A/N: Is it just me, or do Aaron Hotchner and Dexter Morgan have a lot in common? I guess that's my disturbing thought of the day.
"I've decided that when you guys get back, you're going to treat me to a little bit of worship." The analyst answered her phone with the dreamy foreshadowing in way of greeting, and continued. "I'm thinking dinner, and I mean somewhere swanky. Maybe even a little back massa…"
"Garcia," she could instantaneously hear the unpleasantness that was her boss' mood at that time, "do you have anything for us on the Jane Does?"
She decided it would be best to appease him, and take up the issue of his harsh tone at a later date. Or, better yet, never. "Yes, sir. There have been eight Jane Does, disclosed by hospitals, in the past three weeks. Six of them have either been identified by family members, or have regained consciousness and identified themselves."
Derek picked up a pen, ready to jot down pertinent details. "Can you get us a solid location on the other two?"
"Derek Morgan," he unconsciously straightened in his seat, "what did I tell you about interrupting ladies?" The room was filled with subtle giggles, and even Hotch cracked the smallest of smiles. "One of these women turned up on the steps of a church about two hours ago. The Father had emergency services there as soon as he found her. When she came to in the hospital, she told the policemen that she had been held against her will. But here's the kicker: according to the officer I talked to, she says that her captor was a friend of hers."
They were caught off-guard by her sudden silence. "Do we have a name?" Emily had literally been brought to the edge of her seat by the lead-up, and was more than a little eager to collar the second UnSub.
"Oh, we've got a name." Penelope was now speaking rather triumphantly into her headset. "Along with his current place of residence. I also, based on the lovely Lieutenant's previous suggestion, checked to see if he owns a boat." She was practically giddy with the sheer amount of dirt she had been able to dig up on this young man. "He just so happens to be the proud owner of a quite meager seafaring vessel, and it's docked at a pretty shady sounding slip. No security cameras, no gate, anyone could walk in."
"Excellent work, Garcia." Hotch stretched over the table. He had his hand hovering above a button, ready to end the call. "Text us the details." He pressed the button, and addressed Debra. "Since he gave her up, he could be running. Let's head out now, get the warrants underway."
It was a low-rent apartment, hard to find in the city. The only security measures in place were the deadbolts and chains on the individual doors. When you put that up against a police issue battering ram, it doesn't really matter. They don't call it "the big key" for nothing.
Hotch was the first one to enter. He held his weapon at arms length, steady but relaxed. They cleared the main room, and he made for the room on his immediate left. J.J. pushed through and to the right, finding a kitchen. Batista ended up on the back right, in what must have been a second bedroom. Reid stopped after coming through the front door of the apartment and waited, patiently for the familiar chorus of "all clears". The four members of their group gathered in the living room.
"I've got a music room back there," Batista began the orientation of their findings. "Couple of guitars, and some cheap-ass recording equipment."
"I was in the kitchen," J.J. picked up, "doesn't look like anyone's been in there for days. The dirty dishes in the sink are pretty ripe."
"I searched the bedroom," Hotch didn't really have anything pertaining to the case, so he shrugged his shoulders at their pleading stares, "it was messy." The residual members of the S.W.A.T. team were ordered outside, and the C.S.U. technicians were brought in.
Garcia had been right; the slip was in a squalid state. There was one S.U.V., an unmarked car and two cruisers. They rolled into the parking lot in complete silence. Much to Derek's chagrin, the Lieutenant took the lead. She moved stealthily toward the small boat, the other Morgan and his teammates close behind.
The cabin door was slightly ajar, and she took just enough time to indicate this to her F.B.I. counterparts. They formed a tactical line, and she burst through the door.
The room they found was spotless. There was a cot off to the side and a table in the middle. Emily found a small lantern hanging in the back corner, and flicked it on. Upon further inspection, Derek noticed the chains protruding from the left wall. The profilers were intent on absorbing the unwanted development, and were startled by the other woman's loud eruption. "Fuck!"
Dave seemed to be unfazed, and followed the explicit surge with a mundane, "looks like we missed him."
"Looks like," Emily sang out as she headed for the exit. "I'll put the call in to Hotch, let him know that we didn't come away with anything."
Deb reigned in her anger, and walked out a few seconds later. "I'll get Dex here to see what he can find. That looks like dried blood on the floor."
The two remaining men looked at each other. "You think he was at his apartment?"
Dave thought about it before answering, "no. I think Mr. Fischer is long gone." What he didn't say was that he didn't believe that Adam Fischer had run. He'd been around the block more than a few times, and he already had suspicions as to how an inexperienced kid could have given them all the slip. As much as he hated to admit it, his mind was inclined to return to an earlier conversation. Perhaps Garcia really had been on to something. No cop would willingly point the finger at another, not unless they had irrefutable evidence, but Rossi was starting to have his doubts. "I think we're done here," he said as he holstered his weapon and left Derek standing alone.
"Our best guess is that Fischer was an acquaintance of Newfield." Hotchner that he gave off a certain vibe, one that said he was absolute in his findings. He didn't mind using it, occasionally, to shield good investigators from political downfall. They all knew that Deb's Captain would be looking for a scapegoat for this partial failure. "They likely played a few gigs together, and Newfield knew about Fischer's boat."
Emily stepped forward, "in this type of partnership, there's a dominant and a submissive personality. Newfield was definitely the dominant."
"We believe he convinced Fischer to join him, if not for the first victim, shortly thereafter." Derek motioned for Debra to take over.
"The blood evidence Dexter found on the boat supports this theory. There were positive matches for seven of the eight victims, excluding victim number one, Sarah Evans." She trailed off, finding it difficult to admit the next part. "There's absolutely no trace of Fischer. Wherever he is, he disappeared himself well."
LaGuerta gave her subordinate a hard stare, and then turned to Hotch. "I suppose the F.B.I. will be keeping tabs on Mr. Fischer?"
"Yes, ma'am," he returned. "Our technical analyst is personally seeing to it. His cell comes on, he uses a credit card, anyone calls in a tip and we'll be notified within minutes. We'll of course keep you and your people apprised of the situation."
She pursed her lips and nodded. "Thank you, that will be all," she said, effectively putting an end to the briefing.
A/N: Probably just one more chapter to be added, but I have to write it first. I'd like to hear what you think of the ending. This is only the second story I've ever written, and it's going to be the first one I finish. I'd like to know if I'm doing it right I guess haha.