CHAPTER ELEVEN: Redemption Part II: Regrets
"There is no redemption from hell. – Pope Paul III"
"Damn it," Derek Morgan cursed as they entered Central Station later that evening, his fist connecting with the wall. "What the hell is going on here, Hotch?"
"I wish I knew," Hotch said, his voice tinged with irritation and regret.
"Nothing about this case is making sense." Spencer said as he sat down at the table provided to the team, grief evident in the way his shoulders had tensed up. Sitting beside him, JJ could feel her fingers clenching violently as her boyfriend sat blaming himself for not seeing the clues before.
"What do we know about the victim?" Hotch said as Garcia sat down, shock in her eyes; the shock of seeing the violence first hand leaving a mark on their normally vibrant Technical Analyst.
"Carl Jamesworth was the manager at First United Bank and Trust, and was on the fast tract to becoming the president of the bank," Garcia said, her fingers gliding over the keyboard at an alarming pace."
"How are his financials, Garcia?" Hotch asked as her eyes seemed to lose focus, the horror of the day creeping into her mind.
"Astronomically good," Garcia said, "Especially since he was only the bank manager. He was supplementing his income somehow, boss man."
"Any arrests," Morgan asked.
"He has a drunk and disorderly, and two counts of aggravated sexual assault from 1992, when he was eighteen. He did a stint in the caboose, and was released at twenty-two, earning a degree on the government's dime. He was hired by the bank in question because his wife's family owned it before they died, and she inherited it."
"Agent Hotchner," Detective Marsden said a few minutes later, "We have a witness."
Hotch jumped out of seat faster than JJ had ever seen him move, and turned on his heel.
"This is Rebecca Wilson; she claims to have been with the victim just minutes before he died."
"Thank you for coming in, Ms. Wilson," Hotch said, "Would you like to sit down?"
She nodded, and said, "If you don't mind."
Her soothing alto voice sounded young. Hotch frowned but pulled out the chair, and said, "Ms. Wilson…" before she interrupted with a soft 'Rebecca'.
"Rebecca," he began again, "How did you know Mr. Jamesworth?"
Rebecca flushed and said, "I work at Cat's Eyes," she whispered. Hotch looked Detective Marsden, who said, "It's a strip club" in explanation. She flushed and said, "Mr. Jamesworth approached me after I got off stage, and told me that he would pay me a thousand dollars a night to do some model work. I get paid minimum wage," she said.
Hotch nodded.
"Go on," JJ said, reaching over and placing her hand on top of the Rebecca's. She looked at the hand, and nodded.
"Mr. Jamesworth was really sweet, and as we were walking out, he kept telling me that we'd make a fortune together. I was really happy about that, because I have to take care of my parents, they were paralyzed in a car crash two years ago and neither have insurance."
"How old are you," Hotch asked. Rebecca cringed and said, "Seventeen, I'll turn eighteen in five weeks."
The team shared a look, each of them looking at the Detective, who had a furious look on his face and had walked out of the station.
"Can you tell us what the UNSUB looked like," Spence asked. JJ sighed and said, "The bad guy, the murderer" to the young girl, who had a look of confusion on her face.
"I really couldn't see him that well, a yellow street light was shining directly above us and he was wearing a dark hoodie, though now that I think about it I could see his eyes… the top of his hoodie was really too large for his body. Actually all of his clothes were really baggy. Sorry…" she said "he had dark green eyes," The sounds of keys clicking on a board told them Garcia was on it.
"He was about five feet six inches tall. He was white, and from what I could see of his facial hair, he has black hair, at least a black mustache."
"Any scars, or identifying features," Morgan asked. She shook her head, "No, he just looked like a regular guy, you know? But," she paused, "But he sounded like he was really tired. Like he hasn't slept in a really long time, you know?"
"He spoke to you," Hotch asked immediately. She nodded. Hotch shot her young genius a look.
"What did he say?" Spence said.
"'You need to run home, little girl. This man was going to sell you too his clients. Get out of the risqué business, and I need not come for you'. It didn't totally make since, because Mr. Jamesworth was going to sell me, in a figurative sense, that's what modeling is."
"I'm sure it didn't mean anything," JJ said even though she could see her teammates had a different opinion.
Her teammates thanked her, and she walked her out.
"Can I ask you a question?" JJ asked as they approached the door. Rebecca nodded, her eyes fluttering in the harsh sunlight.
"How long have you been an exotic dancer," JJ asked. The girl smiled, "Just under a year, I told the owner that I was eighteen, and he hired me on the spot. Like I said, I needed the money to help my parents, and dancing pays well. I've never been ashamed of it, and despite being a dancer, I'm still a virgin."
