Chapter 9: Dark Night, Mad Morning
Chapter 9: Dark Night, Mad Morning
Or have we eaten the insane root
That takes the reason prisoner?
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth 1.3
Chakchiuma County Sheriff's Office
The team was still shaken as they filed into the Sheriff's Office, Hotch leading the way. When Dixon suddenly appeared from around the corner, the Unit Chief nearly collided with him. Prentiss had to stop short to avoid running into Hotch's pin-striped back, and Morgan juggled the food like an acrobat. Prentiss craned her neck around Hotch's shoulder, and the expression on Dixon's face made her blood run cold.
"We got another missing," he said shortly.
"So soon?" Prentiss said. "He just dumped Leslie James yesterday!"
"It might not be our guy, but it's pretty suspicious."
"Who reported her missing?" Hotch said.
"He. Another male." Dixon jerked his thumb over his shoulder at a white-faced deputy they could see through Dixon's office window. It was the same one Morgan and Prentiss had talked to at George Carpenter's dump site. "Deputy Cox called it in."
The Sheriff led them into his office, and as they approached the deputy he said over his shoulder, "It's Buddy Williams. Tell 'em, Cox."
The deputy nodded; swallowed. "Sheriff sent me down to relieve Tucker; he was posted to look out for Buddy, like y'all said. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I waited a bit, knocked some more, but still nothin'. I checked the window, and I saw…a table and a chair were pushed over, and there was somethin' spilled all over the floor."
Hotch rubbed his forehead. "Did you go inside?"
"Yep. Door was unlocked. I checked everywhere, called for Buddy: nothin'." He swallowed again, and his face went even paler. "I found Tuck's body in the kitchen. There were more signs of a struggle deeper in the house, and the back door was hangin' open. I can't remember a time my whole life when Buddy left that house, and it looks like he didn't go willingly now."
"If I were hunting witches, I'd choose the weird loner guy who never leaves home," Morgan said.
"Deputy Tucker must've seen something suspicious, went in to check it out. Looks like he was shot with his own weapon," Dixon said. "I gotta go tell his wife." He shook his head. "Poor Buddy. That boy don't deserve what this sicko's dishin' out."
"This guy's got balls," Prentiss remarked. The Sheriff looked mildly surprised at her language. "He dumped Leslie James right on top of half the sheriff department, and then he abducted a man we'd just spoken to. He killed a cop, and he did it all practically in the middle of town."
"He might have been watching the house while we were interviewing Buddy," Hotch said. He frowned. "Did the blackout affect the entire town?"
"Yep," Dixon said with a nod. His face cleared, then sagged once more. "I guess that's why Tuck went in, to check on Buddy durin' the blackout. Our boy was waitin' for him."
"Could be. It fits the methodical nature of the crimes so far," Reid said.
"I've got a crime scene unit down there. With a scene this fresh, we might get somethin'."
"We can hope, but I'm sure the UNSUB took the same forensic countermeasures he's used all along," Rossi said.
"Maybe not," Morgan said. "He's rushing now, escalating. That's when these guys screw up."
"Do you have the information on Adelaide Thomas' son, Sheriff?"
"Yeah, shit. All this made me clean forget." He fished around on his desk a moment before retrieving the file. "Name's Jonah Thomas," he said as he flipped it open. "Told you it was from the Bible. Age 30, inherited a nice chunk of land when his momma died. He's lived in Earthshine his whole life, except when he went off to college for a few years. He didn't graduate; came home early for some reason."
"Does he have a record?" Hotch asked.
"Some petty stuff; vandalism, a few parkin' tickets."
"What did he vandalize?" Prentiss asked.
Dixon grunted. "A church. Knocked over the altar and spray painted 'den of thieves' across one of the windows."
"'Den of thieves,'" Hotch said. "From Matthew; Jesus in Herod's temple. How old was he when this happened?"
"Twenty-five," Dixon said with a brief glance at the file.
"I think it's safe to say Jonah Thomas' issues with religion aren't new," Rossi remarked.
Hotch stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his face a mask of concentration. "Sheriff, do you think we have enough to get a warrant?"
