Sex, Secrets, and Videotape
Chap. 2- Vanished
As the team settles in at the police department, they are introduced to the two detectives in the case, a man called Carlos Montoya, and a female called Lisa Ratcliff. The two detectives tell the Agents what they have done so far.
"We have gathered a list of all the people that the girls have in common-friends, coworkers, boyfriends, people like that. We have sent crime scene samples to the lab; there is no DNA, though we don't know why. We suspect the perp is using condoms, but we're not sure. Finally, we were planning to interview families today, see what they could tell us, and find out if these girls are connected in some way. They attend two different schools, but run in the same circles." The male detective stops speaking as Hotch replies.
"Sounds great. It's a good start. Ok, people, you have your assignments. Let's go." The team separates with the detectives. Rossi and Morgan go with Detective Montoya to interview families, Seaver and Hotch go with Detective Ratcliff to the most recent crime scene, and Reid and JJ begin reading through the files to formulate some new leads.
"I'll take half, and you take half, Spence, and then we'll switch." He replies.
"Sure." They split the files, and locate some highlighters and began to read through the files as they chat about what they read.
"So, so far all four of the girls go to two specific local high schools, one Catholic and the other a private college prep school. They seem to be well adjusted girls, active at school." JJ nods as Spencer finishes.
"Yeah, and they all have the same out-of-school lifestyles-upper middle class girls, spend time at the mall, go to parties. It all seems normal."
"Do any of them have after-school jobs or volunteer at the same places?"
"No, but the last girl, Amina Karshani, her father employs three students from the prep school. Apparently, she worked there, too, bussing tables. It's a Falafel place." Spencer nods.
"Let's get a list of those students. Perhaps they can tell us something." He pulls out his phone and dials Hotch, He relays the things that he and JJ had learned to his boss.
"Good work, you two. We're heading back soon; I'll have Seaver help you so JJ can do what she needs to do. I will review the names when we return." Spencer hangs up, and relays Hotch's words to JJ. They compile the list of four students, three females and one male.
"So, we have Amina Karshani, Alice Monroe. Who else?" Spencer looks up at JJ, who continues.
"I have a boy, Kevin Gnapoor and finally, a girl-Elizabeth Reid. Anyone you know?" Spencer shakes his head, and replies.
"No. I guess that's a good place to start." Just then, Hotch and Seaver return with the detective, who looks over their list with Hotch. She addresses the group.
"This one girl, Elizabeth Reid, she knew two of the victims. Reagan Morris and Amina Karshani. One of our detectives looked into it a little, girl seems on the up and up-her father is a lawyer, her mother teaches preschool, and her grades are fantastic. No history of behavior troubles or complaints from teachers. We had her on the short list of suspects, but removed her after a little bit of investigation." Spencer nods.
"Females that engage in necrophilia are so rare, there aren't even statistics about it. Who else is on the short list?"
"A teacher and a mall employee. Both had contact with all four girls outside of school." The agents exchange a glance, and Hotch replies.
"I think it's too soon to start looking at unsubs. We need to do a little more research." Detective Ratcliff looks confused.
"Unsub?" Hotch nods.
"It means unspecified subject. You call him a perp." She nods, and continues.
"Great. Well, we didn't find anything new at the crime scenes." Hotch speaks again.
"Actually, we did. We discovered that the crime scenes are very specific, and point to a younger unsub. They all happen at or near school sites, and within walking distance of a parking lot. I think we're looking for a teenager or someone who has recently graduated, who would know the fields and feels comfortable there."
"Like an athlete?" asks Seaver. Reid nods.
"Or someone in the marching band. Or even a younger school employee, like an assistant coach or something like that." She nods.
"Great. Well, does anyone on the suspect list fit that description?" Reid and JJ shake their heads.
"Sorry. But let's see what the others say," replied JJ as the other agents and detective return to the room. They all settle in at the big table to recap what they had discovered.