JJ looked at her and smiled, "Thank you. Would you mind if we called to ask you a few more questions?"
Rebecca shook her head and said, "No Agent."
JJ sighed, "Jennifer Jareau. I just realized that we never introduced ourselves. The younger agent that sat beside me is Spencer Reid. The really stoic agent that asked you most of the questions is Aaron Hotchner. The really tall, well-built Agent is Derek Morgan. Our Technical Analyst is Penelope Garcia."
"Thank you Agent Jareau," Rebecca said.
As she exited, JJ turned, a scowl etched on her face as she walked over too the room where her team was gathered and asked, "Did the UNSUB just kill a human trafficker?"
"He did," Hotch said, "We've already started on a separate profile too see if we can identify his potential victims. What did Ms. Wilson tell you?"
"She started at the club when she was sixteen by lying on her application. The owner didn't bother asking for an ID, and she told me she's still a virgin despite the high-risk atmosphere."
"Good work JJ," Hotch said.
"I can work with that," Garcia agreed.
"I'm guessing that if we look into the background of the other victims, we'll find something similar." Derek said, his face angry as he looked at the screen where five pictures were already displayed of young, black-haired women gone missing in the past three years.
"Hotch," Derek said again, "What the hell is going on here?"
"It looks like we have a vigilante," Hotch told Derek, before sighing, "We have a profile."
"I'll gather the locals," JJ said walking out of the room again.
A half-hour later the team was sat around the room, with the local officers sat at their desks, if they were lucky enough to have them, or standing up depending on who it was.
"This profile is very similar to the one you asked Agent Gideon for, with a few evident differences. He indicated that you were looking for an organized, mission-oriented serial killer. This is correct, however what Jason did not know, that we do now, is that he is a vigilante. He does not have a list, as Jason indicated, because society provides the list for him. All of the victims so far, not counting David Michael MacLeod, have been upstanding members of society on the surface, but were rapists, murderers, and thieves when not under the light of scrutiny."
Hotch trailed off as Derek took over, "The UNSUB is a white male, short, between one hundred ten and one hundred and thirty pounds. He often wears clothes that are too large for him, in an attempt to make it seem like he's bigger than he is."
"If he's so small statured," Officer Martinez began, "How can he get the drop on guys that are almost twice his size?"
"You don't a large stature too plunge a knife into another person, Officer," Derek said.
"While the UNSUB is capable of remorse," Spence spoke up seeing Derek about to lose his cool with the interfering officer, "He only feels remorse for the one victim he didn't actually mean to kill. David MacLeod was a casualty of what he perceives is an on-going war."
"Most importantly," Derek said again after shooting Spence a thankful nod, "He wants to get caught. He's not going to go out in a case of suicide-by-cop. That's what his letters are. They aren't taunts; they're his confessions before the fact."
"His most recent stressor," Hotch said again, "was the death of Dwight Jordan, who died from cancer last year. He saw the death of a man he wanted to bring to justice as a sign that he needed to start again, that David MacLeod had forgiven him. So look for someone that visited his grave on a regular basis that no longer does."
The local officers scattered. "JJ," Hotch said, "We need to get this profile out there. With any luck, the UNSUB will call us."
She nodded.
A couple of hours passed, the team going through a list of suspects that they were discounting based on age, size, death records and such, when JJ's face came too them in front of a camera. Her calm gaze seemed to speak too the room of reporters, as she gave them the profile, and corralled the press too do as she wanted.
"She's really good," Morgan said as he watched her deliver the profile; the ravenous atmosphere of the press not bothering her in the least.
"She is," Spence said beside him, his eyes scanning her serious visage as she corralled the reporters too the pertinent facts.
"Garcia has finished with victimology," Hotch said behind them, his voice tinged with grief. "And along with our most recent victim, Carl Jamesworth, each victim was a criminal in their own right.
The first victim was Marcus Brigham, who beat his nine year old daughter Alicia Jessica so badly that she lost her vision. He was released two years seven months ago, and attempted to get in contact with his daughter, who was placed in protective services almost sixteen years ago.
Victims three and seven, Jeremy James and William Harding, were rapists whose victims only started coming out after their deaths.
Victims two, five and twelve, Steven Danielson, Timothy Warner, and Garret Jones, hired a hit man to kill potential rivals.
Victims four, six, eight, nine and eleven were a group of thieves, known locally as Los Ladrones Gremio, who had in the course of their crimes maimed their victims, a few to the point of total paralysis.
