Bruce stood outside the detention room, looking at the situation through the single-sided glass. Morgan and Prentiss returned from the crime scene and walked to Bruce. Prentiss shook his head. "To be honest, there are no clues left at the scene. What happened? Who is this, the murderer? "
"John Morris, the man Garcia found to have spent money at the gas stations at the crime scenes and has a criminal record of arson. He suffered minor injuries in this case this morning. When Rossi went to the hospital, he found this on him," Bruce explained, handing the photo in his hand to the two men.
It was a key ring, very similar to the ones left at the crime scenes. The sign on it, from the color and size to the word "Tribute," was the same, but this one had a string of letters on the back, "06XC143."
"Our unknown suspect is in a gang?" The two men looked serious. If this was an organized crime, the nature of the case would be completely different.
"That's not clear yet." Bruce gestured to the inside, where Rossi was asking questions.
Ten minutes later, Rossi walked out of the detention room and looked at everyone. "As you can see, he denied that he had anything to do with the arson cases at the gas stations. When I asked about the key ring, he refused to answer at first. After I suggested that this was equivalent to covering up a criminal and could be considered an accessory, he said that this was a club's sign that he was a member of."
"According to his information, he is a freelance journalist. It makes sense that he would appear at the crime scenes," Reid said. "But his behavior shows that he must be hiding something."
Garcia called. "Are you looking forward to my voice? I checked, and there is indeed an officially registered Tribute Club. It was founded in 1983 and now has 27 members. It seems that the club is about to close. Since about ten years ago, the club's membership has been decreasing year by year. At its peak, there were more than two hundred members. "
"Can you find out the specific information of these people?" Hotch asked.
"No, there is no detailed information about the members."
"Then who is in charge of the club now?"
"Asa Lawrence, let me check. He is 39 years old and a surgeon." The sound of Garcia typing on the keyboard could be heard from the microphone. "Oh, this is a very authoritative surgeon in the industry. He has a lot of clinical experience and the success rate of the surgery is much higher than average. He doesn't have a criminal record and doesn't look like a bad guy. "
They didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the last sentence. What's more, outstanding professional performance didn't mean anything.
Bruce rubbed his nose. "Sometimes, I feel like the world is really small." Facing everyone's gaze, he shrugged. "My neighbor is also called Asa Lawrence. We share the same occupation and age. I don't think this is a coincidence. Did he have a wife who died early and a daughter? "
"Oh, it's true. I looked at his home address. It's not a coincidence. We're talking about the same person. His wife passed away ten years ago. He has a lovely daughter. The information has been sent to you. "
"Is that the girl you spent Valentine's Day with?" Reid suddenly asked as they sat at the table and looked down at the information sent to them.
"… It's been a few months, why do you still remember?" Bruce looked at the strange expressions on their faces and then looked at Reid's innocent face. He knew that he must be doing it on purpose. He didn't know when it started, but Bruce and Reid's relationship had inexplicably entered into a mutually destructive mode.
"You should know that I have an eidetic memory," Reid said seriously. Bruce, however, saw a hint of mischief in his brown eyes.
Noticing Morgan's gaze on him, Bruce felt a dull pain in his body. Since that time, they would occasionally have "friendly" combat exchanges on the weekends. Morgan was indeed proficient in combat and even taught combat in the FBI. Originally, the two were evenly matched in terms of combat. However, Bruce's experience made him accustomed to killing the enemy and causing the most damage. Would he be able to hit Morgan's throat, eyes, and other places during the fight? Obviously not. Bruce could only restrain his movements, and the result was that he was beaten up badly.
"Morgan, I definitely don't have any special fetishes that you hate so much." Bruce said weakly. He looked at Morgan and raised his eyebrows. He knocked his head on the table, and Reid took the opportunity to ruffle his hair.
"Okay, we all know this. So, what kind of person do you think Mr. Lawrence is? Could he be related to this case?" Hotch pulled the conversation back to the main topic.
Bruce was sure that he saw a flash of a smile on Hotch's face. He couldn't help but smile. He didn't meet Hotch's gaze. Instead, he glared at Reid and pushed Reid's hand away. "I only know Mr. Lawrence. I don't know him well enough to judge him."
Hotch nodded. "Todd, inform Mr. Lawrence that we have some questions to ask him."
Two days passed. During this time, Rossi and Prentiss, who had returned to Quantico to question Lawrence, reported that Lawrence had provided the information of the members of the club and denied that he was a member of the club. Indeed, they had ruled out these members one by one. In fact, these people were basically far away from the crime scene when the crime happened. Otherwise, they would have sufficient alibis. Except for Ramos, who was still in the detention room.
