Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN: BACK TO THE BEGINNING

"Rock bottom is the end of what wasn't true enough. Begin again and build something truer."

    — Glennon Doyle.

—

A month. After everything that happened, after I got out of the hospital and bullshitted why way through a psych evaluation, the Bureau still made me take sick leave for a month. Now, it's my first case back with the team and I can feel everyone watching me. The last half-hour on the jet is always the quietest, but this time it's different. Everyone is watching me. They think they're subtle, stealing glances, but I see.

It's a relief when we finally land just outside of Flagstaff, Arizona. The lead detective waits for us when we get out, greeting JJ with a handshake. "Jim Griffith."

"Hi, Jennifer Jareau. Thanks for meeting us here."

"Thanks for taking this on so quickly."

She shrugs, fixing her hair despite the persistence of the wind. "The faster we get here, the faster we can help stave off the panic."

"I hear that."

Finally leaving my side — even though he has barely spoken a word to me all evening — Reid jogs to catch up with them. "What can you tell us about the university?"

"It's small, tight-knit. Dorms are single-sex. It draws from all over the country, but students are mostly the arty type."

"Have you increased uniform presence on campus?" Morgan asks.

"Yeah. Doubled it."

Prentiss next, "Any other measures?"

"I've got security shuttles running 24/7 and, as of tonight, I've imposed a 10 o'clock curfew."

Hotch nods firmly in approval. "We need a corner of you percent so we can set up shop."

"Got it. You need to get to the hotel first?"

I don't know about the others, but I'm too revved up to sleep. It's probably got something to do with the nicotine gum I chew on as we walk. Before any of us can answer, Gideon cuts in, "No. Spree killings in a confined area are a race. He's racing to kill as many as he can, we're racing to stop him."

——————

We get the call while we're still on the road. The cops are there just as we arrive, the campus street already cordoned off. "I've got men at every exit point on campus," Griffith informs us as we enter the scene.

Ducking under the tape, I approach the body. Amy Deckerman lies on the road as if sleeping, hands clasped over her heart. Blood stains her hands and streaks over her chest. A little canister lies on the ground beside her. JJ frowns and leans down to get a better look. "She had her Mace out, but she didn't use it?"

I nod grimly, glancing around at the street. "This place is well-lit. This guy has no issue being seen," I say.

Morgan turns on Griffith. "How often do the shuttles run?"

"Every 10 minutes."

"Were all the other victims posed like this, with their arms crossed?" JJ inquires, crouching beside the body.

He frowns a little. "Yeah. Why?"

"It's a classic sign of remorse," Morgan explains. "The UnSub kills the victim then immediately feels bad about it, so he poses them like this so they'll rest in peace."

"You can tell that just by the arms?"

"It's why you called us here. To build a psychological profile of your killer."