The tenth and thirteenth victims were actually customers of Carl Jamesworth, John Jones and Dean Reeves. Their bank statements show steady transfers to Jamesworth's just under the banks' daily limits."
"Damn," Derek said his anger easily evident on his face. "If he hadn't killed MacLeod, I can see the city urging him on, Hotch. The man killed some pretty revolting people."
"Believe me when I say that I understand," Hotch said, "But we can't take the law into our hands. If we did, we'd be no better than the UNSUB's we catch."
"I know that," Derek said, his face full of anger. "If only to bring him to justice for MacLeod, but I know of a lot of families that are going to sing this guys praises for years to come."
"I know," Hotch said, his voice tinged with anger.
April 12, 2005; front steps of Central Station: 11:30PM
He was proud of his accomplishments. Anyone in the crowd around him could see that he wore his pride on his shirt. And though he was a short, statured man, he had a great sense of morals. So, it came as no surprise, that the man had already found his next target.
The target was vermin, a murderer of children and women. And he'd been found not guilty because the jury believed his sob story, as if a real man would choose his own life over that of his child. The targets hands were stained with innocent blood, and he wasn't being held accountable for it.
He walked silently too the steps of Central Station, giving his confession to the police. He would be glad for the day he was either behind bars, or dead, but until that day he had a job to do, and he would do it well.
He just hoped that, when they again meet, that David Michael MacLeod would forgive him, and understand that sometimes collateral damage was unavoidable.
April 13, 2005: Midnight
The letter was a bland package, with no distinguishing marks. In fact, it was almost a common sight in any packing store, but the recipient was easily evident on the label.
"FBI Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid"
The team, who had only just started packing up for the night, froze as they watched the on-duty officer approach them, a brown package in their hand.
"Doctor Reid," the man said, passing the package to their resident genius. He turned to JJ, who had sat beside him the moment the package was placed in front of them. "Spence?" she asked carefully.
"There are no distinguishing marks, no return address label. And it's clearly marked with my name."
"The Redeemer is getting impatient. He's feeling like the police aren't up to catching him, and bringing him in to atone for his sins," Hotch said.
"Agreed," Morgan said.
"This packaging is completely without any forms of identification. That's strange, because when you buy a packaging slip, the store information is automatically placed in case police need to track them." Garcia said. The team looked at her, shock on their faces as she said, "What? Your goddess knows all!"
"So the only way this could possibly be without that information is if it was taken directly from a store," Hotch asked. Garcia nodded for a moment, "Yeah, and this is a UPS box, they mark all of their packages, so… so we can use this information too find this guy!"
"How," Hotch asked.
"They don't keep these size boxes in front of the counter, the only way you can get access too them, is if you're a worker at the store. So," she said turning too her computer, "all you need to do, my pretties, is give me the profile so that I can narrow the workers down."
"That's brilliant," JJ said smiling as Garcia brought up her system. She started by bringing up a list of UPS store workers. "So?"
"The UNSUB is a white male," Derek said, starting them off. She nodded, "Then, we take that information and place it in our handy-dandy information field, and," she said as almost a three quarters of the names on the list, of which there were sixteen thousand seven hundred and three, disappeared.
"Alright, my pretties, that leaves four thousand one hundred seventy-five names."
"The UNSUB is between five feet five and five feet eight inches tall, and is between one hundred ten and one hundred and thirty pounds."
She did some more figuring, and again a lot of names disappeared.
"Six hundred and ninety-six left," she said, "Matching just that criteria."
"Our witness," Reid said, "Rebecca Wilson claims that the UNSUB has dark green eyes, so I'd check anyone that has green or blue eyes."
"Why blue eyes," Hotch asked. Spence smiled and said, "there was a yellow street light in her area. Sometimes the eye will play tricks on you, and automatically combine certain colors, so I think it would be safe to check both and run them through Garcia's filter."
"I agree," Hotch said a second later. Garcia smiled and put the information into the field.
"You're in luck my pretties, we only have five people matching the description."
"Garcia," Derek said a second later, "Take away anyone that has been arrested, or had a work citation. He does what he does to punish the unjust, so it's safe to assume that he won't have a criminal record."
She nodded, and did so, and too their surprise, three names disappeared from the list.
"Damn," Derek said, "I know who the UNSUB is!"
They looked at Derek, who was pointing at the picture of Daryl Lloyd. He had worked at UPS for seventeen years. Hotch looked at him and said, "Are you sure, Derek?"
