CSI: Miami – Exploding Mind
3
Aaron Hotchner got off the elevator at the MDPD Crime Lab's floor, stepping into a bright atrium. He took off his sunglasses and observed the surroundings for a while. Green wall, backlit by fluorescent lamps behind frost glass Louvre-panels set at a forty-five degree angle. Large windows overlooking the bay, just a mere half-mile from MDPD HQ. A reception desk manned by an officer in a crisp brown-and-tan MDPD uniform. Black stone floor and labs and offices with glass walls, so that everyone could see the people doing their work. No doors, just empty doorways, except for two offices at the end of the corridor, which had expensive looking metal doors. Judging by the nameplates on said doors, Hotchner assumed them to be the office of the director and team supervisor.
Behind him two other people had gotten of the elevator. Hotchner finished his sizing-up and ambled up to the reception desk. The officer looked up at him and smiled at him professionally.
'Good morning, sir. How may I be of service?'
Hotchner held up his credentials in their leather wallet. 'ssa Aaron Hotchner, FBI. I'm here to meet Horatio Caine or Calleigh Duquesne.'
The officer punched in a series of keys on a keyboard. 'Lieutenant Caine is in the field, but Sergeant Duquesne is in. If you wait here a second, I'll call her down.'
Hotchner met up with the other two agents. Less than a minute later a platinum-blonde woman in a businesslike suit strode down the corridor, high-heeled boots clapping on the stone floor. She smiled broadly as she held out a hand to Hotchner, who shook it.
'Hi, my name is Calleigh Duquesne,' the woman said. 'You must be the FBI.'
'Yes, ma'am,' Hotchner said. 'I'm Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner and these are ssa David Rossi and Dr. Spencer Reid.'
Hotchner was wearing the usual FBI-uniform: black suit, white button-down and black tie. He had clasped his badge to the breast pocket of his blazer. Rossi was in his fifties, with black hair greying at the temples. He was wearing less official attire; jeans, brown leather blazer and deep-purple button-down. Reid looked more like a college grad student than an FBI agent with his short brown hair, wearing a navy cardigan, light-blue button-down and grey chinos. He carried a brown leather messenger bag and his holster was prominently visible, as he carried it not on his hip, but his abdomen.
'ssas Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss are at the scene.'
Calleigh nodded. 'Yes, which is where they will meet our supervisor, Lt. Caine.'
'Did Ms. Garcia tell you what we need?'
Calleigh nodded again and gestured the FBI agents to follow her. They ambled down the corridor until Calleigh ducked into the very conference room where Horatio had told them about the second bomb. However, in expectance of the FBI some changes had been made. Two whiteboards had been rolled in, several boxes of files and reports perched in the middle of the table. The plasma was displaying the crime scene photos taken by the CSIs in twenty second intervals.
'Ms. Garcia specifically told us that this is all you need to do your job.'
'Thank you, Sergeant.'
'Aahw, call me Calleigh. If ya'll need me, I'm in the office at the end of the corridor on your right.'
Calleigh made to walk out of the room, but spun on her heels. She took several cards from the pocket of her blazer. 'Home number is on the back, you'll find Lieutenant Caine's as well. You can call either of us, day or night.'
'Thank you…Calleigh,' Hotchner said.
When Calleigh had left the room, Rossi turned to Hotchner. 'Is it just me or is she on par with Garcia in terms of perkiness?'
The two older men looked at Reid, who – as usual – looked at them blankly.
Horatio eyeballed the FBI as soon as they drove up the driveway leading to the bombed rest stop off the I-95, officially called Singer Expressway. The Chevrolet Avalanche ambled up to Horatio, who stood next to his H3 with his hands on his hips. The two agents climbed out and met with Horatio.
One of them was an African-American male in his thirties, roughly the same age as Eric Delko. He was wearing a slate-grey T-shirt and black cargo pants. His badge hung on a lanyard around his neck. The female agent was roughly Calleigh's age, mid-thirties. She had bound her black hair in a ponytail and was wearing a red blouse and grey slacks, of which the matching blazer was missing. She had clasped her badge to her belt. Both were wearing sunglasses.
'Lieutenant Caine?' the woman asked.
'Yes.'
They shook hands as the man IDed himself and the woman, 'Hi, I'm Derek Morgan and this is Emily Prentiss, BAU. How you doin'?'
