So, I'll admit to being a little surprised that I received almost 90 hits by my most recent count and not a single review. I have a better rate of return with resumes to job interviews. Luckily, I've decided not to take it to heart, nor will I turn into one of those authors who demand a certain amount of review before posting the next installment. I hope that as things get more interesting, people will be more inclined to comment.
We now have Chapter Two available and you should be relieved that progress is still being made toward completion. Happy reading, everyone.
Once all the profilers had met at the station, they settled into the conference room set aside for their use. In addition to their team, both Officer Mitchell and Detective Parker joined them.
"Morgan, tell us about the dump sites," Hotch started.
"McCallister's site was just barely on the side of the property line. The unsub did a quick dump of the body without bothering to cover it in any way; shows no remorse or he was in a hurry. The boys were found farther into the property, but still it was the closest to the border," Morgan said. "All were laid out, but still no efforts to hide the bodies in any way."
"Why is there such a discrepancy in the ages?" Mitchell asked. "Don't these killers usually have a type?"
"In this case, I don't think the murdered victims matter as much as the victims receiving whatever message," Hotch pointed out.
"So, you're saying my uncle is the actual victim," the officer stated bluntly.
"Yes."
"We'll need to factor in the victimology of your family in our profile as well as the actual victims," Prentiss explained more thoroughly.
"Well, if it's going to catch this sonuvabitch, ask me anything you want."
"So, what do we know so far?" Hotch asked.
"Someone very familiar with the area," Reid put in, standing at a bulletin board displaying a map of the reserve and the pastures. "Also, someone familiar with the stables and surrounding land."
"Not a large man or a strong man," Morgan added. "He needed surprise and drugs to subdue his victims, even the young boys."
"But he also took all four boys at once," Prentiss argued. "He could know these people, be someone they recognize or trust."
"The first killing suggests some latent anger," Hotch said. "And the others were impersonal as if he was angry enough to finally kill to get his message across, and now he's just using death as a tool."
"So, you're saying he snapped and killed the first time and now he's comfortable with it," Detective Parker summarized.
"Very possible," Hotch answered. "That means that two weeks ago, there was some stressor in his life that pushed him over that line. Officer Mitchell, has there been anyone trying to make a point to your uncle before this occurred?"
"No one else that I can think of besides who we've mentioned already."
"Someone in this community knows this man, and someone in your family knows them as well," Morgan said. "We need to get some kind of profile out there to get us started."
"And that is?" Parker asked.
The team exchanged glances, waiting for anyone to add anything else. They gestured to bring in the other officers before sketching out the profile.
"We're looking for a male, approximately twenty to thirty years old. He stays in the background and isn't noticed. He is from this community and has some kind of connection with the Rosa Stables and or the Phillips' or Mitchells. He is angry enough to kill to make his point, but he is clinical about it. These victims are not chosen randomly seeing as though three of the five have also been connected with the stable."
At the end of the briefing, another officer came in and took Mitchell by the elbow. Hotch watched the quick, hushed tones before Mitchell stalked out of the room. Leaving his team to finish the profile and for JJ to work her magic with the local press, he left surprisingly unnoticed by everyone else just as Mitchell had managed.
In the bullpen, there was a teenaged boy sitting at one of the desks, obviously sulking. He was a member of Mitchell's family by the blond hair and facial features—presumably Tyler Phillips. But where the boy's father and cousin stood tall, Hotch saw the boy slouch in his seat, his blond hair in need of a haircut and combed straight around his face, partially obstructing it. His clothing consisted of dark jeans, a black rock band tee shirt and black, hooded sweatshirt.
"Why am I here?" Tyler demanded once his cousin was within earshot. "The donut patrol cornered me after school and said I wasn't allowed to hang out with my friends today."
The inflection was laden with attitude and caused Hotch to shudder at the thought of Jack during adolescence.
"I don't want you out on your own until this is solved," Mitchell answered his cousin with considerably more patience than Hotch expected. Mitchell was obviously used to dealing with Tyler in this mood. "The FBI agents think that the killer is targeting our family."
Tyler scoffed. "Bunch of feds show up and you just do as you're told?"
"No. But you are going to do as I tell you right now. Stay here, finish your homework and once I'm off duty we'll head home."
"You're becoming a real dictator, you know that?"
"Damn it, Tyler." Hotch saw some of the patience break as Mitchell crouched down to meet his cousin's eyes. "Five people are dead, you know them all, does that mean nothing to you? I've let you get away with a lot over the last year, but that is done right now. Now stay here and do as I tell you."
