Chapter 6: FBI 0, God 4
Chapter 6: FBI 0, God 4
A falcon, towering in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth 2.4
Crawfish Creek
Prentiss sighed as she stepped out of the SUV and peered through the trees at a familiar sight. "I was just here."
"George Carpenter's body was dumped close by, right?" Hotch asked.
She nodded; pointed. "I think the creek curves up that way, so this site can't be seen from that one. Still really bold."
"And early," Rossi said as the rest of the team joined them. "He's escalating."
"Who called it in, Sheriff?" Hotch said.
"Jackson O'Hare. Poor guy moved his traps downstream; guess he just can't win." Dixon shrugged as the team exchanged looks. "I know what you're thinkin', but wait till you meet ol' Jack. He's 73, and he prob'ly weighs 90 pounds soakin' wet."
"Rossi, J.J., why don't you two do that now. Sheriff, a moment?"
The lawman nodded and stepped away with Hotch. "Somethin' wrong, Agent?" he asked with narrowed eyes.
"We just left Buddy Lester's, and both Agent Prentiss and I believe he can be ruled out as a suspect."
He visibly relaxed. "That's damn good news. I figured there was no way Buddy could do somethin' like this, but I had to cover all my bases."
"Understood," Hotch said. "He did mention something, though: he said that Audrey Dee had a boyfriend, and that they didn't always get along."
"Ahhh, John Davis," Dixon said as he blew out a long breath. "Yeah, that kid." He shook his head. "He was a trouble maker growin' up. Picked him up a few times on vandalism, underage drinkin', possession."
Hotch's brow furrowed. "Was a trouble maker?"
"Yep. Last time I arrested him was…'06, I think. He went down for a few months, came out a new man. Found Jesus, I guess. Now he's some sorta preacher; holds tent revivals out on Highway 9, always passin' out his damn pamphlets at Bea's Diner back in town.
"He and Audrey were together all through high school, then after it, too. She finally had enough right before that last time he went to jail. 'Bout damn time, if y'ask me."
"So they were no longer seeing each other?"
"Naw, not that I know of. You can ask his momma, though: she works down at Bea's."
His face was hard as he said, "We might want to talk to him. See if one of your deputies can pick him up."
"Sure, but he don't really fit your profile. Yeah, there's the religious stuff, and he's pretty close to the right age, but he still lives with his momma out in the Hollow. And houses out there's packed cheek-to-jowl. I don't know where he'd be takin' the victims."
"What about the tent revivals?"
Dixon considered. "Yeah, they're pretty far out, but y'all said he'd need a permanent place, right? Somewhere he'd have all his torture stuff set up?" At Hotch's nod, he continued, "He has those revivals every Wednesday and Saturday, and the location's different every week. Nothin' permanent about it."
"Glad to see you were paying attention, Sheriff. Let's pick him up anyway; even if he's not our UNSUB, he might have some information for us. It's possible the UNSUB has been to Davis' revivals."
"You got it, chief. You ready to go see the body now?"
"Lead on," Hotch said.
The Sheriff escorted the four agents down to the water. "Her name's Leslie James," he told them. "She worked at Bea's Diner in town." He caught Hotch's look and shook his head. "It ain't as much a connection as it seems: I think every girl in this damn town's worked at Bea's one time or 'nother. Mosta the boys, too."
"Had she been reported missing?" Morgan asked. He wondered about Hotch's conversation with Dixon, and what connection the Sheriff was referring to, but he knew Hotch would explain it all later.
"Nope. But her momma said she took off to Jackson every few weeks to see her boyfriend. She figured that's where Leslie had got to. Last anyone saw her was at Bea's, three days ago. That ain't our boy's usual schedule, I know, but we got no doubt it was him."
When they finally laid eyes on the body, they all agreed with the Sheriff's opinion. "God," Prentiss said, "what did he do to her?"
Homer Earnst looked up at the agents, somehow managing to peer over his glasses at them despite his crouched position. "I won't know for sure until I get her back, but…"
He trailed off as though unable to continue, and Reid knelt alongside him to examine the corpse. "It looks like she was hanged," he said. "The patterns are similar to those on Audrey Dee's neck. Not really surprising; most people don't realize that far more accused witches were hanged than burned. The UNSUB has obviously done his homework."
