Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: STATEMENT OF INNOCENCE

"Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed."

     — Genesis 9:6

——————

"Sarah Jean and Jacob Dawes butchered, what, 12 girls?"

Gideon grunts. He's in the front seat, going over the latest case file. "13, counting the girl that was just found. Hillary Dickson. Disappeared 15 years ago. Buried her under Sarah's mother's living room."

With JJ at the back, I catch a glimpse of the photograph. It is hard to tell what it is, only the vague details of a face remaining. The skin is brown and shrivelled, blending in with the dirt around it. She grimaces. "You think that was their last victim?"

"Well, that's what we're here to find out."

Morgan spares the odd glance towards the photographs but says nothing. His focus is on the road ahead. The Floridian heat radiates off the tarmac ahead. Even with the air con, I can feel the prickle of sweat forming across my brow. Wiping it off on my sleeve, I lean forwards a little. "Not every day you come across a serial killer couple," I remark.

Humming in agreement, Gideon finds another photograph. This one is of our targets, a man and a woman. One glance at them wouldn't give away their true selves — on the outside, they look like the average American couple. "Sarah Jean and Jacob Dawes," he says.

JJ raises a disapproving eyebrow. "Media called her 'the Ice Queen'."

"That's how they interpreted her demeanour during the trial."

Now Morgan glances over again, asking, "You see different?"

"No, I didn't say that."

I huff, "Well, it doesn't surprise me. Killing all those girls, not to mention her own son? Women tend to be judged a whole lot harsher than men on this. Beating the maternal stereotype ain't a popular thing to do."

He agrees but doesn't say it, only giving a wry smile. "She only confessed to the murder of her son, Riley."

"Well, she hasn't cooperated with any requests to interview her."

At JJ's words, Morgan nods a little. "If she doesn't talk now, she's going to take that story with her to Old Sparky."

My eye twitches. I calm it with a hard blink, jaw clenching. We've arrived. Florida State Penitentiary rises up on the horizon, a long box of grey. A crowd blocks the way through the front gates. Some of them are young women — blondes —, I notice as I peer through the tinted windows. They wave signs, jeering and shouting. We near them and the way parts, the gates opening for us. "They call themselves the Women of Jacob," Gideon grimly explains, "try to look like his victims."

"Creepy."

I meet JJ's gaze with a grimace. "Try sick."

More of these girls pass us by. Several wield signs: God is merciful. I catch sight of Morgan's smirk, more strained than usual. "There's only twelve of them. Should we tell them they're one short?"

"At least. I think we'll find Hillary Dickson was by no means Jacob's last victim."

—

The command centre we set up is grey, from the walls down to the furniture.  I keep my arms crossed around myself, watching as Garcia sets up her desk, several monitors lined up in front of her. We each have a file to peruse and mine is already scattered with notes.

The quiet is broken as Morgan begins to pace. We have to start working quickly if we want the answers we're looking for. After all, we only have 35 hours left before Sarah Jean and Jacob's executions. "In 1985, there was a string of missing girls reported in Northern Florida. Police subsequently got an anonymous tip from a woman claiming to have seen Jacob with some of the girls."