The teenage boy held the piercing gaze for a moment longer before looking down.
"Whatever."
Tyler reached into the black messenger bag by his feet and grudgingly pulled out a paperback book. Mitchell straightened and turned around, noticing Hotch for the first time. Once he was within easy speaking distance, the officer asked him, "Do you have children, Agent Hotchner?"
"A son, two, almost three years old."
"Parenting books talk about the terrible twos, but it's nothing compared to the terrible teens." Mitchell ran a hand over his face before going on. "I don't know why I bother, he only really listens to Jules these days."
"She's closer in age to him," Hotch pointed out.
"Jules won't say it, and I would never ask, but I think she stayed around instead of going off to college for Tyler's sake. Roy and I tried to get her to research schools, but she just made up her mind to stay and help with the stable and attend the community college part time. I don't know what to do with her anymore either."
"She seemed to know what she was doing."
Mitchell laughed and shrugged. "Truth is, I'm glad she's still around to help deal with him."
"Would Tyler be able to talk with us?" Hotch asked. "He is closest in age to four of the victims and he might know something the rest of you don't. It's important that we speak with all of you."
"Good luck getting answers out of him," Mitchell answered. "Maybe tomorrow when he's not pissed at me. I'll have Jules talk to him tonight so he'll cooperate."
"How accessible is ketamine?" Prentiss asked back in their working room.
"I saw a mounted box of medical supplies at the stable," Reid said. "It's likely they would keep ketamine as their tranquilizer as needed. Also, I imagine that the veterinarians in the area would have a supply."
"We should find out if any ketamine is missing from the stable and then check with the vets," Morgan suggested.
"Yeah, first thing in the morning," JJ added as she carried in bags of Italian take-out.
The agents swarmed the food, eagerly passing around containers and utensils to each other.
"Where's Hotch?" Morgan asked, sitting down with a plate of pasta.
"Seeing Officer Mitchell and his cousin off," JJ answered, taking her own plate. "Hotch will be here any minute and Mitchell said he would return after speaking more with his uncle."
"Any one else get a look at the kid?" Prentiss asked. "Can't wait to talk with him tomorrow."
"It's very common for boys his age to use clothing and attitude as defense mechanisms and methods of asserting so-called individuality," Reid rattled off as he passed the garlic bread around to the others.
"Yep, 'cause that's why I did it," Prentiss grinned.
"Did what?" Hotch asked, entering the room and heading straight for the food.
"The whole Goth/emo thing," Morgan answered.
"Yeah, I can't wait to see what fashions are like when Jack gets to be that age."
"Oh, come on. He'll be the only kid in first grade going to school in a collared shirt and tie every day," JJ teased. It was a long-standing joke to ask if Hotch even owned clothing that was not suits and ties.
"Back to the case, if we could," Hotch re-directed his team with a practiced mix of exasperation and bemusement. "Where are we?"
"McCallister doesn't have any family, but I'll be speaking with his co-workers tomorrow," Morgan said.
"I'm meeting the parents of the four boys in the morning," JJ added.
"Okay, Prentiss and Reid, check out animal hospitals and clinics in the area and check out their drug supplies," Hotch instructed. "I'll stay and talk more with the Mitchells and Phillips'."
The team kept brain storming as they ate, refining their profile and extracting as much as they could from the details of the case. Some time after they had finished eating, but had not yet made the effort to clear off the table, their process was interrupted by the ringing of Morgan's cell phone.
"You're on speaker, baby girl."
"My fine fellows, I have found your Fred Gibson, aged fifty three of Seattle, Washington," the tech analyst's voice floated in the air. "Owns his own development business that buys and sells property like a pawn shop. He did indeed make an offer to Roy Phillips of Rosa Stables but, as we know, was turned down. From what I can tell, he moved on to other prospects and his financials are clean. Nothing I would classify as suspicious."
"Thanks, Garcia."
The team exchanged glances. "Well, that's one eliminated," Hotch said. "Let's keep going."
Juliet had experienced some tense meals in her life, most notably right after her aunt's diagnosis was brought up to her and her cousin for the first time and especially after her death. Dinner that night was not quite one of the worst, but it still was palpable.
After her brother had left with the FBI agents, she had returned to Magda, giving the mare a thorough grooming before going out for a ride. Much as she wanted to disappear on the grounds, Juliet knew that both Roy and John would pin her ears back later for the action.