Earnst bobbed his head impatiently throughout Reid's little speech. "That's the easy part. When I went to flip the body, though…well, I've never seen anything like it."
Reid lifted an arm and let it drop.
Prentiss, normally so thick-skinned, shuddered and turned away.
"She's been racked," he said.
The ME cleared his throat. "I'm apparently not as familiar with methods of torture as you are, sir."
Reid rose and began stripping off his gloves. "The rack was one of the most widely-used torture devices in medieval and Renaissance Europe. It was popular with both civil courts and the Inquisition, and because it could be applied gradually, it was considered ideal for questioning reluctant suspects."
"Yeah, Reid, but what's it do?" Morgan demanded.
He tucked a wayward lock of hair behind his ear and ducked his head. "A suspect would be tied onto it at the wrists and ankles." He indicated the corresponding ligature marks on Leslie's body. "The ropes were gradually tightened, pulling at the joints until they were dislocated or, sometimes, the limbs were ripped off completely."
"It seems Miss James was lucky, then," Earnst said. "At least her limbs are still attached." The weariness in his tone showed just what Earnst thought of Miss James' particular brand of luck.
"Yes," Reid agreed, "but she still…" He frowned; fidgeted. "At a certain point the muscle fiber is stretched beyond its ability to rebound." His eyes darted from Morgan to Hotch to Earnst and back to the sad, pathetic body at their feet. Prentiss still faced the other way. He swallowed. "That…takes a while."
Hotch shifted restlessly; the muscle in Morgan's jaw danced.
"Morgan, Reid, stay here and look for any possible communication from our UNSUB. Prentiss, you're with me," he said shortly. His voice was strained, but only someone who knew him well would hear it, and Prentiss wasted no time in following his long-legged strides across the marshy terrain.
The parking lot was packed, and Hotch had to circle several times to find a place. At last the big black SUV came to a stop in front of the small, homey-looking restaurant, and he cut the ignition. Bea's Diner, the sign proclaimed, Earthshine's first stop for home cookin' since 1954. Y'all come sit a spell!
The two agents regarded the sign with mixed reactions - Prentiss with a sort of wary amusement, Hotch with something like nostalgic familiarity. Prentiss' stomach rumbled as she opened the car door and the scent of "home cookin'" hit her. "Maybe we could eat while we're here," she remarked.
He glanced at her with the hint of a smile lightening his dark eyes. "We should get take out for everyone, bring it back to the station. Reid won't eat if we don't remind him."
"This case doesn't exactly encourage a healthy appetite." She pulled her leg back into the car; closed the door. "Listen, Hotch, I wanted to apologize for my behavior back at the dump site."
The humor in his expression changed to grave regard. "You're human, Prentiss. Don't apologize for that."
"I don't know why it affected me like that. She just looked so…broken."
He let out a slow breath. "If Reid's right, she was broken. Literally." He hesitated; cleared his throat. "The Sheriff said John Davis' mother works here. If the parking lot is any indication, this place is popular; our UNSUB could be a regular."
"Probably is. He'd want to go where he could watch people." She opened her door again, and Hotch took it as his cue. The two agents climbed out of the car and hurried through the heat toward the restaurant; a bell tinkled as Hotch opened the door, and Prentiss preceded him inside. If the smell had made her hungry before, now it practically made her mouth water; a glance at Hotch told her he was having a similar reaction.
A short, round woman with a bouffant of impossibly red hair glanced up from the register. "With y'all in a sec!" she called. A moment later she was looking again - a classic double take - and a grin split her soft face. "Well I'll be! Y'all must be the FBI. Come on in. Counter or booth?"
The place was packed, and Hotch wondered if she were planning to physically drag seated customers away from one of the booths that lined the wall. A lone stool remained unoccupied at the counter, and he gestured Prentiss toward it. "We're not eating, ma'am," he said. "We just have a few questions."
She chuckled. "Listen, handsome, I been doin' this a long time. I know hungry people when I see 'em. Y'all want some coffee? Pie? Homemade every day!"
Prentiss gave Hotch an imploring look, and he relented. "Pie, sure. We also might be making some take out orders before we leave."