"There are a couple of names that keep coming up. The four girls have one girlfriend in common-that Elizabeth Reid girl, and they also have a boy in common-Clint Meyer. All four girls dated him at one point, and all four families say that it ended badly. He was controlling, even as a teenager, and jealous." Morgan spoke in an even, matter-of-fact way. Rossi nodded in agreement, and continued.
"I think it might be a good idea to look at this Ms. Reid again, and find this Meyer boy."
1000 Hours
Las Vegas Day School
Lizzie
It is break time, and we get fifteen minutes to screw around before third period. I use this time to change out my books and refresh my makeup before class. As I am standing at my locker, using my magnetic mirror to touchup my lipstick, I see Clint Meyer heading my way. I groan; he's a total jock, and so not my type, but he's been asking me out for months. I have half a mind to tell Dad, so he can scare the boy away, but of course, I won't. He speaks.
"Hey, Liz. That's a great color on you." I fight the urge to roll my eyes, and instead, smile sweetly.
"Thank you. What do you want, Clint?"
"I want to ask to the Homecoming dance on Friday. I'm up for King, and you're kind of a shoe-in for Queen, so I figured it would only be right if we went together. We get dinner before hand," he says, a little too hopeful. I shake my head and sigh.
"Sorry, Clint. I have six months left to live." He smiles.
"You're just trying to make me feel better."
"Is it working?"
"No. I'll feel better when you say Yes to me."
"That's not going to happen. I'm sorry." He reaches out and strokes my hair, which is an odd move, and as I smack his hand away, he grimaces, and takes my wrists in his hands.
"I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry about Reagan, also. Are you going to the memorial tomorrow?"
"Yes." He releases me, and steps back, inhaling sharply.
"Good. I'll see you there, then." I raise my hand as if I am waving.
"See you." I shake my head again and turn back to my locker, replacing my English books with my AP Spanish and Physics books, and shut the door. I make a beeline for Senora Gomez's room, and take my seat next to John Harrison, who smiles at me. His cocoa colored skin appears especially dark against his white teeth, and I smile back. John is kind of cute, although I don't know how Dad would react if I brought home a black boy.
"Hey, John. How are you?"
"Hey, Liz. I am OK. How are you holding up?" I smile again; it is sweet of John to ask this, as he knows that Reagan and I are-were-close.
"I'm doing ok. Not well. Just ok."
"That's to be expected. If you ever want to talk, just email me. I will write down my email for you." He scribbles something on a slip of paper and hands it to me. I read it aloud.
"Mynameismud?" I ask. He grins.
"Yeah. When I was little, my mom would tell me that my name would be mud if I acted up. I don't know what it means, exactly." I laugh.
"My mother used to tell me that she would sell me to the zoo." He laughed now, and I muster up the courage to ask him a question.
"So, are you planning on going to the Homecoming dance?" He nods.
"Are you?"
"Maybe. I'm trying to decide if it's appropriate or not, given that two of my girlfriends will be buried this week." He appears serious again.
"I think that people would understand. We're kids. Besides, I heard from Meg Riley that you already have your dress, and that you and Reagan had planned to match." I nod, feeling suddenly cotton-mouthed. I stutter a reply.
"When did you talk to Meg?"
"We have Gym together." I nod, and try to smile as he continues. "You could compromise, and just go to the game, be received, wait for the announcement, accept your crown and then go home. You could skip the fun dance part." I consider his words.
"I'll think about it. That's a good idea, though. Thank you." He nods again as Senora Gomez begins our lesson, and we don't find any more time to talk until we are leaving the classroom. John sidles up to me as I am heading down the hallway to the labs, and speaks.
"Hey, Liz. I forgot to ask you who you're going to the game with." I smile lightly, feeling myself blush.
"Nobody has asked me yet." I can see him breathe in and out, and it is quiet for a moment before he speaks again.
"Do you want to go with me?" I nod, meekly, and reply in a small voice.