"I talked to this guy at the crime scene yesterday, Hotch," he told their unit chief. Hotch's eyes widened and he said, "Why didn't you mention this?"
"I missed the profile," Derek admitted, "I approached the guy because he was walking away from the scene, and he said that there was always something happening so most of the people in the area just ignore it. His story was just plausible enough to believe it, especially when other witnesses in the area corroborate. "
"This happens Derek," the man said, "But the man got cocky. He's never delivered so close between kills before; he usually takes his time to let the heat die down."
"He's escalating," Spence said beside her, "Which means we can set a trap for him."
"Reid," Hotch said, "Go ahead and translate the letter, we need to give the UNSUB the impression that we're still looking for him… it's already on the news that he's delivered again, so he's watching the news too see if we're still interested. You'll also need to be the one who goes in front of the cameras, since he is reaching out to you. Don't let him know we know who he is. Garcia, what is his local address?"
"1117 Eagle Crest Avenue, Apartment 7B," she said, "But he's at work tonight."
"So we'll need to wait for him to be off duty before we approach him, we don't want this guy to take any hostages," JJ said.
They all nodded in agreement.
A few minutes later, Spence was walking up to Hotch and handing him a translation.
"Are you sure this is accurate," Hotch asked. Spence nodded.
Liars, thieves, rapists… these are all horrible stains on humanity. The sweltering cesspool of inhumanity has become a horrible burden on the face of all hard-working members of society. The next in line, a murderer, has killed his wife and child and gotten away with it. Set free on the ineptitude of the police force and by the lighthearted jurors who should have convicted him. He has been chosen. You have three days to catch me.
"Alright! Reid, I need you and JJ to go in front of the cameras. They usually do this as soon as they have a translation, and he sent the warning to you, so he must have checked up on us, so he'll know something is wrong if we don't do something."
He nodded, and said, "Alright Hotch."
"While you two are doing that, we're going to plan how to take this bastard down."
"No problem," her young genius said, as they walked out of the room. "When they get back, I want a working plan, so we can all get some sleep before we arrest this guy."
The press conference went off without a hitch; even though JJ could see some of the reporters want to ask about her boyfriend's qualifications.
Once the conference was over, they dodged any extra conversation by saying that they couldn't discuss the details of the case, and entered back into the precinct.
Morning came too quickly for the team, who were dressed in their bullet-proof vests, as they walked up the stairs to apartment 7B. They'd asked for all of the buildings tenants too stay inside.
When they reached the seventh floor, Hotch walked to the left of the door, his back against it as he placed his knuckles against the wooden frame. Derek stood in front of the door, and Spence to the right, while she stood beside Hotch, to give them a better covering angle.
"Daryl Lloyd, FBI!"
They could hear scrambling inside as the door unlocked and opened silently. A young woman stood there, her clothes slightly rumpled, and her black hair mussed about as if she'd just got out of bed.
"Can I help you?" she asked. They could see that she was blind.
"We need to speak with Daryl Lloyd," Hotch said, "We're FBI."
"Do you have a badge?" she asked. Spence held his badge out in front of her and said, "It's just in front of your face."
They looked at him for a second, when she reached her fingers up and traced it. "He's in the bedroom. Can I ask why you need to speak with him?"
"And you are?"
"Ariel Abernathy, Daryl's girlfriend. I live across the hall."
Derek's eyes widened as he said, "Ma'am, we're going to need you to move out of the way, please."
She nodded, and took her cane, before tapping the ground in front of her and walking out of the way.
They approached the room with trepidation, and Derek opened the door. Their UNSUB was sitting there, a soft smile on his face as he said, "I'm glad you finally figured out my confession. Tell me, how did you finally catch me?"
None of them were surprised that he hadn't denied anything.
"Daryl, what's going on?"
"Ariel," the man before them said, "I'm sorry for everything you're about to hear. I really did love you… I did all of this for you."
"Did what, Daryl?" the girl asked, fear in her voice.
"Alicia," the man said softly. She stiffened, and her shoulders tensed.
"How do you know that name?"
"You were talking about it with Mrs. Abernathy the first time I met you, asking when it would be safe to start living your life again. She didn't realize that she'd called you by your real name. It didn't take me long to investigate why you, a woman I'd come to know and respect, had changed your name.
Imagine my surprise when I found out what that bastard of your father did… I killed him so that you'd have justice."
"Daryl Jeremy Lloyd, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be afforded to you. Do you understand these rights as I have given them too you?"
"Let me ask him one last question," Ariel said, as their UNSUB stood without resisting.