He debated. "I know a judge who'll probably grant one. Lemme make a call."
Hotch nodded and gestured for the team to follow him to the break room. J.J. immediately began adding the new information to the white board, including anything they knew about Buddy Lester. Reid was booting up the computer to make the video uplink with Garcia. Prentiss and Rossi studied files while Hotch brooded and Morgan tried to get down a few bites of breakfast.
"Mornin', Mouseketeers! How's the Deep South treatin' y'all today?" the tech analyst said with an exaggerated Southern drawl. Even Hotch's mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile.
"Hey, momma," Morgan said. "Best part's the food, but overall I'm thinkin' that famous Southern hospitality is a little overrated."
"Up until this morning, everyone's been very nice," Prentiss said without looking up from the report in front of her.
"What happened this morning?" Garcia asked. They filled her in, and she frowned. "A soybean blight? I can look that up, easy peasy. Hail storm, too."
"See if you can find the cause of last night's blackout," Hotch told her.
She nodded and the sound of rapid-fire typing carried over the video feed. "Hey, so, what do you think set everyone off like that? Sounds like they were acting hysterical," she commented.
"Just a typical mob mentality," Rossi said. "It's a small town, very little crime, and now something like this happens: people are scared."
"Yeah, but, these are farmers and stuff. They know blights and hail storms happen. I can't believe they'd suddenly just agree with a freak like this guy."
"Maybe they've been drinking the Kool Aid," Prentiss said.
"Flavor Aid," Reid remarked distractedly. At Prentiss' look, he said, "I assume you're referring to Jonestown. It's a common misconception perpetuated by popular culture that Jim Jones forced his congregation to drink cyanide-laced Kool Aid. It was actually Flavor Aid. Similar, but not the same."
The team stared at him for a few unblinking seconds. He stared back, oblivious as always to their incredulity.
"What about that fungus stuff?" Garcia said, breaking the moment. "You know, it grows on wheat and whatever, then you eat bread made with it and go nuts. Isn't that what happened in Salem?"
"Ergot. It grows mostly on rye, less commonly on other grasses." Reid paused, considering. "In 1976 Linnda Caporael proposed ergot poisoning as the cause of the Salem witch hysteria, but the theory has since been discredited due to lack of evidence."
"But could it be a factor here?" Hotch asked.
"I don't think so. There are physical symptoms of ergotism that we aren't seeing." He spared a moment to consult his mental database; called up everything he knew about ergotism; began the recitation. "The disease was named Saint Anthony's Fire in the Middle Ages because it causes vasoconstriction of blood vessels, creating a burning sensation in the extremities, and then followed sometimes by gangrene and even loss of limbs. It also causes seizures, nausea, and uterine contractions to the point that ergot has been used since the Middle Ages to induce abortions. The fungus can affect cattle and other grain-fed animals, inducing a condition known as 'paspalum staggers.' Any vet or doctor would recognize the signs after a few patients reported symptoms, and they would get the CDC involved."
"You could've stopped at I don't think so: we would've taken your word for it," Morgan said.
Reid looked mildly insulted. "I like to be thorough."
Hotch raised a quelling brow. "Garcia, contact the CDC. I want to know if there's ever been an outbreak of ergotism in the area, or even if any isolated cases have been reported recently. It's worth a look, though I tend to agree with Reid's thorough assessment."
"I didn't even get into the modern medical applications," Reid grumbled under his breath, "or the historical uses as a hallucinogen."
The Unit Chief cleared his throat. "Morgan, why don't you and Reid head to the scene? I'll call you if we learn anything new."
Morgan grinned and pulled Reid from the chair by his collar. "You heard the man, kid; let's beat it."
"Morgan, don't you think I'm a little old to be called kid? I mean, maybe it was funny at first, but now…" The sound of Reid's protestations trailed away as the two agents hurried through the station.
The team watched them go with varying expressions of amusement, and once they were out of sight Hotch turned back to the computer. "Find me everything you can about Jonah Thomas, Garcia. There's a good chance he could be our UNSUB."