Horatio smiled and said, 'I take it your supervisor has arrived at our lab?'
'We think so,' Prentiss smiled. 'we haven't been in contact since we hit the asphalt. I take it you don't like the FBI?'
'How come?' Horatio asked.
'Please, Lieutenant. I'm a profiler. Only the tone of your voice when you asked about our supervisor gave you away.'
'That obvious, huh?'
Prentiss smiled again. 'Let's work on changing that attitude of yours.'
The three of them walked to the rubble that had once been quite a successful truck stop. Horatio even had lunch there himself on occasion. They ducked the yellow tape and removed their sunglasses.
'Three weeks ago this truck stop went sky high,' Horatio said. 'Bomb was placed in the bathroom, behind one of the toilets. It was set on a timer, set to nine-thirty am. They hit on Monday, busiest day of the week for this kind of place.'
'I understand you had a suspect?' Prentiss said.
'Yes. José Molinez. We IDed him via a money trail. He worked for a gang in Miami which made a habit of blowing up traitors and enemies with car bombs. He was the one who supplied the C4 used in the bombing.'
'And what happened when you went to make the arrest?' Morgan asked on his haunches. He had picked up a piece of debris with a black latex glove.
'Mr. Molinez drew his gun on me. I shot him in the gut and just before he died he said there was a second bomb.'
'And you took that at face value?'
'No, of course I didn't. One of my CIs told me that rumour on the street was there was indeed a bomb, somewhere. Short thereafter someone tried to kill him.'
'Where is that CI now?'
'Protective custody at MDPD HQ,' Horatio said.
Horatio's phone vibrated in his inside pocket. Morgan's and Prentiss' beeped twice. Horatio glanced at the display and pressed answer.
Twenty minutes later Horatio shook hands with Rossi, Reid and Hotchner in the conference room. The whiteboard he had loaned from the office supplies floor was full of notes, pictures and all types of other information. Horatio sat down in one of the chairs, joined by Calleigh and Ryan. Delko sat down next to Morgan and Prentiss. Reid, Rossi and Hotchner took centre stage, a laptop with a video uplink with the Quantico field office displaying a red-headed and bespectacled woman.
Hotchner cleared his throat, 'we called this meeting because we believe we found a common denominator in our victimology.'
'Sorry, victimology?' Calleigh said.
'Yes. To understand the nature of the crime we need to understand what attracts our UnSub, short for unknown subject, to his victims. In this case all victims were truckers. Also, all four times he has struck up until now the targets were truck stops along busy roads.'
'But,' Eric said. 'there were no singular victims here.'
Rossi took over. 'In this case the truck stops are the victims. In a sense. As Special Agent Hotchner said, all four were located along busy roads. Secondly, all were hit on Mondays, the busiest days for that type of establishments. Lastly, none of the targeted stops were part of a franchise. They were singular establishments, meaning that when they were destroyed the owner or owners went bankrupt.'
'Which brings us to motive,' said Reid. 'Money. Statistically more than sixty percent of all crimes in the United States are committed because of some dispute over money or other financials.'
'So this could include physical things that act as money?' Calleigh asked.
'Yes, quite possibly,' Hotchner answered.
'Ms. Garcia?' Horatio said, leaning around Wolfe, addressing the woman.
'Yes, sir?'
'With Agent Hotchner's permission,' Horatio said, glancing at Hotchner, who nodded. 'is there a way to cross reference the financials of the targeted rest stops with license plates of cars?'
'There certainly is, Lieutenant. All I need is a license plate, make and model.'
Horatio thumbed through his notepad until he reached a page on which he had scribbled some notes.
'Got it.'
'Give it to me.'
Horatio raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. Morgan tried his best to hide his grin, but to no avail. 'All right, Ms. Garcia. BMW 5-series, 2009 model. Grey. License plate 5674-POT, Florida state plates.'
'Your wish is my command, sir. I'll ring you up when I'm done.'
'My number is…'
'I've got your number, sir. Garcia out.'
The laptop screen went black and a resounding silence filled the conference room. Horatio's team was baffled with the quirkiness of the technical analyst, while Hotchner's team gave the CSIs the time to process what they had just experienced. Morgan described it as the Garcia-effect.
Horatio's phone buzzed in his inside pocket. He retrieved it and looked at the screen. He opened the text message and scanned it quickly. He stood up and turned to the team.
