Chapter 11
Derek Morgan walked into his living room, and tossed the folded newspaper he bought and tucked under his arm onto a nearby table. After glimpsing the story on Hotch, he found it did little to supply him with answers. He promised himself to reread it later when he collapsed in his favorite chair, exasperated.
If he is completely honest with himself, he is bored beyond belief. He desperately needed something with which to occupy himself and his mind.
When he looked at his watch, he noticed it after three in the afternoon. He missed being in the office working with the others and helping find who attacked Hotch. And too late in the day to work on one of the eight properties he'd been renovating.
While he massaged his forehead, he ground his lower jaw. Not able to stand the inactivity any longer, he pushed himself up from his chair and walked across the room to his telephone. He grabbed the receiver, and put it to his ear while pressing the digits of the number he remembered by heart, and waited as it rang.
"You've reached the Office of the Goddess of the All-Knowing. Speak mortal and prepare to be dazzled."
Her words brought a smile to his face. "Hey, Baby Girl, it's me."
"How are you? I didn't expect you to contact us so soon."
"I'm bored. And I'm sorry to call you on your cell. But I don't want you to be in trouble with IA if they're monitoring your phone."
"I'm not worried, my love. Talk to me."
"I realize it's too soon, but you got anything you can tell me?"
Eager to help her best friend, the tech analyst repeated everything she told her team earlier. When she finished, she waited for a response. When there was none, she feared the connection might be lost.
"Derek?"
"I'm still here, momma," Morgan replied sounding disappointed. "I was just hoping you found something useful on Flaxen. Guess I figured wrong."
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry."
She started to say something but suddenly paused. "Wait a hot minute…our Italian Stallion is calling me. Do you want me to connect the three of us or…"
"Go handle Rossi's call. But tell him to call me later. He and I need to talk."
"Will do, lover." Garcia ended her call with Morgan, who with a sigh, hung up his own receiver.
With a shake of his head, he glanced around the living room. What did he do now?
"Guess I'll order something to eat," he told the open air. "And then go back to being bored."
After speaking with Garcia, Rossi called Morgan's cell. After a few seconds he heard a familiar voice.
"Thanks for calling me back, man."
"No problem. Garcia gave me your message. There's not much I can tell you right now, but I'll give you what we have so far."
"Lay it on me."
Rossi proceeded to update the suspended agent on what conclusions the team had drawn regarding the current situation.
Morgan closed his eyes as he listened imagining his boss being viciously attacked and felt his breathing become labored and his chest constrict.
"Looks like Hotch might have been right about it being somebody on the inside," he said sadly. "But is this gonna be enough for Flaxen and IA to at least consider other possibilities.
Rossi sighed. "I doubt it. Sounds like Flaxen is fixated on you. I have Garcia checking on all the male agents in Quantico for possibilities. We're gonna need something solid if we're gonna change his mind."
"Anything I can do to help?"
"I don't think so, at least not right now anyway."
Derek blew out a deep breath. "C'mon, man. I'm goin' crazy sittin' here. I need something to take my mind off how crazy I'm goin'. There must be something."
Rossi chewed his lower lip for a moment. "Matter of fact there just might be something."
"Name it," Morgan replied with renewed hope.
"I know you told me and Garcia what happened after you arrived at Hotch's. But with all the chaos and the medicine you took later, you might have forgotten or overlooked something. I'd like to have you take part in a cognitive interview."
Morgan paused. Of everything he wanted to do, a cognitive interview wasn't one of them. "Why?" he asked. "I already told you and Garcia everything that happened."
"I know. Look, all I'm saying is right now we need a starting point and you're the only one who can give it to us."
"Okay," Morgan relented. "When do you want to do it?"
"As soon as possible. How about later today? I can stop by around five. Is that okay with you?"
"Fine. I'll be here."
"Good. Listen, I know it might not seem like much to you right now. But trust me when I say that you are helping us and you're helping Aaron. Whatever else you remember may help us find this bastard sooner."
"I know. I just wish I could help more is all."
Rossi smiled even though he knew the bald agent couldn't see it. "And you will, trust me," he said. "Bye." The older man chuckled as he disconnected the call. He understood how Morgan felt, but he truly believed the cognitive interview would prove fruitful in the end.
"Thanks for your help," Flaxen said before he hung up his receiver then wrote something on his notepad. Finished, he leaned back in his chair and let out a deep breath as he replayed in his mind what he had just learned in his telephone call. He knew finding proof that Derek Morgan was not only responsible for the attempted murder of Aaron Hotchner, but for the three earlier murders would not be easy.
