"Nothing?" The second son, George, seed to be trying hard to recall. A five-year-old should have so mory, especially since that day had been so special to him.
"Nothing happened, but we left early that day. There was a clown who made a little animal out of balloons, but I couldn't even recognize what it was."
Connie's expression was uncertain.
"After that, he followed us. Although he didn't do anything outrageous, my mother was a little scared, so we left."
"I've never heard you ntion this before." George asked curiously.
"Even if they hadn't analyzed it all, I still wouldn't rember. Co on, I was only 10 years old then." Connie said, frustrated.
"Garcia, check the details of this carnival." Rossi quickly leaned over the phone.
Half an hour later, Garcia sent photos of the carnival organizer and the location—a vacant lot less than five miles from Connie and her siblings' forr ho.
According to her, the carnival was about to end, and they should be heading to Illinois in the next few days.
"Notify the Indianapolis Police Departnt to send reinforcents. We'll go check it out."
Seeing JJ pick up her phone to contact the local police departnt, Jack quickly opened the car door and got into the driver's seat.
It was getting late, and as the saying goes, the longer the night, the more things could go wrong. They had finally found a clear lead, and they had to seize the opportunity. Maybe they could put the last piece of the puzzle in today.
"But I have a question. What exactly does Rossi an by 'carnival'? Isn't it sothing that's held at an amusent park at a fixed ti every year?"
Jack's question drew stares from everyone who had just gotten into the car.
The word "carnival" was sothing Jack had heard of many tis in his previous life, such as various ani carnivals or events hosted by ga companies like BlizzCon.
But from Rossi's words, it seed that soone was holding such a festival every year, traveling back and forth between different places?
Emily looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious? There are boys who haven't been to a carnival?"
" neither." Reid in the back seat also raised his hand.
After a lively discussion, Jack finally understood what the so-called "carnival" was.
Actually, this is similar to a circus troupe, a mobile amusent park that tours various places every year.
Wherever they go, they find a large open space, set up a carousel, a small Ferris wheel, and all sorts of rides.
They also distribute advertisents to attract tourists, offering cheap drinks and snacks, and candy and popcorn to entice children. Local businesses usually welco their arrival because the increased foot traffic boosts their revenue.
"Well, I thought only things like Rio de Janeiro's were carnivals," Jack said, disappointed. This thing sounded more like a county fair.
Rossi's mood improved considerably, though he still looked tired, and he joined in the joke.
"It's not just about showing off your chest that makes it a carnival."
Brazil holds a three-day carnival every year in late February or early March, famous worldwide for its grand samba parade.
The samba dancers on the floats adorn themselves with various gorgeous costus and feathers, so even going braless, their bodies painted with vibrant patterns to attract tourists' attention.
"So you all went to carnivals when you were kids?" Reid asked with an envious look.
"Every year," JJ nodded.
" too. The first ti I drank alcohol was at a carnival. My mom mistakenly gave a cocktail, and after drinking it, I slept all day." Emily said with a nostalgic look.
Well, it seems both ladies in the car had complete childhoods. Jack roughly understood; this kind of carnival was indeed similar to a traveling festival, the difference being that it was more lively, but only once a year.
Arriving at the location Garcia had found, what they saw wasn't a lively carnival scene, but rather what looked like a party that had already ended. A group of people were busy dismantling equipnt and packing things up.
"A dark, old Ford pickup truck." Jack gestured for everyone to look in the distance.
At the back of the pickup truck, an old man in his fifties or sixties, wearing dirty work clothes, was loading boxes of empty bottles onto the truck while loudly directing the others.
"Looks like you're the boss here?" Rossi walked up behind him, keeping a distance of about three or four ters.
The old man stopped moving things abruptly and slowly turned to look at the BAU mbers.
Jack didn't usually wear a suit; it was a nice sunny day, and the temperature had unusually risen above 20 degrees Celsius.
He'd taken off his jacket in the car, leaving him in only a long-sleeved T-shirt, revealing a Glock pistol at his waist and the hand-sewn arm holster Hannah had made for him.
He'd also donned a pair of brown polarized sunglasses to look cool. Strictly speaking, these weren't sunglasses; their sun protection was diocre. However, in low light, they could actually improve contrast.
No one else seed to be trying to conceal their identities; the won were all in business attire and sunglasses. Only Reid, seemingly unfazed by the heat, insisted on wearing his sowhat comical knitted sweater, making him look the least like a federal agent.
The old man seed to realize his reaction was a bit excessive and feigned nonchalance.
"You're too late. Carnival's over. Look forward to next year."
Emily subtly moved a few steps to the side, blocking one of the passageways. "You seem to be in a hurry?"
"Ti is money, my friend. We can't make any more money here. We're going sowhere else." The old man seed to have regained his composure.
Rossi asked pointedly, "Where are you rushing off to? Springfield?"
His words made the old man stop again.
"We need to talk to one of your clowns." Reid said bluntly.
The old man turned around again, forcing an awkward smile. "A clown? We're not a circus; only circuses have clowns."
"Are you sure? What about the guy who makes balloon animals?" Rossi pressed on.
"Maybe…" the old man stamred, "What exactly do you guys want to ask?"
Just then, two police cars from the local police station arrived, and four officers got out as backup.
Rossi simply pulled out his badge to reveal his identity. "FBI, I'm Agent Rossi. Let's talk. Do you have a son?"
"I have a son." the old man answered instinctively, completely flustered.
"Raising him must have been very difficult for you. There are always people complaining about him, right?"
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