too. We could hold an interrogation, which they could observe, take part in, hopefully, and learn from." Rossi announced, holding up a few freshly printed papers.
"…But, what if the unsub thinks that his cover's been blown and he makes a run for it?" JJ asked.
"Then, we'll know he's our unsub, and the police will pursuit. How far could you get in this town? The nearest town over was nearly fifty miles away." Hotch replied.
"So, divide and conquer? Are there few enough names to do that?" Morgan asked.
Rossi peered at the list and shrugged. "I guess. And, we'll have officers helping, too."
"I'll have the officers call in the people on the list." Hotch said, frowning slightly at Reid, who was awfully quiet.
Hotch dismissed his team and then turned to the list of names he clutched in his hands:
John Smith
Hamish Holmes
John Collins
Farin Unwahr
Marley Stevens
Ben Freeman
Jack Barrowman
Someone on this list was the unsub.
So now, it was time to find that unsub.
OoOoOo
Reid sat in the cramped office, thinking about his mother once more. He had already called the hospital several times in order to ask about her condition, but all the nurses would say is that his mother was in surgery.
Surgery?
Would it really take that long?
Reid couldn't help but feel so guilty.
His mother needed him, and there would always be that horrid possibility that she might not survive.
And he was a continent away.
What did that say about him?
Hotch briskly strode in, shaking Reid from his thoughts. He observed Reid and then furrowed his eyebrows a bit. "Reid…Is there something wrong?" he asked.
Reid looked up. "Oh, no…It's fine. Have…have the people come in yet?" He attempted to change the subject.
Hotch studied him for a little while before answering. "Yes. Interrogations are starting now. But, I need you to be completely focused on this. We can't afford to have any more bodies turning up."
Reid nodded, grateful that Hotch hadn't pressed the matter. He didn't really want to talk about his situation much longer. Children were dying. Shouldn't he focus on that right at the moment?
"Okay. So, we have a Mr. Farin Unwahr for you and an assigned police officer in another room." Hotch continued slowly.
Reid acknowledged the fact with another nod and headed out of the door. A policeman was waiting for him out in the hall.
"Ah! Agent Reid! Do you think the man inside the room is our killer?" He gestured to a closed door.
Reid shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out, won't we? Ready?" He asked the police officer who nodded.
Reid pushed open the door and there sat, sure enough, a middle-aged man twiddling his thumbs nervously.
"Hello, Mr… Unwahr. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" Reid asked.
"Hallo. Please…Call me Farin. It makes everything less formal, ja?" Farin managed to say. Reid frowned as he heard the man speak in a slight, but noticeably different accent.
"…Farin. Where are you from?" Reid asked.
There was no way he was Irish.
"Ah! I was born in Germany, but after my parents divorced, my mother took me here for a new start in Kensdale. You recognize my accent?" Farin said.
"Yes. Well, that's it, then. You're free to go." Reid said. Farin smiled and reached over to shake his hand before leaving. The police officer who had observed the whole situation with an agape mouth and wide eyes, speechless at what had just occurred.
"What? Why did you let him go?" The policeman said. "I thought he was a possible suspect. What if he was the killer, and we just let him go after….after two blasted minutes of interrogation?"
"Okay…Well, this man clearly did not fit the profile that we fabricated, as while yes, this man had some education out of Kensdale, he's, well…German. Why would a German care about the state of a small Irish town? No…Whoever we're looking for has to be completely Irish with some sort of sense of patriotism." Reid answered.
"I…I see. I hope you're sure." The police officer stammered.
"We can only hope that the others are having better luck with this." Reid responded to the flabbergasted police officer.
OoOoOo
"So…John Smith?" Morgan asked as he slowly strode around the makeshift interrogation room. A nervous police officer stood huddled in the back tightly holding a notepad and a pen, obviously taking notes.
The subject in question reclined lazily on the chair, leaning back comfortably and gazed up into Morgan's face. "Yeees?" he drawled.
"John Smith, do you understand why you're here today?" Morgan asked.
"Hm…Yes." John Smith retorted, giving off an air of unconcern. "In fact, I find this all rather funny."
"This is not a laughing matter." Morgan said, slamming his hand on the makeshift desk.
John Smith chuckled a bit and looked up at Morgan with mild contempt lingering in his face, unfazed by Morgan's show of aggression. "Really? Really? The Americans sent out a bunch of hotheaded FBI agents here in order to stop this lowly crime? Don't they have anything better to do?"