"Sure, thanks." He smiles big, and nods.
"Sure. Do you maybe want to get dinner beforehand, too? A bunch of us from Band are going to Signorelli's." I nod again, and smile back. Signorelli's is a local Italian restaurant, and it might be fun to spend some time with people I don't know well, whose entire conversation will NOT revolve around me and Reagan.
"I'd like that. Meet me at 5:30?" He shakes his head.
"I could pick you up." I shrug again.
"Ok. I will email you my address. Fair warning, though, my dad is kind of scary." He laughs and shakes his head.
"I will be ready. Thanks, Liz. I'll see you later." I nod, and hurry down the hallway, realizing that I am about to be late. I slip into my seat next to my lab partner, Claudia, and sigh in relief as the final bell rings.
"I made it." She nods, but shushes me as Dr. French begins his lecture. I am taking notes carefully and trying to be interested in quantum reasoning when a voice trills over the PA system.
"Clint Meyer, please report to the front office immediately." I raise my eyebrows as the whispers pick up around me. Soon, the class has ended, and I head for Music. I sing and play a little piano, and we are preparing for our Christmas concert, which will be fun, I think. Music class carries on, and, after the bell rings and I head for my locker before going to lunch, my cell rings. It is Irene, and I answer it immediately, ducking into the girl's bathroom near the Gym.
"Hi, Irene."
"Hello, dear. Your father wants you to come by the office immediately after your ball practice."
"Ok, thanks. I will do that."
"Great. Thanks, dear. Have a good day." I hang up, and continue on with my day. It is during basketball that things started to get super-weird. I am just scoring the winning basket, watching the orange ball sail through the net, when a decidedly male voice interrupts my victory dance. I whirl around as mystery man speaks.
"Ms. Reid?" I stand, taking in the man's appearance, and smile. I nod, and indicate a time out to Coach, and lead him, and a petite blonde with him to the bleachers near my stuff.
"Yes. How can I help you?"
"I am Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan, and this is Agent Ashley Seaver, from the FBI. We'd like to ask you some questions regarding the murder of Reagan Morris." I sip some water, and reply.
"OK." I sit down, indicating that they should do the same, but the man shakes his head.
"Can we step into the hallway?"
"Of course." I follow the agents into the hallway outside of the gym, adjusting my t-shirt carefully, and dabbing on some chapstick. We stop, and the agents turn to as the blonde one speaks.
"How are you?"
"Sweating like a pig, actually, and yourself?" She raises her eyebrows, and smiles tightly.
"I'm ok, thanks. We just wanted to know if you knew what Ms. Morris had been doing the day before she was killed." I nod, and take a deep breath.
"Well, we met for coffee before school, which we sometimes do, and then we went on to school. Nothing exciting happened there, except that Leah Trisch and Ross Chandler had this truly horrendous breakup on the Quad. Again. After school, we got a latte, went to her house so I could help her choose a dress for the Val party that night, and then I left. I had to go to my job. I work at the Falafel Hut on Tropicana, near the Hilton. Anyway, she went on to the party. She texted me at about 7, telling me that I was missing out on a great time, and then at 10, telling me that she was going to go to a buffet with her friend April, and this guy called Clint Meyer. They used to date, but they broke up over the summer, when he started to date Jenny Hendricks. But they still stayed friends, I guess. Anyway, that was the last I had heard from her." The agents exchange looks, and nod at each other. The man speaks again, his tone softer.
"I am sorry your friend has died. Thank you for your help. Where can we reach you if we need more information?" I shrug.
"Well, my father and I live over on Knoll Ave., in the Summerlin neighborhood. My father is a litigator, though, so it might be better if you reached me at his office. This is it, here," I hand him one of Daddy's cards, and continue, "because I spend a lot of time there after school since the murders have started." The man glances at the card, and then looks at me, oddly, but nods.
