Chapter 5

Reid parked his SUV outside Lorimar's bookshop in town. The young genius exited his vehicle, and walked to the door in a couple of strides. He pushed open the front door of the shop, hearing the little tinkle of the tiny bell atop the door. With his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, Reid's eyes looked around the crowded bookshop and fell on three cashiers who were waiting on customers. Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, the young agent removed his credentials. Approaching the closest cashier, he held up his identification for her to see without attracting attention from the customers. Reid heard her give a small gasp when she saw the badge.

"Excuse me, but I am Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit," he said. "I need to speak with Mr. Lorimar, the owner. Is he available?"

The young cashier, whose name tag read MANDY on it, chewed her lower lip. "Uh, he's in the back room checking on our shipments."

Reid tucked his credentials back inside his jacket. "And where might that be?"

The girl turned and pointed to a closed door in the far corner of the store marked 'private.'

"He was in there last time I saw him."

"Thank you." Reid turned away aware of several pairs of eyes staring at him including the three cashiers. People often mistook him for either a college student, or a college professor. Many even considered him to be a nerd, but he didn't care. He was use to the comments. Only those who had been close enough to overhear him identify himself as an FBI agent seemed surprised somebody so young could be an agent. Reaching his destination, Reid knocked on the closed door and turned the doorknob when a voice said "Come in."

Walking in, Reid was greeted by a man about thirty or thirty-five with sandy-blond hair and hazel eyes. He had been opening a cardboard box containing several books by an author Reid recognized. The man stood up, wiping his hands with a rag.

"This room is for employees only," the man said studying the young agent's face.

"Glenn Lorimar?" Reid asked reaching inside his jacket again.

"Yeah. Who are you?" the man's voice was somewhat harsh as he tossed the rag aside. He was not in the mood for guessing games or interruptions. "If it's about a job…"

Reid held out his credentials. "I'm Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI and…"

"You're an FBI agent?" Lorimar asked with raised eyebrows handing the credentials back to the agent. "I never woulda guessed you for a fed. I suppose you're here about Tony."

"I am. And may I say I'm sorry for your loss. What can you tell me about him?"

Lorimar, his arms crossed across his chest, shrugged his shoulders. "Not much. He was a private person, y'know. Didn't interact with the other employees much. Kept to himself mostly."

"What was he like as an employee?"

"He did his job. Always willing to help. Was always on time and courteous. I never had any complaints about him from anybody. I can't understand why anybody would want to kill him."

"Can you tell me what happened the day he disappeared?"

"I'll try. From what I can recall, it was a pretty normal day for us. Nothing out of the norm happened. I was running late so I called and asked Tony to open the store, and handle things until I got here. He always opened for me when I was running late. Y'know, now that I think about it, that was the first time he said he couldn't do it as he had something he had to do."

"Did he always fill in for you when you were going to be late?"

"Sure. Either him or Mandy. She's one of our cashiers. After Tony told me he couldn't do it, I called and asked her."

"Did he ever tell you what it was that prevented him from opening the store for you?"

"Now that you mention it, I never saw him. When I spoke to Mandy, she said Tony never called or came in to work. We tried calling him but got no answer, so we didn't think anymore about it until closing time and he still hadn't called. That's when we began to worry because it was so unlike him not to tell me if he was gonna take time off or be late."

"Was there anybody here in whom he might have confided?" Lorimar shook his head.

"Did he have an explanation the next day?"

"I don't know. He never came back or called, so I figured he had just quit. I tried calling him to come and pick up his paycheck but never heard from him."

"Did he seem troubled by anything? Or perhaps indicate something or someone was bothering him?"

Lorimar shook his head. "Nothing that I can recall. Like I said earlier, he was a private guy. If something or someone was bothering him, he kept it to himself."

"Can you think of anybody who might want to see him dead?"

"To quote an old adage, everybody liked him. Sorry."

"One last question. Prior to Tony's disappearance, do you recall seeing anybody hanging around outside the bookstore who looked suspicious? Somebody you or one of your employees had to call the police about?"

Lorimar shook his head. "I've never seen anybody hanging around outside the store. I can't speak for my cashiers. But you can ask them if you want."

"I will. Thank you for your time." Reid handed Lorimar a business card. "If you can think of anything else, don't hesitate to call." Reid then turned and left the back room, determined to speak with the cashiers next, beginning with Mandy.

As Hotch and Prentiss walked back to the conference room, his cell phone vibrated. He reached inside his jacket and removed it. Seeing the name of the caller, he put the phone on speaker. "What do you have, Garcia?" he asked.

"Sorry it took so long to get back to you, my handsome, dimpled leader, but I finally finished my search. First, our three victims have no connection with any of the med students or surgeons who meet the criteria you gave me earlier. Second, the final count is 40 med students and one hundred twenty surgeons who have been bad boys. And three, a search into the background of one Thomas Gannon shows not even a parking ticket. He was nothing more than a full-time student with no connections to anything illegal in any shape, manner, or form. He has a girlfriend named Rebecca Stanton who is also a junior and is as clean as the proverbial whistle, sir."

"Do you have an address for Rebecca Stanton?" asked Prentiss with a chuckle which she tried to stop but failed.

