Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: MANY PATHS

"It is better to have less thunder in the mouth, and more lightning in the hand."

     — Apache proverb.

—

Ray Minton is a cold man. Charming in some respects, but the way he looks at us puts me on edge. I sit in the corner of the Sheriff's office, Morgan at my side with his chair turned backwards. The rest of the team listen outside. We make it seem friendly, just a few agents wanting a chat with an upstanding citizen such as himself. I see the way his eyes dart over to us, especially Morgan. There's a look in them that makes my fists clench. The sun has started to set, the blinds casting long shadows over us like prison bars. They shadow Minton's face eerily. Leant against the desk, Hotch looks sternly down at him. "Mr Minton, any idea who might be behind these killings?"

His tone — like the way he sits — is casual and laid-back. Somewhat matter-of-fact, but in a way that communicates his arrogance. "The Indians have a history of violent behaviour, especially the Apaches. Did you know that they used to kill white settlers, decapitate the bodies, put their victim's heads on wooden pikes outside their houses?"

I get the urge to remind of certain violences committed against them but bite my tongue. Hard. Although we are going in on the offensive, we need to take it slow. Instead, I remain silent, deferring to Hotch. He crosses his arms, though his voice remains steady. "That was a long time ago. You still seem pretty upset about it."

"That was the other night," he retorts coldly. "My family has been dealing with the Apache for 150 years."

"'Dealing' with them... how, exactly?"

His focus shifts to me, jaw clenching. I don't bat an eye. "What are you suggesting, Miss?"

"Agent," I correct, giving a sickly-sweet smile, eyes narrowing slightly.

"You know," Morgan continues, "your rhetoric sounds just hateful enough to justify violence."

"We don't need to stoop to their level. We're fighting the Indians in court."

He arches a brow. "Is that right? Then why all the guns, Roy? Our records show that your 200 members carry over 450 firearms."

"We're simply exercising our constitutional right under the Second Amendment." Already, he can see that we don't buy it. He tries, as though truly believing we'll support him if we just understand where he's coming from. "We have the right to defend ourselves."

Morgan chuckles but his smile fades quickly. "450 guns, Roy. I don't think so. That's not self-defence. That's plain paranoid."

"Not anymore," he fires back.

—

I'm glad to see the back of him. The second he's out of the station, we reconvene in the bullpen to confer. "If Minton's as fanatical as he pretends to be, he wouldn't file lawsuits," Morgan says.

Pacing through, Elle quickly adds, "Or organise labour unions."

Hotch nods along. "The Indians are keeping Minton and the members of the ADU from making a lot of money on the development and construction of the Apache land."

As he turns back from the board of gruesome photos, I catch sight of Gideon's smirk. He's laughing, though I'm not sure what for, a toothpick poking out the corner of his mouth. "I agree. He's using racist ideology to cover simple greed. Sheriff, I'd like you to put Minton under surveillance."

He looks to him, almost appearing nervous. "You think he's guilty?"

Hotch tilts his head slightly in a show of amusement. "Not likely, but we've just given Minton reason to believe that some faction of the ADU may have taken matters into their own hands, and Minton may lead us to them."