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The Bearers of Bad News

"Have I told you lately, you're my goddess?" Morgan asked as Reid came in closer.

"No, you haven't, but that's a conversation for another time. Your victim is one Sandra Brewster. She's twenty-nine, and a native of Virginia. Her sister Amy put in a missing person's report on her just this morning."

"When was the last time anyone saw her?"

"Her sister said she had a date Friday night. Apparently, she met some guy online and he asked her out. When she wasn't home by the next morning, her sister called the police. Technically, they couldn't do anything because she hadn't been gone for the standard forty-eight hours."

Morgan frowned and rubbed at his head. "Baby-girl, there's nothing they could have done anyway. She was already gone."

"I know, Derek, but it doesn't make it any easier. What are you going to tell her sister?"

"We'll say what we always say, that we're sorry for her loss and we'll do whatever it takes to get this guy."

"I don't envy you, your job."

Morgan smiled a little. "Right now, neither do I."

"I'm sending the sister's address to your handhelds. I'll let the rest of the team know."

"Thanks baby girl."

He hung up and turned to Reid

"What?" Reid asked.

"We've got to deliver the notification to family."

Reid took one last look around the parking lot. The morning breeze had picked up again and he shivered despite the temperature already in the seventies. He thought for one long moment that he could detect the odor of death, even though hours had passed since the ME had taken her away. Odd, she hadn't been dead long enough for decomposition to taint the air with its malodorous stench. Why, then, should he smell it on the wind? His took in another breath as the breeze shifted again; bringing only the scent of newly cut grass and perfume from the flowers that surrounded the store. Suddenly, it was as if nothing had happened and he didn't know if he should smile or frown.

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The apartment building looked as if it had opened for business just that afternoon. The sign at the left of the entrance road read "Timber Arms," in gold on a forest green background with gold fir trees painted around the name of the complex.

"Building seven," Reid reminded Morgan, who carefully piloted the SUV around the corner of the office building. He jammed the brake to the floor when two teenage boys entered the roadway on skateboards. They rolled past whooping and hollering. Morgan swore as they laughed at him.

"Little shits," he said.

"Take it easy," Reid replied.

"Don't tell me to take it easy. Those kids came right out in front of me. I could've killed one, or both of them. Where're their parents for God's sake? They should be keeping an eye on them. What's the matter with people these days, letting their kids run around like that? I'd never let my kid do that. I mean look at those two…. Oh, what am I saying, Reid."

"The building is right over there."

Morgan parked in a section of non-assigned parking that faced a little strip mall behind the complex. "Sorry, Reid, I didn't mean to get on that rant."

"It's okay. It's a normal reaction to the stress we're under. We're about to deliver the worst possible news."

Morgan chuckled. "When you're right, Dr. Reid, you're right. Come on, let's get it done.

Sherrie Brewster lived on the third floor in apartment 3C. She opened the door and her face went as white as cottage cheese when they showed their badges.

"Oh God, its Sandra. Is she okay? Did you find her? I want to see her. Please let me see her. She's all I have you see, our parents are dead and -"

"Ma'am," Morgan began. "May we please come in?"

She nodded and Reid saw that her hands were trembling. She led them into a small living area with a couch and two chairs. "Please, tell me where she is."

"Ms Brewster, Sandra was found early this morning. She'd been murdered."

Sherrie dropped onto her knees and wailed. "No, it's not true. You made a mistake, that's all. You need to get back out there and find Sandra."

She leaped back up to her feet, almost bowling Morgan over despite her medium build and height. "You have to find her." She shouted at him.

"It's not a mistake, Ms. Brewster. We positively ID'd her with her fingerprints from employment records."

"It's not true," she curled up on the couch and began to rock back and forth."

"I wish I could say it wasn't true." Morgan said gently. "I promise you, we'll find out who did this."

She dissolved into tears. Morgan flicked his eyes up to Reid. "Why don't you get her some water?"

Reid found the kitchen and hunted up a glass. The single window at the east end was cracked open so that the breeze stirred the bright yellow curtains into a sinuous dance that made the horrible atmosphere of grief into a grotesque parody. He decided to concentrate on getting the water for her, instead of looking at the sunshine.

She'd calmed down by the time he got back. Her eyes blazed up at Morgan over the glass. "Promise me you'll get the bastard that did this. Sandy took care of me after mom and dad died in a car accident when we were teenagers. She worked hard, going to school and working so we could afford a better life. We finally got this place together. She always wanted to be a teacher. She loves working with kids. They're going to miss her. I should call her work -"

"Don't worry about that now. My partner and I would like to ask you some questions if you're up for it."

She shook her head. "I don't know. I just want to die too."

"Anything you can tell us about Friday night and the last couple of weeks would be helpful."

She looked up at Reid. "I don't know. She met this guy and she was really excited. She kept going on and on about how handsome he was and how nice he seemed. He asked her out and she said she'd meet him. She didn't want him coming here because you know how it is these days. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, it was just that…" She shrugged her shoulders and sat up straight.

Reid took one of the chairs and nodded. "I guess it is safer for women to meet a man somewhere neutral."

The corners of her mouth turned up in tremulous smile. "Yeah, she's the more cautious of the two of us. I'm likely to go out with total strangers, where she says she has to get to know them first. Oh, do you think he was the one… that bastard."

She jumped up again and hurried to the door. "His name is Gerry. What are you waiting for, go, get him?"

"Ms Brewster, we do want to talk to him, but we don't know if he hurt her. She might have run into trouble after the date," Morgan put in.

She sagged again and nearly fell. Morgan hauled her up and helped her back to the couch. "Do you know his full name?"

"Oh, no, she just said it was Gerry. I was surprised when she said she met him online. I should have asked her. Why didn't I ask her?"