But he promised himself he would not stop until there were no longer any doubts to anyone that Morgan was responsible. He'd even prove it to his partner who didn't seem as convinced as he was. Then again, it always took Mason more time to be convinced; so being hesitant to believe the worst about someone wasn't unusual to him.
As he reached again for his receiver to make another call, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps from behind. He withdrew his hand and turned his chair around to face whoever it was. He saw it was his partner, and he was holding a single sheet of paper.
"What did you find?" he asked the black agent looking up at him.
Mason blew out a deep breath and handed his partner the sheet of paper. He then stuck both hands in his pants pockets.
"Not much," Mason began. "But I was able to reach Morgan's mother, Fran, in Chicago. She's the widow of a Chicago police officer. Husband was killed in the line of duty trying to thwart a purse snatching. Because she was at work, her husband had picked up their son, and he was in the patrol car when the shooting happened."
"So Morgan witnessed his father's shooting?" asked Flaxen. Despite being a dedicated agent, he wasn't completely devoid of emotions and compassion. He felt bad that as a child the profiler had witnessed his father's murder, but it didn't cut any slack with him with the charges Morgan was facing.
"He died in his son's arms. Needless to say Fran wasn't too pleased to hear from me and gave me a piece of her mind especially when I brought up her husband's death and how it might have affected Morgan."
Flaxen chuckled as he could picture Fran Morgan lashing out at anybody in Internal Affairs conducting an investigation of her son.
"And…?"
"It's just what we expected. Seems she met Hotchner's team a few years ago when they were in Chicago on a case. Said repeatedly how much her son liked and respected his teammates. Said she never noticed any tension between Hotchner and her 'Baby Boy' as she calls her son." He chuckled. "She also called us the rear end of a horse for thinking he would do such a thing."
Flaxen couldn't stop the small laugh from coming out of his mouth. Fran Morgan's reaction was not unlike the mother of any other agent he had investigated. Mothers and sometimes fathers were always the last to accept the truth about their child. But her comments wouldn't deter him. He was determined to continue with the investigation.
"How about you?" asked Mason. "Anything?"
Flaxen picked up his pad so he'd have his facts straight. "At least Derek Morgan told us the truth about this. Hotchner did receive a phone call from his Section Chief about Morgan. I just got off the phone with Mario Collazo, the Director of the Omaha office. He told me he did phone Erin Strauss about Morgan's availability for the position of Unit Chief. He was told she'd have to call Morgan's Unit Chief and inquire." Flaxen tossed his pad back on his desk and faced his partner.
"And we already know what happened after that," Mason said. "Hotchner told Morgan about the job and that he refused to recommend him for it."
"And Morgan got angry as this is the second time Hotchner refused to recommend him, and he got pissed, went to Hotchner's house after work, and tried to kill him. End of story." A diabolical grin appeared on the blonde man's face. It was a start.
Mason shook his head. He still wasn't convinced of Morgan's guilt as his partner.
He sighed and crossed his arms. "I admit it doesn't look good for Morgan," he said. "But we need more if we intend to prove anything. Suspicion alone isn't enough."
"I'm not worried. By the time I'm done, even you will be convinced of his guilt."
"What do you want to do next? We don't have enough probable cause to get a search warrant yet."
Flaxen sighed. "Then I suggest we get some." He turned his chair around, grabbed the receiver, and put it to his ear.
"Who are you calling?"
"We need to question Jack Hotchner," Flaxen said dialing a number. "He's the sole witness to his father's attack and might be able to give us what we need to get that search warrant."
Mason paused. "You got to be kidding. Hotchner's kid isn't gonna talk to us."
"I know," Flaxen replied as he listened to the ringing on the other end. "But I have an idea. I just need to make a phone call. Hello? This is Agent Flaxen with Internal Affairs. I'd like to speak with Agent Jennifer Jareau. I'll hold."
He glanced over his shoulder at Mason as he covered the mouthpiece with one hand. "Jareau is trained in child interrogation. Hello? Agent Jareau? Agent Flaxen. I need you to do us a favor. I need you to bring Jack Hotchner into the BAU tomorrow morning, and have a videotape recorder set up in a conference room for us. We want you to get him to talk to you about what happened the night his father was attacked. Agent Mason and I will be watching and listening outside the one-way mirror." A frown appeared. "I suggest you do, agent, or I will be forced to report to Chief Strauss your refusal to cooperate." He smirked. "Tomorrow afternoon at two p.m. will be fine. Thank you." He hung up the receiver, got to his feet, and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair.
"Where are we going now?" asked Mason.
"I suggest we pay Agent Morgan a visit and have another talk. Maybe we can get something out of him."
Both agents left the office to head to their destination.