Instead, Juliet and Magda remained in sight of the stable and house as she put them through their paces on the jumping course. Heedless to her mistress' thoughts and the new arrivals, Magda was as responsive as ever, allowing Juliet to focus on the exercise and forget the horror happening around her. Once Magda had worked up a sweat, Juliet hosed her down and set her loose to graze for an hour as the sun began to set. After she returned the saddle and bridle to the tack room, Juliet discovered a small bouquet of white flowers on Madga's stall door.
Juliet smiled, immediately placing one flower behind her ear. It was common lately to discover small tokens like that in recent months. Sometimes, it was one her students, other times it was anonymous. She brought the remaining blooms to her nose and inhaled deeply and headed for the house.
Juliet had few memories of her parents. She'd been so young when they died that she couldn't even remember living any where other than the two story farm house situated within sight of the main stable and office building for the riding school. The first floor contained the parlor, den, dining room, and expansive kitchen. The second story housed the bedrooms.
Roy was already in the kitchen preparing dinner. Though not nearly as skilled and creative as his late wife, Roy had learned from her as best he could when her treatments had been discovered ineffective. Juliet had then learned from him and the Food Network.
"Chili?" she asked, smelling the onions caramelizing.
"We had that ground beef to use before it goes bad," the man answered, turning to greet his niece. "Any other requests?"
"Cornbread," she answered definitively. "And there should be some coleslaw in the fridge, in the back."
"All right. Go take a shower, Jules. John called and said he'd bring Tyler home in a half hour."
As she was dressing in sweat pants and a cotton shirt, Juliet heard the front door slam from her bedroom. Steeling herself for her cousin's and brother's likely bad moods, she descended the stairs as Tyler stormed up. Recognizing a losing battle when she saw one, Juliet decided to wait before speaking with him.
Being less than three years apart and losing Martha at the age that they did, Juliet and Tyler were still fairly close. Even as he became belligerent with almost everyone else around him, Tyler still remained the same around her. Even as he began rejecting both Roy and John, Juliet could still talk him into going with her on a ride or to complete his homework.
However, Juliet did recognize that in his first year of school after her graduation he was getting worse. More fights were reported and his work was becoming spotty. She did her best, and he still responded to her with more consistency than anyone else, but she could tell that she was fighting an uphill battle.
John casually flicked the flower she had re-tucked behind her ear.
"Secret admirer?"
"Probably one of the boys would be embarrassed to be caught giving flowers to the teacher," Juliet responded before a serious expression crossed her face. "Actually, I had thought it was Casey, but obviously not." There was another pause before she asked, "Are you staying for dinner?"
"Wish I could, but Charles wants me back to work with the profilers."
"They seemed like good people," she commented.
"I agree." John grinned. "Did you really feel the need to torture poor Dr. Reid that way?"
Juliet grinned back. "Nothing bad happened. Besides, I wanted to prove a point."
Like a good brother, John did not feel the need to ask for clarification. However, his grin vanished and his demeanor shifted to something more serious.
"Look, Jules. These guys seem to think that whoever is out there killing folks, our whole family is a target, not just Uncle Roy. That's why I had Tyler at the station with me until I could get away to bring him home."
"You want me to be extra careful," Juliet surmised. "Way ahead of you there."
John sighed in relief. "Good, good. And Jules, one more thing before I leave."
"Yeah?"
"They want to talk with Tyler tomorrow. Well, actually, Agent Hotchner wanted to talk with him today more likely, but I convinced him to wait since Tyler was, well, his usual self."
Both siblings gazed upwards through the ceiling as if they could see into the boy's bedroom.
"I'll talk with him," Juliet promised.
"Thanks, Jules. Leave it to Tyler to piss off FBI agents."
Juliet almost didn't say anything else, but as John turned to walk out the door, she spoke up.
"He's been very upset lately, you know."
John turned back and fixed her in a quiet stare. "We all have been."
"No, I mean—John, remember that Peter stayed for dinner with us two nights before he died? I heard him arguing with Tyler before he left."
"What were they arguing about?"
"Tyler's attitude, what else? And Peter had to add the whole, Tyler will inherit the stable one day thing. Now Tyler is feeling guilty that they argued right before he died."
Now John sighed in exasperation. "Great. Just talk with him, Jules? The more we cooperate, the quicker we find this son of a bitch."