"This is not a joke. How can you believe this…this crime is anything but "lowly" when so many have been affected?" Morgan asked. The police officer shrank back into his corner as he watched the exchange between the two.
"Oh, whatever. Now, ask me the question, agent. You know, that clichéd question all you FBI and police officers ask. Where was I when the crime happened?" John Smith lazily waved Morgan off.
Morgan glared at John Smith before asking him that question. "…Where…were you, since you know just what crime I am talking about?"
"Working. I have footage from my security cameras if you need." John Smith said unconcernedly waving back the question.
"He's right." The police officer said, lowering his notepad and pen timidly. "He came prepared, Agent Morgan. Sheriff Byrnes has the tapes."
"So. Can I go now? I have to get back to work, and you have nothing to hold me here." John Smith swung his feet from the chair and stood up, brushing off his clothes.
"No. You're going to stay here, and I'm—" Morgan retorted until the timid police officer nervously cut in.
"We have to let him go, Agent Morgan." The police officer said, stammering a bit. "We have n-no evidence to hold him."
Cursing to himself, Morgan yanked open the door to a room, and ushered a triumphant and sneering John Smith out.
"…Did we just let our killer go?" Morgan asked the police officer.
"I…I don't know, agent. Perhaps we'll find some more evidence, but his alibi was solid and checked out." The police officer said with some uncertainty.
OoOoOo
Meanwhile, John Collins made his way to the police station, attempting to control his emotions and his heart rate. The police said they had a few questions for him. Not showing up would make him look guilty, so here he was…
So, here he was, seated nervously in some crowded room as a police officer stood in the corner of a room. The door opened with a creak, and a man radiating authority entered the room.
"John Collins?" The man asked.
John fought to keep his voice level. "…Yes?"
"I'm Agent Hotchner, and I have a few questions for you."
Agent Hotchner took a seat across from John and lifted a few papers out from a folder before looking at them.
"So…you're aware of the situation Kensdale is in?" Agent Hotchner asked, his cold gaze moving upwards to John.
"Of course. Who hasn't?" John replied, consciously forcing his feet to stop shaking. "Is there a reason why I have been called in?"
"Yes. We have a few questions that we'd like answers to." Agent Hotchner stoically stated.
"Anything to help. Those poor children…" John replied, though his concern was genuine.
Well, it was true. Yes, the children needed to go, but of course it was a sad event. John admitted that, and he wished he could have thought of a better alternative to killing children. But, it was necessary, and Swift published this particular method ages ago.
"Right. So, the standard question. Where were you yesterday around twelve to one in the afternoon?" Agent Hotchner asked.
"Working. At my butchery." John casually said, fighting to keep his heart rate down and the panic from showing in his eyes.
Agent Hotchner looked at him intently before continuing. "Okay…We have several witnesses that confirm that. Mr... Grisham says that you've been at your shop during the day." he continued.
"Yes. I helped him select a few good cuts of meat." John said.
Well, that technically wasn't a lie.
"And, you've traveled out of Kensdale before? For college? What did you study?" Agent Hotchner questioned.
"Yes, sir. I went to Dublin for college and enrolled in their pre-med course. I wanted to become a doctor, but it's funny how things work out, isn't it?" John threw back a forcibly calm response.
Hotch nodded slowly, flipping through information about John that Garcia sent to him. Medicine? He'd have to minor in Literature or have a deep passion for literature in order to be knowledgeable of A Modest Proposal.
"So did you really want to pursue medicine whole-heartedly? Or did you minor in other subjects?" Agent Hotchner asked.
"Oh, yes. I actually entered college thinking I was going to be a doctor…I wanted to heal the sick. It's a much more fulfilling job than working in a butchery, yeah? So, I didn't minor in anything else." John replied.
Hotch was silent. A failed student who wished to become a doctor with the sole purpose of healing people with no other intention than that? No way…Literature would not be important to them. This was not the unsub?
"May I…May I go now? Is there anything else you want to ask?" John asked.
"…Yes. You can go now. We'll contact you if we need anything else." Agent Hotchner said after pausing. Besides. Morgan mentioned that he had found a possible suspect, but he was forced to let them go…
John questioned the capabilities of these simple Americans, but didn't mind at all when he walked out of the police station, free to go...
