Chapter 7: Interview with a Preacher Man
Chapter 7: Interview with a Preacher Man
Wherefore could I not pronounce 'Amen'?
I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen'
Stuck in my throat.
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth 2.2
Chakchiuma County Sheriff's Office
"Deputy picked him up out on 9, settin' up for one of his revivals," Dixon said as he, Hotch, and Rossi studied John Davis through the one-way glass.
He was a small man, maybe 5'5", and thin. He had mousy brown hair and eyes that burned. Hotch largely agreed with Dixon's opinion of Davis' guilt, but he also felt like the ex-con-turned-preacher had something to offer. They just had to figure out what.
"Bea told us he had an encounter with Leslie James not long before she disappeared. She also said he had a history of harassing the younger waitresses about coming to his revivals."
Dixon rubbed his forehead. "I wouldn't say harassing, really. He just got fired up sometimes."
"You seem pretty keen to defend him, Sheriff," Rossi said.
He shifted; watched Davis through the window. "It ain't like you're meanin'," he finally said. "Johnny Davis's given me plenty of headaches down the years, but he's still a local boy. I just can't believe someone I watched grow up could do somethin' like this."
"I'm sorry, Sheriff," Hotch said, "but you're going to have to get past that. Someone you know did do this. Any strangers in town would be noticed immediately; no one has seen someone new, so the UNSUB has to be local."
"I know it," he said with a heavy nod. "I don't like it, but I get it."
There was a knock on the door and one of the deputies poked her head in. "Sheriff, this just came for you. I thought you'd wanna see it right away." She handed over a thin folder and slipped out again.
Dixon flipped through it in consternation before passing it along to Hotch. He studied the sheets inside, brow furrowing, and then handed it to Rossi.
The older agent let out a sigh. "Well, I guess that's that."
Prentiss and J.J. sat together in the Sheriff department's break room sipping coffee and finishing the last few bites of the food from Bea's. J.J. groaned and dropped her fork in defeat. "I'm stuffed. That was amazing."
"You should try the pie. If this case drags on, I'll have to find a gym pretty soon," Prentiss told her.
"When I was pregnant with Henry I couldn't stop eating blueberry pie. Now I can barely look at it. Did they have cherry?"
Prentiss grinned. "I think so. The owner is some sort of pie whisperer; she'll match you to your perfect piece of pie. We might have a hard time getting Hotch back in there, though." She told J.J. about their experience in the diner, and the two women were nearly crying with laughter when the door opened.
"You see how it is, kid? We're out there sweatin' our asses off in the swamp, and these two are here havin' lunch and laughin'," Morgan said to Reid.
"More like early dinner. We brought you some," Prentiss told him. She passed him the bag, and he sniffed appreciatively.
Reid and Morgan joined their fellow agents at the table, and for a moment the only sounds were the shuffling of papers, the crinkling of plastic bags, and the squeaking of Styrofoam packages. J.J. and Prentiss watched them eat, and after several satisfying mouthfuls, Morgan put down his fork and raised his brows.
"You and Hotch find anything besides food at the diner?"
"Hotch and Rossi are about to interview John Davis. We learned some interesting things about him." She filled them in, and Reid hastily swallowed a bite of cheeseburger.
"He harassed women often? About his revivals?" he said.
Prentiss nodded. "Apparently. But one of our victims was male, and Davis' usual targets were young women."
"We found something at the dump site," Morgan said. He fished a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. "Looks like our boy's keepin' score."
"FBI 0, God 4. I guess that sums it up. No quotes, though?"
"We didn't find any," Reid said. "But this means he knows we're here, though that's hardly surprising considering the size of the town."
"Bea pegged us as FBI the second we walked in the door," Prentiss told him.
J.J. was studying the paper with a frown between her delicate brows. "Do you think this is a challenge?" she asked. "Like he's taunting us for not catching him?"
"Not exactly," Morgan said. "A guy like this doesn't want to be caught. I worry, though, that us being here will accelerate his timeline."
"It already has," Reid said. "He only kept Leslie James three days."
Prentiss nodded. "And he might abduct the next victim sooner, too. He'll want to…" she paused; considered, "cleanse the town of as many witches as possible before he's caught."
"So at this point he's sure we're going to catch him?" J.J. asked.
"He probably won't let us take him alive," Reid said. "Suicide by cop is the most likely scenario."
A grim silence fell, and the opening of the door finally broke it. "Prentiss," Hotch said, "I want you in on the Davis interrogation. Given his history with women, you might be able to get something out of him."
