Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER ELEVEN: POISON

"What is food to one, is to others bitter poison."

     — Lucretius

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"State trooper took this before the paramedics showed up. He's unconscious. Has four broken bones. He's going to be in the hospital for a month."

I study the image of a young boy. His body lies in the woods, bruised and stained in his own blood — alive, by some miracle. The video of his father's interrogation plays in the background. A sharp thud marks the slamming of Jack Fisher's hands against the table. "I didn't hurt my son!"

My eyes narrow. He is a small man, harmless to anyone who doesn't know better. His blonde hair is messy, his glasses askew. The navy dressing gown he wears identifies his location easily, a rehab facility rather than a prison. His interrogator has his back to us but I watch the footage of him in interest. "Do you remember removing the tyre iron from the trunk?"

"No. No!"

"What's the last thing you do remember?"

His cuffed hands clasp together as if in prayer. "I picked Eric up from school. Friday, for the weekend. What day is it?"

The video pauses. I note the crease between Hotch's eyebrows as he turns back to us. "This happened two days ago in Beachwood, New Jersey. Mr Fisher had ingested LSD one afternoon and didn't come down until 18 hours later."

JJ turns her solemn gaze to her file. "The hospital reported six other patients who ingested LSD in the last 24 hours. The hospital called the CDC. The CDC called us."

At that, Morgan frowns. "So a bunch of people got spiked. What makes it a BAU case?"

"They each received ten to twenty times the normal dose."

I look up sharply, letting out a breath. "Jesus."

"That's enough to kill a small child," Reid says, appalled.

Shrugging, Elle clicks her pen and adds, "Or cause a grown man to kill him with a tyre iron."

The comment isn't very appreciated. JJ's lips purse. Flicking through her notes, she sighs. "Of the seven victims, there was one death and one coma." She takes the remote from the table and the television on the wall changes. "This is from hospital security footage the same night Fisher lost it."

The image comes to life. I can hear the clamouring of voices in the crowded corridor, as if I was there myself. A team of nurses struggle through with a gurney. Even the restraints keeping the patient down aren't enough to minimise the extent of his convulsions. Gideon sets his file down sharply. He stands still behind me, tense. "These people didn't get spiked. These people were poisoned."

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I read through my notes for the third time. Sat beside me in the jet, Elle peers over my shoulder most of the time but sticks to her conversation with Reid and Morgan. It isn't long before JJ leans over the back of my seat to present us with some more files and pictures. "Of the seven victims, Gail Norman was the only death. She was 78. Ran out in the middle of the road and was hit by a car. She was DOA."

Reid picks the photo up, studying the old woman's face. Another is put before us, this time of a little girl. "The other potentially fatal case is nine-year-old Britney Cannon," Hotch says. "She fell out of a treehouse and fractured her skull. She's in a coma and the doctors don't know if she's going to come out of it."

Listening intently, Gideon's sets his attention back on JJ. "How do you want to handle the press?"

"We still don't even know how these people got dosed. I think it would be irresponsible to issue a warning. without specifics. It'll just cause panic. I did notify the local PD, though, to be discreet."