Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO: WORDS DON'T MEAN A THING

"Our family became a place where you screamed for help but no one heard, not ever."

     — Marceline Loridan-Ivens.

—

Ervin's foster home lies at the edge of the suburbs, a rather large house separate from the rest. From the looks of it, it was once a farm. Its walls are plain white, the furniture carefully placed. Nothing is askew and not a child is in sight. The woman who greets us is rather severe, with a modest dress and cardigan, a cross hanging around her neck. The symbol is also present in cross-stitch tapestries and quotes on the wall. The sight of the place alone gives me a bad feeling, but she worsens it.

"My God, Ervin?" she gasps, stood with Hotch and I as she prepares a mixer full of bread dough. "I mean, he had behaviour problems, they all do, but nothing we couldn't handle."

"And he hasn't been acting alone, Mrs Manwaring, he's got a partner," he informs her.

"Perhaps someone else who grew up in your care."

The conversation pauses as a young boy enters the kitchen. He is noticeably thin, with tawny skin and a mop of dark brown curls. Ignoring us, he heads straight to the fridge. Mrs Manwaring's tone shifts to something a little sharper as she spots him. "Tyler, the adults are talking here."

He turns, eyes flicking to each of us in turn. I offer him a friendly smile. "I just want some milk. Can you open the fridge?" he asks. My jaw clenches the second I spot the lock on the fridge door, and the key hanging around her neck.

"You know the rules." Another glance towards us, a sigh, and he trudges out of sight. She rolls her eyes. "They'll eat you out of house and home if you let them."

It takes all my willpower to hold my tongue, but I do keep a mental note of the lock on the fridge. I'll need to have a word with whoever works these kids' cases. "Mrs Manwaring, do you remember if Ervin had any friends while he was in your care? Maybe an older or more confident boy?"

"Someone he would have looked up to, somebody who protected him?"

Her lips purse sourly. "Gary." With a scowl, she leads us through to the dining room, where a long table has been set. A little girl sits at the far end, miserably slogging through her math homework. She sets her deep brown eyes on me, then hangs her head again, dark hair curtaining her face from view. I direct my attention towards the dresser covered in photo frames, one of which contains the Manwarings and five children including Tyler and the girl at the table — the family resemblance striking once beside each other. The woman picks up another photo, one of a boy with blond hair and a dour expression. "We tried with him, but he tested us."

Eyeing the picture curiously, Hotch inquires, "Have you kept in touch with him?"

"Oh, God, no. Gary left the day he turned 18, never looked back. Ervin was a mess when he got here. He'd been separated from a younger sister."

My mind immediately goes back to what Carrie told us, about how he'd spared her. "They ever tell you where she went?"

"No. Siblings get separated all the time, but they find new ones here."

"Like Ervin found Gary."

Still thinking, I ask, "What was the sister's name?"

"Oh, let me think. He used to call her name out in the middle of the night, wake the whole house up. Hal, what was that girl's name?" The man watching TV in the next room just grunts in response. She smiles falsely back at us. "Rosie, I think."

"Lucy?" I suggest, recalling Carrie's story.

"Yes, Lucy. Lucy. That was it."

Hearing his cellphone ring, Hotch is quick to answer it. "Hotchner. Yeah, just leaving." He hangs up just as quickly. "Ervin returned the call. He's on his way to work."