"Rossi's in there now," Hotch explained. "I stepped out to get you, and seemingly to get this." He passed Prentiss the folder they'd received from the deputy earlier. "He's not saying much, except to deny he's the UNSUB."
Prentiss read the pages with a brief lift of her brows. "The UNSUB wouldn't be able to admit his guilt fast enough. This is his life's work."
"Exactly," Hotch said. He opened the door to the interview room and gestured Rossi out. "Agent Rossi, Agent Prentiss and I will take over from here."
"You got it," Rossi said. "This piece of shit is a waste of my time."
Hotch and Prentiss stepped into the room, and she slid a sheet of paper from the manila folder across the table toward Davis before sitting. "Mr. Davis, I'm Agent Prentiss. Do you understand why you're here?"
"Y'all think I killed them people, Audrey and everybody. I kept tellin' that other guy I don't know nothin'. I'll tell you the same damn thing."
Prentiss flashed a brief, thin smile. "I'd like you to read the paper before you, Mr. Davis. Explain it to me, please."
He stared down at the sheet; a frown began to contort his features. "It's a property deed. So what?"
"It's a deed to your property, Mr. Davis; the one you own outside of town, near Crawfish Creek. Do you know what this tells us?"
He shrugged, feigning indifference. "I own some land. Big deal." He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His leg jiggered up and down.
She leaned forward; folded her hands on the table. "Agent Hotchner," she said without taking her eyes off Davis, "please explain Mr. Davis' situation to him. I don't think he understands the trouble he's in."
"Agent Prentiss is right, Mr. Davis," Hotch said smoothly. "We understand that you live with your mother; that would make us think you're not our killer. But this land changes everything. An isolated piece of property like this gives you the room you would need to kill these people."
That seemed to get his attention. He rubbed his palms against his thighs; shifted in his seat. "Look, y'all got the wrong guy. I wasn't even in town when Audrey got took. I was gone the whole week."
Prentiss glanced at Hotch. "That doesn't necessarily excuse you, Mr. Davis," she said.
He licked his lips. "I can get witnesses. Lots of 'em. I was leading a retreat the whole week. You can ask anybody!"
She let him sweat for a few minutes more. His panicked gaze darted back and forth between the two agents, and just as he began to look really desperate, she relented. "We know you're not our guy, Mr. Davis." She slid the other page from the folder across the table. It was information about the retreat, including a list of attendees.
"What…? You had this the whole fuckin' time? What the fuck, man?" he whined with an imploring look at Hotch.
"We believe you have valuable information for us, Mr. Davis. We want to talk about your revivals."
He blinked. "I don't know nothin' about this psycho. I'm a man of God, and I ain't got nothin' to hide."
It was a decided change of tone from his former nonchalance-turned-wheedling, and both agents saw then what a good manipulator this man had the potential to be. Prentiss cleared her throat. "We're interested in your…congregation." It wasn't quite the right word, but it would have to do. "We believe that the suspect may have attended a revival, but not recently. It's more likely that someone like his mother or grandmother would have gone regularly, and dragged him along with her. We believe she probably died not long before the murders began."
"I'm sorry, but I can't really keep track of the people who come and go at my services. We ain't like a formal church."
"We understand that, Mr. Davis," Hotch said. "Think hard. This is important. She would have been particularly fervent and a regular attendee."
"Shit, man, I don't know. We got lotsa little old ladies."
"Think, Mr. Davis," Prentiss urged.
He let out a frustrated sigh, but then his face cleared. "You said she passed pretty recent?"
"Yes, probably within the last six months."
"I was just thinkin'…there was Miz Thomas, passed right around Christmas. She came every single week, singin' and witnessin'. She was full of the Holy Spirit, Lord rest her." He scratched his head. "She had a kid. He came with her once, but…"
"A kid? A child?" Prentiss pressed him.
"Naw, he was probably a little older'n me. Thirties, I guess."
"Do you know his name? Or Ms. Thomas' first name?"
"She was Adelaide Thomas. I don't think I ever caught his name. They lived pretty far out of town; he didn't go to the town school or nothin'. They did that home school thing."
Hotch and Prentiss exchanged another glance, and Prentiss swept the pages back into the manila folder. "Thank you, Mr. Davis. You've been very helpful."
"That's it? I can just go?"
"We might have further questions for you at some point, so don't go far. But, yes, you're free to leave," Hotch explained.
Ignoring the man's gaping expression, the two agents hurried from the room to collect the rest of their team. They had to find Adelaide Thomas' son, and they had to find him soon.