"Thank you, Ms. Reid. I think we're done for now, unless Ms. Seaver has anything?" The blonde shook her head, and smiled. "Well, then, we'll let you get back on the court."
"Thanks." He nods, and they turn to head down the hallway as I return to the Gym. Twenty minutes later, practice has ended, and my phone rings. It is Dad this time.
"Hey, daddy."
He tells me to meet him for dinner at a nearby diner, and then hangs up. No formalities, no goodbyes, no I love you's. It's just the way we are, so I change quickly back into my school uniform and speed across town to the diner. I park carefully and enter the building. I tell the waiter that I am meeting Dad, and he leads me to a table, where Dad is sitting with a younger man I have never seen before. I sit, nervously, after requesting a Diet Coke, and look from Dad to the mystery man before Dad speaks.
"Elizabeth, thank you for getting here so quickly. There are some things we need to discuss." I nod, and it falls quiet again as the waiter returns with my soda and some menus. We scan them, and I decide on the fish and chips, setting my menu aside as Dad continues.
"Do you remember when I told you about my wife and son? I think you were twelve." I nod, realizing suddenly that the other man at the table is Spencer. I smile tightly at him as Dad speaks again. "This is Spencer. He is in town because of the murders. He works for the FBI, using psychology to find and arrest criminals."
I shrug, feeling kind of like an idiot, because I don't know what to say to this. I simply smile at him again, and nod once.
"Hello." He nods once, appearing to be in shock, and then turns back to his drink. Dad finishes his speech.
"Anyway, I just felt like it was time for you two to meet each other, and I was thinking that Spencer could give you some advice on how to keep yourself safe." I fight the urge to roll my eyes, as this dweeby kid could probably take advice from ME. But I nod again, and turn to Spencer.
"Well, I have pepper spray, and my cell, and I try not be alone at night. I think that's all I can do, right?" He shrugs, and then stands abruptly.
"Please excuse me, I have to go." I stare after him, bewildered, and turn back to daddy, who looks slightly annoyed but not surprised. I sip my soda before speaking to Dad.
"What did you say to him?" Dad sighs, and stands, too.
"Just that you're my daughter, and that your mother and I had a romance after his mother and I divorced, and that you stay with me now. It was all very straightforward. But he's sensitive. Excuse me, dear, I need to use the men's room. Order yourself some dinner, OK?" I nod, and sigh deeply as Daddy leaves the table. I order my meal, and tell the waiter to wait to see if Daddy will eat, too. He nods, and leaves me alone as Dad reappears at the table, and picks up his jacket.
"I will pay on my way out. Finish your dinner, and then go home. Please phone me when you arrive; I will expect it to be about an hour, OK? I will be at the office for the remainder of the evening." I nod.
"OK." I begin my dinner, looking in sad frustration at the empty seats around me, and wondering what the heck just happened. I am glad that tomorrow is Wednesday; although it is Reagan's memorial, it is also the day I see my psychologist.
I finish my dinner, leave a tip, and head back home, calling Dad to let him know I am safe, and then head to my room to finish homework. Later, I prepare my outfit for the next day-I choose a black skirt and blouse, and a black cardigan to wear over it. I find my low pumps and some pantyhose, and then wash my hair and set it. Finally, it is bedtime, and I climb under the covers and fall asleep after some time. I dream about Dad dying and me being sent to live with Spencer, which would be so epically weird.
0700 Hours
Reid's Home
Somewhere in Las Vegas
The next morning, I wake up early. It figures, the one day I don't go to school is the day I am up before my alarm. I put on my robe and head for the kitchen. I notice that the house is quiet, and I wonder if Dad ever came home last night. I shrug, and take my coffee back to my room, and settle on the bed. I let my mind think of Reagan for awhile, and then I stand and take in my appearance. My face is like Spencer's, which is like our father's, I guess, but I have my mother's coloring-she was a fair blonde, and I am pale, with alabaster skin and pale pink lips. My smile is my mother's, too, slightly crooked, but brilliant. My mother is pretty still, and though she has lines from years of chain smoking and the tolls of deep depression, she still smiles big and can light up a room.
