Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: DOES IT MAKE A SOUND?

"Nothing is more wretched than the mind of a man conscious of guilt."

     — Plautus.

—

Back at the house, we begin our search. A few hours pass and light slowly creeps in through the yellowed curtains. I stay with Morgan and Reid in the living room, searching the bookcases. Lounged on the sofa with a book in his lap, Reid leans his head back to look at us. "Here's a question: if a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound if there's nobody there to hear it?"

I scoff, "Does everything have to be perceived to exist?"

He shrugs, his bottom lip pushing out a little as he thinks. "Not necessarily, but how is anything proven without being perceived in some form?"

Morgan pauses and looks between us in complete bafflement. "Okay, I have no idea what you're on about. What the hell are you reading over there?"

"I was just thinking."

Sighing, he comes to sit on the armchair. It sags a little, its rusty springs squeaking. "The UnSub found Finnegan's corpse in a lightly-travelled part of the woods and no one else knew. So he was able to use this house and no one was the wiser."

Reid meets his gaze, still a little distant in his thoughts. "Actually, I was referring to Finnegan's wife."

We share a confused look. "What're you talking about?"

"She was rumoured missing, perhaps killed almost 50 years ago, when in actuality, she left Finnegan for another man. He writes about it in these journals." Catching sight of the volume in his lap, I come over, plopping down beside him to read over his shoulder. He continues, "How he would look out the window on a daily basis to see if she would come home. She never did. He never recovered. He ended up turning into a recluse that people in town misunderstood."

I can't help but feel a little bad for him. "Jones said he was rumoured to watch the children from his window. Everyone thought he was just some monster on the hill."

Gideon appears in the doorway behind us. "Found something. Come here." Exchanging looks, we get up and follow him into the kitchen. Various boxes and pots are laid out on the table, open and empty. "Provisions delivered by the church to every elder's doorstep. Each one dated after Finnegan died."

Coming over, Morgan prods at a container with his gloved hand. "So the UnSub ate everything?"

"Almost everything. Unopened bowls of creamed spinach thrown into the trash, each one wrapped with duct tape."

Reid pulls up the lid, peering at it. "One with each tray."

"So we're looking for a guy who really, really hates spinach?"

"Who doesn't?"

I grin briefly at Reid. "Finally, someone who agrees."

"Ritualised. Meticulous. Organised," Gideon lists off.

Our interactions ends quickly and we look to him, considering them. "He would eat with the same particulars."

"Pull prints. Have Garcia run them for a match." His phone starts to ring. He pulls it out, simply saying, "Hotch."

Reid watches him retreat from the room. "It's about Elle, isn't it?"

I make myself busy looking around the rest of the kitchen. Snapping his phone shut, Morgan shrugs. "I don't know."

"You know, I talked to her in Ohio."

"Reid, we all talked to her."

Hands wringing together, he insists, "No, I talked to her... before. I went to her room one night and she was drinking."