"Alright! Sit your skinny butt right down, baby," she told Prentiss. "You look like a lemon meringue girl. And you, honey: nothin' but apple'd do for you!" she said to Hotch. She hurried off before they could reply; shooed a man down the counter to free a stool for Hotch as she went.
The two agents exchanged amused looks. "It's like another world. I don't think even you could've changed her mind," she said.
"I feel it's wiser to pick my battles, Prentiss," he remarked blandly.
The woman was back a moment later with coffee and pie, and the agents thanked her. She watched in indulgent approval as Prentiss wasted no time before digging in. Hotch took a bite; nodded. "Good pie."
"I told you, honey. Bea's pie's the best in town."
"Are you Bea?" Prentiss asked after hastily swallowing.
"I'm Little Bea. Big Bea's my momma, and the Bea on the sign. She don't get around like she used to, but she still makes the pie every mornin' at 4am. Stubborn as an ol' mule," she said with warm, slightly exasperated affection.
"Miss, um, Bea," Hotch said, realizing he didn't know her last name, "we were wondering what you could tell us about Leslie James."
"Just call me Bea, honey," she said; reached across the counter to pat Hotch's cheek in a motherly way. Prentiss nearly choked on her pie. "Leslie didn't get mixed up with that killer, did she?" Bea asked.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't answer that."
"Oh, well, no, I guess not. It wouldn't do a bit for her momma and daddy to find out somethin' like that through the town gossip mill, now would it?" She leaned across the counter and lowered her voice. "Leslie worked here steady for about two years. She used to pick up shifts after school in high school, then we hired her on full time after she graduated. She was a good girl; hardly ever missed work, worked real hard when she was here. What I wouldn't do for six more just like her."
"Were there any customers who seemed to come in just to see her, especially lately? A man who specifically asked for her section, or only came in when she was working?" Prentiss asked.
"Oh, baby, all the boys liked Leslie. She was real pretty, and she was always so sweet to her customers. I can't remember anyone in particular, though, 'cept maybe some of the ol' timers who thought a young girl like that was flirtin' with 'em. You know what that's like, pretty thing like you."
Prentiss colored, and Hotch sipped coffee to hide his smile. "Had any customers been difficult with her lately? Overly demanding or impossible to please?"
"No, like I said, everybody liked Leslie." She hesitated, and Hotch's eyes sharpened.
"Bea? What is it?"
She frowned; patted her lacquered hair. "Well, I don't know if it's anything, but…" She looked around; leaned closer still. "That Johnny Davis was in here a few days ago. He was in Leslie's section. I saw him talkin' to her, and she looked a might upset. When she got back over here she asked Jenny Williams to take the table."
"Any idea why?"
The woman shrugged. "He was probably tryin' to get her to come to one of his revivals. He would do that sometimes, corner the younger, single girls and preach at 'em. He said he was tryin' to save 'em from a life of sin." She snorted. "I'm good friends with Johnny's momma, so I don't like to speak ill, but that boy couldn't save a hoppy toad, much less a pretty girl."
"Could we speak to Ms. Williams?" Hotch asked.
"She'll be in for the supper shift. Gimme your number, handsome, and I'll give y'a call when she gets in." She winked, and Prentiss was glad she didn't have any more pie to choke on.
Hotch handed over a card. "That's very kind of you, ma'am. We'll also need to speak to Ms. Davis as soon as possible."
"You got it, honey." Someone from down the counter called her name. "Let me leave y'all some menus; holler when you're ready to make those to go orders." She tucked Hotch's card into her blouse and bustled away.
Prentiss cleared her throat.
"Sheriff Dixon is sure John Davis doesn't fit our profile, but we need to talk to him anyway," Hotch hurried to say before she could start. "He has a history of arrests, and he could have a possible connection to the UNSUB."
"Right," Prentiss said, both her tone and her expression completely blank as she studied the menu. "Do you think Reid would be more likely to eat country style steak or fried chicken?"
"Neither. Better just get him a cheeseburger."
"Sure thing, honey. Let me just 'holler' at your new girlfriend."
Hotch's glare didn't have any heat in it, and Prentiss could no longer hold back her laughter. After a moment his mouth twitched; he dropped his head. His shoulders shook, and people in the diner began to stare as the two fancy FBI agents sat at Bea's counter and laughed like idiots.