IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER
Despite my best efforts, I still don't own Criminal Minds. They refuse to respond to any of my letters asking to buy it, or take any of the story ideas I send.
The dead man's eyes were the color of cloudy mud, and they stared into the bright blue California sky, unseeing. The corpse lay on the dusty ground next to the abandoned gas station, Twenty miles outside the college town of Pico Aldo. Though he must have been quite handsome in life, with dark, curling hair and slim, boyish limbs, the corpse's face retained an expression which was at once ugly and pitiful to look at. It was as if the violence of his early departure from this world still troubled him, though he should have been beyond such concerns. Those blind eyes pleaded with Police Chief Stephen Wayne.
Find who did this to me…Find my killer…
The violence of the dead man's final hours was written in the cuts and bruises standing in stark contrast against his white skin, mutilating and desecrating it. John Downey, Pico Aldo's only coroner, examined the marks with steady, nitrile-gloved hands and a scowl, turning the body to expose the dark lines around the body's neck and wrists that Wayne had been dreading. The scowl was not a reflection on the state of the body, though Wayne certainly felt like scowling, but rather a stable fixture on Downey's face, as familiar and characteristic as the persistent bad-haircut and grey eyes.
Wayne looked around. An ambulance was parked nearby, and a tall, dark skinned paramedic was handing his shorter, blond partner a towel to wipe the vomit off his face, patting him on the back. New kid, though Wayne.
Wayne turned his attention back to look at his own newest officer, Samantha Vasquez. She was crouched next to the Downey, asking questions, and writing down the answers that Downey gave in a low voice that Wayne couldn't hear over the wind and the caterwauling crows and carrion birds. Though she showed no obvious outward signs of uneasiness, Wayne thought otherwise, noticing how tightly she gripped the pen, knuckles white.
The sheriff remembered his own first homicide case, where he had promptly lost his lunch just like the newbie paramedic. It was hard to believe he had ever been that green. Vasquez was a fine cop. Given time, she might even be a good cop, but she was so new…He pushed his thoughts aside and approached the two so he could join the conversation.
"How's it looking?" Wayne asked, but he already knew the answer to the unspoken question- whether they had a serial killer on their hands- in his gut. He had known, no felt, the answer as soon as he had seen the body, and it had been about as subtle as a bucket of ice water to the face.
"He's dead, Steve." Downey glanced up, and Wayne gave him a long look. Downey remained straight-faced, as if he hadn't just made a bad Star Trek reference at a crime scene.
"About nine to twelve hours, I'd say. It's harder to pinpoint time of death with high ambient temperatures like this. Doesn't look like his injuries occurred here, because there would be a great deal of blood loss, and we haven't found any. I can't get you a definitive cause of death until autopsy, but my money's on strangulation."
Downey gestured to the ugly bruise at the neck. Wayne felt a bead of sweat run down his own neck and under his collar, felt his own pulse throb. He swallowed, but his throat remained dry.
"So he was dumped…any ID?"
"Nah, no clothes at all. Just a pair of boxers."
"We'll get a photo circulating or on the news," Vazquez said. "He looks about college age… we should send someone down to the college."
Wayne nodded.
"Overall, would you say that these injuries are consistent with the others?" He asked.
"They're almost identical, poor bastard," Vasquez said, wiping her short, choppy hair out of her eyes and looking up at Wayne. "Do you think it's the same guy…? "
"Vasquez, I know you're new to this, but we like to keep the mindless questions to a minimum here," He said. She looked away. Downey refused to make eye-contact, and Wayne saw a brief smile flicker across the coroner's face before he gave Vasquez a companionable pat on one blue-clad shoulder. When he thought Wayne wasn't looking, of course.
"Sir," She finally said. Wayne wished she would push back just a little, stand up for herself, do something in response to his nagging. He knew she could. He supposed she was still too unsure of herself, unsure of her new surroundings. Fine with him, he'd just keep at it until she did.