Morgan closed the door after paying and tipping a deliveryman after delivering an order of General Tso's chicken, brown fried rice, and broccoli from a Chinese Restaurant several blocks away. Once he closed his door, he walked into the kitchen, and placed the plastic bags on a counter. He reached up and removed a dinner plate and a glass, then pulled open a drawer and took out several utensils. After loading his plate with food, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a gallon carton of milk, and filled his glass.
After returning the carton to the refrigerator, he returned to the living room and placed both on an end table on which he dropped the newspaper, and plopped into his chair. He put the plate on his lap and started to eat his meal. Occasionally he would take a drink of milk to wash everything down before returning to his food. He finished the meal and milk in about thirty minutes.
Once done, he got up from his chair, and walking into the kitchen again, washed the plate, utensils and glass and sat them on the counter to drain. He then put the remainder of the food in the refrigerator for later. Returning to the living room, he sat back down in his chair, picked up the folded newspaper, and turned it over until he came to the article on Hotch and began to read slowly. He was halfway through the story when the doorbell rang.
Sighing in disgust, Morgan tossed the paper onto the table, got to his feet, and glanced at his watch, noticing it was close to four-thirty. He had a suspicion as to who might be outside, and secretly hoped they wouldn't be here when Rossi arrived in half-an-hour. He opened the door, groaned, and rolled his eyes seeing Mason and Flaxen standing on the doorstep.
"Good afternoon, Agent Morgan," Flaxen announced with a pleasant expression which didn't fool the profiler one bit. The IA agents, without an invitation, moved past Morgan and into the living room. "We're here to ask you more questions."
He didn't give the agent a chance to respond as he and Mason continued further into the living room. It was then Flaxen spotted the newspaper laying on the table with the article about Hotchner showing. He picked it up and smirked as the first sentence caught his eyes.
"Reading about your handiwork, agent?" he said tossing the paper in the chair. He noticed Morgan's scowl as the man crossed his arms.
"Ask your damn questions then get the hell out of my house!" Morgan announced. "I'm busy!"
"Busy doing what?" asked Mason. "Hiding the fireplace poker you used to stab Agent Hotchner? Or perhaps the gun you used to shoot Agent Macklin."
Again Morgan glanced at his watch; it was going on four-fifty. He couldn't call Rossi and warn him to delay coming or that IA was in his apartment. He could only imagine what the agents would say and do if he showed up at his front door with them there. He just had to hope the senior agent would sense something was up on his own and delay ringing his doorbell.
But the glance at his watch didn't go unnoticed by Flaxen. He stared at the profiler. "I noticed you looking at your watch, agent. You expecting company?" he asked sarcastically.
Morgan returned the glare. He didn't like Flaxen any more than the IA agent liked him. So instead of answering him, he stayed silent.
Flaxen smirked sensing Morgan was trying to get under his skin, and he refused to allow it to happen. He and Mason sat side-by-side on the sofa. "We suggest you sit down, Agent Morgan."
Grinding his lower jaw, Morgan picked up the newspaper from his chair and tossed it onto the table. He then sat in the chair and crossed his arms. He glared at both agents.
Flaxen crossed his legs and removed his pen and notepad, placing the pad on his top thigh. Mason crossed his arms and glanced around the room. That's when his eyes fell on a shirt draped haphazardly on the back of a chair. It showed a button missing on one sleeve.
It was nearing five minutes to five when Dave Rossi parked his car a block away and across the street from Morgan's. This way he could see his friend's house, and keep out of sight at the same time. He had spotted the strange car in Morgan's driveway when he approached. A warning went off in his head telling him something wasn't right. Checking his watch, he noticed the time. And instead of getting out of his vehicle, he grabbed his cell and called the BAU.
"Prentiss, it's me. I'm at Morgan's and something's not right here. There's a strange car parked outside his place. Could be Internal Affairs. I'm gonna wait out of sight until I see them leave. As soon as they do, I'll interview him. I'll call back as soon as I see them leave. Right. Bye." He ended the call and prepared himself for an unknown length of time for surveillance.
Doctor Hochstein walked into Aaron's room with his nurse after getting past the two FBI agents posted outside the agent's door. With the condition his patient had been in when he arrived in the hospital, and learning his attacker was still on the loose, he was glad for the extra protection. He had to admit the guards were at first a bit intimidating, but after awhile he was grateful the FBI was looking out for their agent. At least the guards weren't interfering with anything and were actually a welcome sight just in case.
After checking Aaron's vitals, Hochstein needed to see how his patient was managing being weaned off the respirator. He was pleased to see Aaron doing well despite the pressure having been reduced. He hoped, should his progress continue, to remove the ventilator completely in the morning, and move Aaron into a private room afterward.