"Go ahead," Hotch said.
"Do you regret it?"
"Do I regret it," he said, "No, I gave these animals justice that they'd bribed themselves out of. Now, it's my turn too serve my sentence, and I do so proudly knowing that I helped bring comfort to others."
Ariel sobbed, her breath catching as tears fell down her eyes. And, to their surprise, she said, "I understand Daryl…."
"Do you need us to call anyone," JJ asked as they led the Redeemer away. Ariel shook her head and said, "No, but I need to call my mother. I haven't heard from her in twenty years, and with father dead and his killer behind bars, I can finally move on with my life."
"Good luck," Spence said to the blind woman, before he gave her a card. She looked at him in confusion, but was surprised that she merely nodded and said, "Thank you Doctor Reid. May I see you?"
He nodded, and said, "Yes," before the woman reached up and rubbed her fingers over his face, touching each contour. It lingered on his nose, and over his lips, before she said, "Thank you Doctor Reid."
He smiled, and said, "You too Miss Abernathy. Call me if you need anything."
Ariel nodded again.
When they exited the apartment, Spence placed the crime scene tape on the table and walked out of the door. Ariel was standing beside them still, and she could hear the woman's racked sobs. Instinctively, she reached out, holding the woman too her, as her arms came up and said, "You have a good man Agent Jareau."
JJ gasped slightly and said, "How did you know we're dating?"
"You have hints of his aftershave all over you; it shows that you sit as closely as possible. He, similarly, smells of your perfume, and your lipstick."
"Thank you," JJ said momentarily surprised. Ariel sighed and walked over to her apartment door, tears leaking down her face as she said, "Can you please give Daryl a message for me?"
"We will," JJ told the distraught woman.
"Tell him that I really do love him, but that I wish he had never did what he did."
JJ looked at her boyfriend, taking his hand into hers, and said, "We will, Ms. Abernathy. And call if you need anything."
She nodded, and entered her apartment, the tap of her cane echoing down the nearly empty hall. JJ turned to her boyfriend, and sighed as he took his hand in hers. Her eyes widened as she looked at him, surprise written on her face.
"Spence," she said softly, "What's going on?"
"She's in love with him," Spence told her. "Even knowing what he did to her dad."
"Her father," JJ corrected absently. "He donated the sperm that created her, Spence. A dad is so much more. A dad is there when you're sick, when you're hurt, when your heart gets broken, or when you break a heart yourself. Your dad is there for advice, for counseling, for consoling. Her father beat her, Spence, so she holds no love for him."
Spence nodded.
"Thanks JJ," Spence told her letting her hand go, his professionalism coming back full force as they exited the building. Hotch and Derek had already left, their SUV gone. Spence got in the passenger side, and pulled his seatbelt on, as she got in, and started the engine.
The silence was contemplative as they pulled out of the parking lot. Neither wanted to admit that the case was troubling to them, seeing first hand how corrupting love can be. They knew that it was all-consuming, had first hand knowledge of how powerful it could be.
Now, they had a glimpse of power to the other extreme, killing out of a misguided sense of love.
They pulled into Central Station about fifteen minutes, fighting with mid-morning traffic as they did so. JJ was silent, contemplating what the blind woman had shone them. She looked at her boyfriend, sitting on the passenger side with his head against the glass as he silently unclipped his seatbelt.
"I hope we don't end up like that," Spence told her before his door opened. She sat back.
"I don't want to live a life where I hold no regrets. They make us who we are, just as all of our actions, and all of our decisions, mold us into the person we are. I can't imagine a time where I'll ever enjoy taking the life of an UNSUB."
She nodded, "I know. And it's going to be hard on Ariel… Alicia… because she gave herself to the man. How is she going to live with the knowledge that he did what he did too give her justice.
"Not justice," Spence said, "That's how he sells it to himself. It's vengeance, nothing more or less. He's proud of himself now, but he won't be forever. Sooner or later, he'll look back on his life and see what he's done."
Hours passed in relative silence, the Redeemer having given a full confession too Hotch without any semblance of fear in his eyes. It was as they were packing up to leave, their jet ready, that the man made a final, eerie statement.
"My conscious is clear. The men I killed were deserving of death, and for that I'll sleep well tonight. How will you sleep knowing that because of you a man that murdered his wife and child is walking the streets, ready to strike again?"
Hotch, his voice hard, turned and said, "I'll sleep well knowing that if the man starts again, my team and I will catch him, just like we caught you, Daryl."
"He had to deal all at once with the packed regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate time. – Edith Wharton