"We know that we have one body in the ground and another in the morgue with the same pattern of injuries. They were dumped in a similar manner as this 'poor bastard' at month-long intervals," Wayne said. "Either of them could have been this guy's brother."
"Precluding the possibility that we have two knife-wielding psychos picking off kids at the same time, I'd say yeah. Odds are pretty good that this is the work of our guy. Let's get the body back to the morgue so Downey can do his autopsy. Vasquez, we stay here until we get another unit to secure the scene. Then I'm sending you to the college to see if you can't learn something."
As they helped get the body into a bag, Wayne only half-heard Downey's invitation for Wayne and his wife, Gina, to stop by for dinner that Friday. Not entirely sure what he was agreeing to—Wayne thought he heard the word lasagna, but it could have been haggis and bull testicles for all he knew—he said yes. He and Gina would stop by around eight.
He couldn't get those empty eyes out of his head. There was just no way Pico Aldo had the resources to deal with a serial killer.
Wayne would have to call in for some major back-up.
The tension was a physical presence, heavy and dense. Reid could almost imagine it as a solid thing, squeezed between the hands of the clock, preventing their progress to that anticipated hour. He clenched his hands. Unclenched them. Swung his feet. Almost there—
A large hand clamped down on his shoulder. Reid jumped, and spun around in his chair; he had thought he was alone.
"Whoa there pretty boy, don't hurt yourself."
"Morgan," Reid said, rolling his eyes at the other agent. "I thought you and Garcia were at that sexual harassment seminar?"
Morgan grinned.
"Right…," Reid said, looking back at the clock. "40-70% of women and 10-20% of men are actually sexually harassed in the workplace, and Farson thinks you two are being inappropriate."
"Good thing he hasn't heard some of the things Garcia says to you. The man would die of a massive coronary," Morgan looked thoughtful. "Or some of the things I say, come to think of it. So where are you rushing off to?"
"Nowhere. Sorry I can't stay and talk. I actually have to head out--"
Reid scooted his chair back and stood, but Morgan maneuvered to block his escape.
"Morgan, move."
Despite their friendship, Morgan's behavior still annoyed Reid, at times too similar to the jocks in high school that had made his life hell. Yet he stood there smiling, and, as always, was obviously oblivious of the effect his good-natured teasing had. Still, the man meant well…
"Fine, Morgan. What are you smiling about?"
"I just never thought I'd see the day Spencer Reid tries to leave the office early, it's only 4:53."
"Since when are you so concerned with leaving early?" Reid asked, glancing around for an escape route. Nothing obvious presented itself. "You do it often enough."
"Oh now, a deflection. What don't you want me to know?" Morgan said, stepping left to block Reid's sudden dodge. "You got a hot date or something and don't want me to steal her away?"
"Actually, yes. Her name is Jessica. "Reid said, and then jokingly added."I'm not worried, since she likes 'smart guys' and thinks my magic tricks are funny, so for once I don't think you've got a chance. Now can you move?"
"That's my boy," Morgan clapped Reid on the shoulder again. "Well in that case, I think I can let you pass."
"Very considerate of you," Reid said sarcastically as he shouldered his bag and headed for the door. "See you tomorrow."
"Later, pretty boy."
As he walked to the door, Reid thanked his lucky stars the team hadn't gotten a case that needed him to stay late, or worse, fly to who knows where at the drop of a hat. Reid understood the importance of being on call at all times, and the need to get to location quickly, but sometimes he wondered how the Bureau found it in the budget. Where did they find money to keep a private jet at their beck and call to send the team all over the country once a week?
Beck and call was such an interesting phrase, he thought as he reached for the handle. With roots in the old—
His thoughts were interrupted by four dreaded words.
"We've got a case!"
Reid turned and saw Hotchner enter the office, followed by JJ, holding case files in her hands.
"Wheels up in an hour."
Great, thought Reid. He pulled out his cellphone and dailed Jessica, hoping they'd be able to reschedule.