"I do my raven-haired beauty. I just sent it to your phones. She lives near the campus. Anything else, my fearless leader?"

Prentiss smirked and shook her head at the tech analyst's comments about their Unit Chief while Hotch, ignoring her, exhaled as his eyebrows knitted. "We have to reduce the list of surgeons and med students, Garcia. Cross-reference those you found with how many took place a year before the first murder. Get back to me when you finish."

"Yes, sir."

"And Garcia…?"

"Sir?"

"Don't call me your handsome, dimpled leader again."

"Just speaking the truth, sir. Gotta go. Tootles." Garcia disconnected the call before Hotch could respond. With a shake of his head, Hotch tucked the phone back inside his jacket and glared at Prentiss who chuckled despite the look on his face.

"What?" asked Prentiss feigning innocence.

"Don't encourage her." Hotch shook his head as a faint smile appeared which he hoped the female agent didn't see. "I need to do a better job of keeping her and Morgan apart on the phone."

"Good luck," Prentiss smirked as she passed Hotch and entered the conference room. The Unit Chief glared at Prentiss's receding back as he followed her into the room.

Hotch stood before the board Reid had been working on and crossed his arms across his chest. He stared at the circle and the three Xs in the center. Somewhere in this radius is our Unsub, he thought to himself. He is either living or taking his victims within this circle. He turned when the door opened, and JJ walked into the room.

"Well?" asked the Unit Chief.

"The press conference is scheduled for an hour from now as you wanted," the blond explained looking from Hotch to Prentiss and back to Hotch.

The vibration of the Unit Chief's phone interrupted them. Hotch reached inside his jacket again for his phone. After checking the caller ID, he pressed the phone to his ear. "Hotchner. What have you got, Reid?" Hotch turned away as he listened. A few minutes later, Hotch tucked the phone back in his jacket and faced the women. "That was Reid. He spoke with Barstow's boss and several coworkers. It seems Barstow was suppose the open the bookstore the day before he was murdered, but told his boss he couldn't and gave no reason. He never showed later, and never came back. Nor did he contact his boss to tell him anything. His boss assumed he quit. He tried calling him to come and pick up his paycheck but never heard from him."

"That's strange," Prentiss commented. JJ agreed.

"What's strange?" asked Morgan as he and Rossi entered the conference room. Both men looked tired.

"Look what the cat dragged in," JJ smirked. Morgan shook his head and fell onto a chair. He ran a hand over his bald head.

"Any luck?" asked Hotch.

"Just this," Rossi replied reaching inside his inner jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to his Unit Chief who removed the single sheet of paper, and read the message aloud. When finished, Hotch looked at his team.

"The day after he got that letter…" Morgan said. "There were two hang up calls on his phone. The caller left no messages either time. Could have been the Unsub."

"We also asked Detective Parsons to have a few of his men check the florist shops," said Rossi. "I don't think he was too keen on the idea until Morgan and I convinced him."

"Good idea," Hotch concurred. "As the Unsub has been leaving Dahlias with each victim, he'd either have a supply of his own, or growing them himself."

"Exactly. Did Thomas Gannon's father have anything else to say?" Rossi asked his boss, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.

"Not much," Prentiss replied with a subtle shake of her head. "Just that his son had never been in trouble with the law, was a good student, and was serious about his schoolwork and his girlfriend, Rebecca Stanton, who lives near the campus."

"We got Rebecca Stanton's address from Garcia," Hotch explained. "As well as that of Shannon Carstairs brother, Jason. Morgan, after we give the profile, I want you to drive to Justin Carstairs address in Alameda. Maybe he can tell us something we haven't already found out."

"And I'll speak with Rebecca Stanton," Rossi volunteered. "I'm familiar with the area around Westmont College. It'll be a nice drive for me."

"Not to mention checking out those young college coeds," JJ teased with a knowing smile while looking at the older profiler. Rossi smirked.

"For your information, I gave up chasing coeds in my younger days," he said. "I prefer an older, more refined woman these days."

Prentiss looked up at the blond and snickered. "What he means is somebody with whom he can keep pace in his old age." JJ chuckled along with Morgan.

Rossi turned to his best friend with a smile. "Ah, Aaron, it's too bad youth is wasted on the young folks." Hotch smiled which was a rare occurrence. "You and I could teach these young'uns a thing or two about respecting us older folks." The others laughed at the older man's joke.

"Speak for yourself, Dave," Hotch teased. "I'm younger than you anyway."

Rossi leaned close and examined his best friend. Hotch arched his eyebrows. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

"Just counting the gray hairs in that thick head of black hair on your head," Rossi joked. The others were unable to contain their laughter at their leader's expense.

All right, calm down everybody. Stop picking on Dave," Hotch said with a feigned look of annoyance on his face. "Let's give the profile." The others followed their leader into the center of the police station where members of the media and the detectives, including Parsons, sat waiting.

"We're going to give you what we call a preliminary profile," Hotch began, arms crossed across his chest. "What that means is we're giving you a profile which can change based on new information." He paused and looked around the room seeing he had everybody's attention. "We're looking for a white male between thirty-five and forty years-of-age…"

"How do you know that?" asked one of the younger detectives disbelievingly.