She curled up and began to cry again. Reid just looked at Morgan. He definitely did not know what to do with crying women.

"It's not your fault," Morgan assured her. "Anything you can tell us is helpful."

She sniffed, and reached for a little cardboard box decorated with white lilies that contained what her mother always called nose pillows. She blew her red nose and sighed. "I just can't believe this."

"Sherrie," Morgan encouraged. "Anything you can tell us."

"He's some kind of big wig with a financial firm in town. I wish I could remember the name. I think they're all stockbrokers."

"Where did she say she was going to meet him?" Reid asked.

"Oh, it was halfway between where they worked. She worked at Springville Elementary, and he was downtown. They met at some coffee shop on Fifteenth Street I think."

"Thanks Sherrie, that'll help." Morgan assured her again.

"Is there someone we can call for you?" Reid asked.

"No, like I said she was everything to me. Can you tell me what I'm going to do without her?"

Reid sighed when they left the building fifteen minutes later. "I hate that."

"Yeah, not one of the more enjoyable parts of the job."

They got in the truck and Morgan pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Hey baby girl, I've got some digging that only you can do..." Reid looked out the window as Morgan talked to Garcia. For the first time since he'd left Carolyn's apartment, his head was filled with thoughts of her and how they'd met at a supermarket on a Sunday afternoon.

He'd walked around the corner from the cereal aisle to the paper goods aisle. The only other person in the wide aisle was a tiny woman with long, wavy blond hair. She had a small, curvy figure that made his hands sweat as he looked at her. She was reaching for something on the top shelf, but it was too high for her.

"Damn it!"

He nearly smiled at her curse. He wanted to go help her, but she'd probably laugh at him if he did. He turned to get a roll of paper towels instead.

"Hey."

He jerked and dropped his roll of paper towels, which rolled nearly to the feet of the woman.

"Can you help me?"

Her face, beautiful and smiling, rendered him utterly unable to speak. She stared at him with some irritation. "I just need that box of Kleenex on the top shelf if you don't mind."

He walked over to her because he didn't have control over his feet for some reason. He smelled the perfume she wore as he reached for the box above her head. It reminded him of plums and he breathed it in as he handed her the box.

"Thanks."

Her voice was like music, and her dark blue eyes spoke to something inside him that yearned for something more than what he had in his life.

"You're welcome," he managed to say.

"I hate being five feet tall. They make everything for the average person or taller." She said irritably.

He liked her irritation; it made her beautiful eyes spark. His heart took off beating and he could barely speak.

"I think they make these shelves for people over six five, actually."

She laughed and his head felt light as air. "So what's your name?"

He nearly gaped at her. A woman was asking for his name. He couldn't think of it. He had to say something though, or she'd think him an idiot and walk away. Oh, he couldn't let her walk away.

"Um, it's Reid, um I mean Spencer Reid, Dr. Spencer Reid."

She grinned up at him. "Well, Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm Dr. Carolyn Strickland."

"Where do you practice?" They both said together and then laughed.

He felt so light headed now; he thought he might pass out. "I'm not a medical doctor."

"Oh, well I work in the Pediatric wing at the University Hospital."

He pulled out his badge. "I'm an FBI agent."

She pointed at his gun on his hip. "I thought you might be a cop at first. It's why I asked you for help."

"Oh," he hoped he didn't sound too disappointed.

"Well, that and you're the best looking law enforcement officer I've ever seen."

He blinked. "Really!" He cursed himself for his squeak.

"Yeah, why don't I give you my number?"

"Hey Reid."

He turned his head to see that Morgan was backing out of the parking space. "What?"

"You look deep in thought. What's in that head of yours?"

"I'm just thinking about Sandra and Sherrie," he lied. "I just can't believe, after losing their folks that this happens."

"Yeah, well I've got Garcia on the trail of this guy Sandra met. It's probably a long shot, but he was the last one to see her."

"Yeah… let's get back to the precinct."

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm just tired, getting called out at three am."

"You'd think we'd be used to it by now."

"I guess not," Reid said.

"I guess we're not."

Morgan grew silent as they drove back to the police station. Reid's thoughts returned to the case, but Carolyn was in the back of his mind and he hoped it wouldn't be days before he saw her again.

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He'd had the television on all morning, since he'd woken at five and there was nothing about his exploits on the news. How could that be? He raged up and down, his feet whispering over the thick, spotless, cream hued carpet. He didn't stop to appreciate the texture on his bare feet because anger threatened to overwhelm his carefully cultivated peace.

Why?

The involvement of the FBI in the murder, because he had invited them there, should have been all over the television, but it wasn't.

Why?

It should have been big news. After all, Richmond wasn't New York City where murders were a dime a dozen. The FBI should have rated at least some interest from the jackals at the news agencies.

He sat on the edge of his king size, four-poster bed and decided that all this anger was counterproductive. It was time to up the stakes just a bit. He looked up into the mirror over the antique dresser across from his bed and smiled. Already, the life draining boredom that had spoiled his carefully planned fun was dissipating. If he had to endure stall tactics from the FBI, well, that was all right. He'd just proceed with his plans to up the stakes of the game, now.

After carefully dressing in his new, perfectly tailored suit, which was navy large windowpane, with white stripes, matching pants and a white shirt, he knotted on a matching tie with two diagonal white stripes, and smoothed back his hair. He pulled on navy socks and black shoes polished to a mirror shine. At least he had the comfort of the best clothing to help ease his irritation.

After one last look in the mirror, he brushed a bit of lint off one sleeve and hurried out of the room to his office. One of the best parts about his little hobby was choosing his next victim. Luckily, he had time to go make sure that his contingency plan was still in place.