'Mr. Wolfe, your with me. The rest bring our guests of the FBI up to speed. Agent Hotchner, if it's okay I'd like to take Agent Morgan along as well.'
'Of course.'
Fifteen minutes later Horatio eased his Hummer to the curb and got out of the suv. He pulled his field kit from the trunk and flashed his badge to the officer at the yellow tape. The crime scene was a strip of green – grass and trees – that separated Washington Boulevard from Washington Beach. They were at the edge of the beach where a rock embankment trailed off into the ocean. At the top of the slope of rocks stood the BMW that had tried to run over Horatio's witness. Horatio observed the scene from a distance while snapping on gloves. He felt Morgan stop next to him.
'That the car?' the Agent asked.
'Yes, it is.'
Horatio tiptoed down the rocks to where the car was, trying his best not to lose his balance. He perched his kit on top of a rock and pulled his Mini Maglite from his inside pocket. He shone the flashlight into the car and squinted. He pulled the handle and to his surprise the car's door opened. He knelt and inspected the inside of the car.
A smear of blood dirtied the beige steering wheel. Horatio snapped a couple of photos and swabbed the blood, which was still moist. He placed the capped cotton-tip in a brown evidence envelope and jotted his initials on its label.
'Vin number's been filed off,' Morgan said. The agent had hung his sunglasses in his collar and bent forward to see through the windshield.
'Plates are missing, too,' Wolfe chimed in from the rear end of the car. 'Hey H, pull the trunk release, please.'
Horatio lifted the lever and the trunk's lid popped open. Ryan lifted it all the way up and used his Maglite to light the insides of the boot. He wolf-whistled. Horatio, not wanting to leave the driver's seat glanced through the rear mirror. Morgan tromped over to the younger CSI.
'Lieutenant Caine? There's a whole lot of ammo in here. And two AK-47s.'
'Wolfe, bag and tag them. Agent Morgan, I hope you remembered your crime scene basics?'
'I do.'
'Good, cause you're are tertiary deputy CSI for now…'
Horatio leaned forward and placed his hand on the glove compartment latch. He rummaged through the compartment and retrieved a gun. The gun was .38 snub-nose revolver by Smith & Wesson. Horatio opened the cylinder and counted the unfired rounds: 3 bullets spent, 3 unfired. He bagged the weapon, the unspent rounds and the empty cartridges in separate bags. He initialed them all and placed them in his kit.
'Got a revolver,' he reported to Wolfe and Morgan. 'Three rounds fired.'
Horatio moved from the front of the car to the back. He pilled open the back door and knelt next to the car, without entering the back. He used his Maglite to light the interior, more specifically the floor. The car was one of the more recent 7-series, so he didn't expect much wear-and-tear yet. But what he found was just that. Horatio snapped a couple of photos of the wear pattern of the rug. He then bent forward to inspect the rug more closely. There were some grey-coloured fibers embedded in the sturdy fibers. Horatio collected them with a pair of tweezers and placed them in a small specimen jar. He tagged them and placed them in his kit. On the tags he also wrote the specific department the evidence had to be processed by. The fibers would be carted off to Trace Analysis as soon as they arrived at the lab. Horatio moved his attention to the backseat of the sedan. He leaned in and looked at it up close. He though he saw some kind of indentation in the leather. He held his Maglite perpendicular to the seat's surface and there it was, a darker void. It was rectangular, roughly three feet by eleven inches. He grabbed his camera and took a picture, without a flash so as to picture the indentation he just uncovered. A uncharacteristic shudder of suspense – Horatio was hardly ever touched by cases that much – shot through him. He took put a cotton pad – the type women used to remove make-up – and sprayed tetrachloride onto it. He ran the pad over the indentation and then sprayed it with hexamethylchlorate. The tetrachloride would bind to and absorb any particles left in the indentation. The hexamethylchlorate would undergo a chemical reaction with the smallest trace amount of TNT. The pad turned bright green.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' Horatio said, smiling. 'We have a winner. And TNT it is.'
Wolfe poked his head around the edge of the trunk. 'The TNT was transported in this BMW?'
'It appears so, Mr. Wolfe.'
'Damn. I sure hope that Ms. Garcia can tie the BMW to a name.'
Horatio nodded and then waved over the flatbed waiting at the edge of the cordoned off area. 'Gentlemen, take this car to the CSI garage, please.'