"Because he's not impetuous," Hotch added not liking to be interrupted, but not letting it show either. "He's meticulous and takes his time with his victims. That indicates an older person."

Rossi, hands stuffed in his pockets, continued. "A younger man is still trying to find himself and what he prefers and likes when he kills. The attacks wouldn't be so surgically carried out were our Unsub a younger man. It's as Agent Hotchner said. Our Unsub is an older man. So look for people with medical backgrounds. Surgeons, medical examiners, medical students." His eyes fell on a female raising her hand. "Yes?"

"Excuse me. What is an Unsub?" she asked.

"Unsub is short for Unknown subject," Rossi added with a faint smile.

"He either resides in this area, or is familiar with the area," Morgan crossed his arms. He sensed the next question and answered it before it was asked. "Someone who isn't, wouldn't be able to find his way around these woods. It would be too easy to get lost in them. Only somebody familiar with these woods would be able to come and go without a problem."

"People feel comfortable around him," Prentiss continued as she tossed a few strands of her black hair over her shoulder. "By that we mean he doesn't stand out and his victims aren't suspicious or fearful of him when they meet. That makes it easy for him to overpower them once he's selected his next victim."

"How does he subdue them?" someone asked.

"He uses a taser," Hotch continued. "The first two victims had burn marks on the back of their necks. We believe once he gets the victims relaxed around him, he uses the taser to overpower them. This Unsub also enjoys inflicting the most pain he can, especially on his female victims. And while he has killed only one woman so far, the savagery inflicted on Shannon Carstairs can be seen as opposed to Thomas Gannon and Anthony Barstow. We also believe Barstow's death may have been what we call a practice run, before he killed Shannon Carstairs and Thomas Gannon."

"He's mimicking the Black Dahlia murder from the 1940s," Rossi added. "That murder has never been solved. We believe he selected this particular murder because of the brutality involved. Also, the brutality inflicted on Elizabeth Short aka the Black Dahlia, we believe, is why he inflicted the same amount of brutality on Shannon Carstairs and Thomas Gannon. He wants to show us how he improves with each kill. But the difference here is he leaves behind either a white or pink Dahlia with his victim. We believe the color of the flower is symbolic of the sex of the victim. White for male; pink for female. So check with known florist shops in town. Find out who might have bought Dahlias to grow or the flowers themselves. He would need to have these flowers available for him to use."

"That's all. Thank you," Hotch concluded before he walked away with the others following him.

After parking his vehicle, he strolled around the semi-crowded street in town looking at and studying the people. He felt the urge to torture and kill someone building inside him. Also, he needed to throw the FBI off their game just a little more. But after an hour, he still hadn't found the right victim. This time he needed a woman; the right woman to kill. With a sigh he looked across the street and that was when he spotted her. A slow smile appeared on his face. Yes, she would do nicely. But first, he needed to watch her more before he made his move.

She was struggling with an armload of packages and bags when he jogged across the street toward her. He arrived in time as she dropped a bag and one package. Being a gentleman, he bent down, picked them up, and handed both to her with a charming smile.

"Thanks," she replied gratefully as she took them from him, a smile on her face.

"You've got quite an armload there. I hope you have a car at least to get where you gotta go."

She sighed. "Unfortunately no. My car's in the shop and I had a lot of errands to run. I guess I'll have to flag a taxi to get me home."

The man's face lit up like a child's on Christmas day. "This is your lucky day, Miss…"

"I'm sorry. It's Meadows. Clarissa Meadows."

"This is your lucky day, Miss Meadows. My taxi is parked across the street. I was taking a break and stretching my legs. I'd be glad to give you a ride home if you'd like."

Clarissa looked warily at the man. She was normally careful around people she didn't know, especially men. But this man didn't look like a troublemaker. And he seemed harmless. "That's all right," she replied anyway, her wariness overtaking her. "I can make it on my own."

The man shrugged. "Suit yourself. Good luck." He started walking back across the street where a yellow cab was parked at the corner. From the corner of his eye, he saw her start to walk away when one of the bags broke, scattering its contents at her feet. She muttered something unintelligible as she crouched down and attempted to pick up the fallen items.

The man hurried back in her direction. He bent down and scooped up the dropped items, placing them in her crowded arms.

"Thanks again," Clarissa repeated. "On second thought, is that offer of a cab ride still good?"

The man smiled. "For a pretty lady like yourself, I'll do you one better. I won't turn on the meter. Call it my good deed for the day." He began to take a few of her packages and bags and led the way across the street with the woman following behind him. A cunning smile appeared on his face of which the woman didn't seem to take notice.

"I can't let you do that, Mister…uh, I'm afraid I don't know your name."

"Sorry. It's Armitage. Jason Armitage." He placed his armload of packages in the trunk of his cab, and closed it after she put the rest of hers in as well. He then hurried to the passenger door and held it open, bowing in a gentlemanly manner for her to get inside and relax.

"Thank you, Mister Armitage," Clarissa smiled as the door closed behind her unknowingly sealing her fate.