I grab my hair brush and form waves out of the set I did last night, and clip my hair back. I am trying for a mature, somber look-I understand that today is not the day for wild, garish makeup. I apply a little base, and some blusher, and simply swipe on some neutral eye shadow, foregoing liner. I swipe on a single coat of waterproof mascara, and coat my lips in a light, frosty pink gloss. I change into my sweats, wanting to be fresh when I meet the Morris's, so I won't put on my outfit until just before it is time to go. I sit at my computer, and type out an email to Mom and my friend Kelly, who moved to Washington state last year. Kelly didn't know Reagan, as she went to public school, but she lived next door to Mom, and we were friends. I finish my emails, and flip over to my MP3 provider, letting heavy rock music blast throughout the house. Mouse wakes up and yawns at me, seemingly annoyed that I am waking him up. I pet his head as I sit back on the bed, and page through the novel I am reading-Crime and Punishment-but can't really concentrate. I stand again, and head back to the kitchen. I see Dad stumble out his bedroom, looking angry. He speaks to me.
"Go turn your music down." I roll my eyes, but do as he says, and then return to the kitchen, where I pull out some stuff for breakfast. I arrange some eggs, bacon and toast supplies across one counter, and begin to prepare a light meal. I cut some fruit, too, and pour another cup of coffee. I make sure to scramble the eggs with olive oil instead of butter, and the bacon is turkey bacon, which Dad's cardiologist says is better for him. I finish preparing the meal and head for dad's office, knocking lightly. He calls me in, and I find him sitting at his desk, his head in his hands, and the file he keeps of Spencer's work and life open on his computer. I speak gently to him.
"Breakfast is ready." He raises his head, and nods quietly, following me out of the room. We settle in at the table, and then he speaks.
"I apologize for last night, Liz. I didn't think it through, and I realize now that I probably should have done that better." I nod lightly.
"It's OK. I don't think there's a right way to do something like that. I am just sorry that it wasn't the happy thing you wanted it to be."
He looks surprised, as he often seems when I say stuff like that. I think that he expects me to be a little dim-witted, though he knows I am not, but Reagan was, as are some of my girlfriends. But actually, I have the second-highest GPA in the whole school district. He nods, though, and continues.
"I just don't understand how I keep letting him down. He seemed so…I don't know, frightened yesterday." I reply.
"Well, it was probably just shocking. I mean, if you were, what, 28 and just learned that you have a 17 year old sister you've never met from the mother of the boy you believed your father killed, how would you feel?" He grimaces at me, but sighs and nods again.
"I guess you're right. Are you ready for the memorial?"
"Yes. Don't forget that I will see Dr. Stein afterwards." He speaks.
"Ok. Well, be sure to phone Irene when you're heading to the clinic, OK?"
"I will." We finish our meal in silence, and I stand to collect the plates. I wash them carefully, and then head back to my room. I put away some laundry, and organize my books for tomorrow, and then I check my purse, making sure I have enough tissues and a compact, just in case. I slip in a few more personal items and make sure my cell phone is fully charged. Finally, I brush my teeth and change my clothes, and head to the church where the memorial will be held.
I locate the CD of music that Reagan's mom asked me to put together to play as people are arriving, and I head into the building. I greet the Morris's, and start the music. It is mostly somber classical pieces, but I have added a few things of my own, that holds some meaning to me or Reagan, like "On the Turning Away", by Pink Floyd, which is my favorite song, and our favorite love song, Dream a Little Dream of Me, which we sang together in Junior High for our talent show.