However, the key ring left behind by the Unsub at the scene indicated that there was a connection. Unfortunately, Mr. Lawrence was very busy. He had several major surgeries that were critical to the patient's life, so he hurried to the hospital.
Bruce walked into the detention room. "I am FBI agent Bruce Jones." He first identified himself to Ramos, who was lying on the table.
Ramos looked up. He looked tired and unfriendly. "Are you here to let me out?"
Bruce pulled out a chair and sat down. "Of course, but before that, I want to talk to you." Without evidence, they could only detain him for up to forty-eight hours, and the time was almost up.
"You've already had four batches of people talk to me. Are you done with your questions?" Ramos sneered. It seemed that he really had little to do with the case. It was normal for him to be angry after being detained here for so long.
Bruce handed him the key ring in the evidence bag, the kind found at the gas station. "What I want to figure out the most is this key ring. Why did the unknown suspect leave something at the crime scene so similar to your club's card? Your club's card has different numbers, but this one doesn't. It seems that he wanted to join your club but was rejected."
"What's wrong with that? There are many people who want to join us. Do you think you can just join us?" Ramos said impatiently.
"Are there any requirements to join you?" Bruce showed a little curiosity at the right time.
"First, there must be a member's recommendation, and then a qualification certification. You can join if you pass." Ramos yawned, looking a little sleepy, but there was a hint of pride in his voice.
Was he proud to join the club? Bruce's expression did not change, but he felt strange in his heart. It was such a small club, and the members they saw were just a group of ordinary people. There were no highly educated members, nor were there any outstanding people in power, wealth, or other aspects. Why would the Unsub want to join, and why would the members of the club be proud of it? "Does your club usually have any activities?" he asked.
Ramos was obviously stunned. "Uh … just general activities, dinners and so on."
"Then what is the purpose of your club?"
"…" Ramos opened his mouth but didn't speak. After a while, he said, "This seems to have nothing to do with the case. Also, I hope you can consider that I'm still injured."
Bruce stared at him for a while and recalled that the purpose of the club was to pay tribute to the pioneers and provide a platform for people who liked literature to communicate. He didn't believe it at all. Was there a purpose that even the members didn't know? Or was there something worth hiding about this purpose that made Ramos keep quiet?
Then what was the purpose of this club? What was so proud of in such a small club with fewer members year by year? According to him, there were even people who wanted to apply to join? But why were the members decreasing year by year? Bruce didn't know if this had anything to do with the case. Although there were some doubts, he had no way to know if this person didn't say anything.
"Well, I noticed that you're still injured. Do you need anything? Water or something else? Although you're not seriously injured, your body is basically bruised. Was it caused by the impact of the explosion or glass fragments? "Bruce changed the topic.
"Both." Ramos was annoyed, feeling that this agent was a bit inexplicable. "What I need is to get out of this damn place as soon as possible."
"You can leave after I'm done with my questions." As Bruce spoke, he suddenly noticed something strange. "Part of your hair was burned, and maybe your clothes were also burned, which means that you were in the gas station at that time, or even very close to the explosion site. Your car was also burned. Of course, I don't mean anything else, but compared to these, your injuries are too light." He spoke slowly, but a guess popped up in his mind, a guess that he didn't think was reliable at first glance.
"I was just lucky that I wasn't in the car. I was far away from the explosion site and hiding behind a bunker." Bruce noticed that Ramos's eyes were a bit evasive when he spoke.
If you hid far away, how could your hair be burned? Bruce lowered his eyes slightly and thought of Ramos's attitude of hiding things. He felt that this guess might be right. This was not a world only for ordinary people.
"Thank you for your answer. You can go now." Bruce stood up and stretched out his hand.
"I can leave now?" Ramos looked surprised. "Oh, thank you." Then he shook hands with Bruce.
Just as Ramos was about to let go, Bruce clenched his hand a little tighter. He looked directly at Ramos. "I have never understood the way the unknown suspect committed the crime, but now I have a guess. Do you think my guess is right?" Bruce used his ability to condense a small piece of ice in the palm of their hands.
The sudden cold made Ramos's hand tremble. He suddenly raised his head, and there was obvious surprise on his face. "I think you're right," he said after a while.
Bruce let go of his hand. "Thank you again for your cooperation, Mr. Ramos. Goodbye."
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