I sit quietly in a pew and, while I am not a praying person, I try to make my thoughts calm and positive, radiating warm energy into the universe. I see my friends and teachers and other parents file in, and Reagan's family. Finally, I see the cop who came to the house on the first day, and the man from the FBI I spoke with yesterday, and a few others, who I assume are his colleagues. It doesn't escape my notice that Spencer is not with them, and I try hard not to stare, but feel a tall blonde staring at me. I shift in my seat, and tune in as the priest begins the ceremony.
Halfway through, I stand, and share some little stories about Reagan and me, and try to keep myself from breaking down. On the one hand, I feel that I must be strong, for the Morris's, and for myself, but on the other hand, I want to convey to the police and FBI people how important it is to catch Reagan's killer. I smile as best I can as I finish my speech, and sit quietly as yet another song I've chosen plays. This one is "The Show Must Go On," by Queen, and I hear a few titters at the selection. I could not choose a sad song; it's not my nature to be depressed, and Reagan, I believe, would prefer this.
A little later, the ceremony has ended, and I am standing in the rector, next to the Morris's, greeting people. Most of the people, whom I know, take my hands and tell me how sorry they are at the loss of my best friend, but it is the FBI people that I want to see. I excuse myself to Reagan's mom, and quickly block their way as they try to leave immediately after the reception line. It is the blonde who speaks first.
"Are you Liz?" I nod, but make a face.
"Yes. Look, this was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. Please, you have to figure out who did this to my friend." The man I had met the day before nods quietly.
"We know. This is Agent Jareau, she's going to be meeting with the Morris's in a few minutes. Why don't you spend some time talking with her?" I nod.
"Great, thanks." I step aside and let them out the door as the tall blonde stays behind. She smiles at me, and speaks again.
"Spencer told me about your dinner last night." I swallow and take a breath.
"Yeah. Well, I don't know what Dad was thinking, but at least it's all out in the open now." She looks at me, her expression odd, as she replies.
"Can I ask who your mother is?"
"Stacey Jenkins." She looks surprised, and I nod. "She and my father had a romance not long after he divorced Spencer's mother, and um, she always told me it was due to Riley's death-that her husband became distant and abusive, and that Dad was the one who understood her pain." The woman nods.
"No wonder he was so shaken up. Do you understand what happened?"
"Yes. But why does he hate me?" I feel my voice catch lightly, and I realize that the meeting last night bothered me more than I realized. She shrugs.
"He doesn't hate you. He's just confused."
"Me, too." Just then, we are interrupted by John Harrison, who walks to me.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Can I speak with Liz for a minute?" The FBI agent nods, and steps aside, falling into conversation with her people. I smile up at John.
"Hey, John."
"Hey, Liz. A bunch of us are going to go to breakfast, do you want to come along? It's mostly your girlfriends, but I think Clint Meyer is going, too." I shrug.
"I don't really feel like going. I wanted to go by the Morris's, to the reception, to give my condolences. I made a casserole, too." John smiles lightly, and chuckles, but speaks.
"I understand. Do you want me to come with you?"
"That's not necessary. You go ahead and have fun. I'll be OK." He touches my face, lightly, and I smile again.
"As long as you're sure." I nod.
"I am sure. Thanks, though. I'll see you tomorrow?" He nods, and turns away. A few moments later, as I am getting my purse and sweater to leave the building, Clint Meyer corners me.
"What did John Harrison want? I saw him touch you." I roll my eyes, and speak in an annoyed tone.
"He just wanted to see if I was OK, which I am. What do you want?"
"I heard you were going with him to the game on Friday." I sigh, and stand.
"Yes. Look, Clint, the past couple of days have been really rough. Can we talk about this later?" He nods.
"Fine. I heard you were going to the Morris's. Let me give you a ride, you probably shouldn't be driving." I sigh, but consider his words. I remember an article I read last year on the Internet that claimed that a lot of daytime car deaths occurred because people were driving while their emotions were heightened. Finally, I nod.
"Ok, I guess you're right. Thanks." I didn't realize then that I was making the worst mistake of my life.