Chapter 25

Chandler touched the face of his watch sitting on his desk. He picked up the time piece taped the glass put it down straightened it, picked it up again, put it to his ear, nodded at the tick it produced, put it down and repositioned it. 126 minutes. 126 minutes had passed since Basen had walked out of his office with the insistence that she had one more phone call to make before moving on to other duties. He hadn't been concerned when she didn't take the call at her desk but instead picked up her cell phone and walked out. That was the last time he saw her. It had been the last time anyone saw her. She hadn't returned, after half an hour Chandler was upset she would treat the office like this, after an hour he started to take her disrespect personally. Now after 2 hours his anger was replaced by concern. He stood up and stepped out of his office.

"Where, exactly is Basen?" he asked looking around the room. Kent sat at his desk, eyes wide and glossy from watching too many CCTV tapes. Mansell was near sleep reviewing witness reports. Riley sat behind a large stack of files at her desk and Miles was leaning back in his chair with the phone clamped to his ear. Chandler stopped in the middle of the room and impatiently put his hands to his hips.

"I don't know sir," Riley said with an impatient tone of her own in her voice. "She said she was making one last phone call, would only take a moment she said." Riley involuntarily snorted. "She left and hasn't been back since."

"Who did she call?" Chandler asked walking over to Riley's desk.

"Hell if I know." Riley was looking forward to a little of Basen's American wisdom to help with her case. It appeared to be a simple domestic but there was something about it that was off and she was hoping adding Basen to the investigation would be beneficial.

"What's up sir?" Mansell asked curious to focus his attention on anything but the damn witness reports he was currently working on.

"Basen seems to be missing. I asked her 2 hours ago to help Riley."

"She probably went to the smoker's lounge," Mansell said standing up and grabbing his jacket. "I'll go look."

"She doesn't smoke," Chandler said, "And what is the 'smoker's lounge'?"

"Yeah well," Mansell left the room before he needed to answer any other questions.

The smokers lounge wasn't really a lounge and wasn't really where anyone went to smoke, although on occasion smoking had been done. Basen had pointed out too many of the rooms inside the building had full glass walls or doors and there seemed to be an overabundance of camera's and traffic outside. She had wondered confidentially to Mansell if there was a place where one could go for more privacy. Mansell had initially been offended that she directed this question to him. He was insulted he had the type of reputation that would know how and where to sneak off to, but then he decided to be insulted later since he actually did know of a place.

Chandler didn't think he appreciated the fact Basen would purposely ignore his order to move her investigation into Block to the back burner. He thought they had move past this part, past the insubordination, past the times where she would pushed back at him in an attempt to get her way. He wanted to expect more from his detective, more from Basen.

He walked over to her desk to see if he could find any indication of what she was working on or a clue of who she was calling. His fingers skimmed over the papers and files on her desk. Small pieces of paper mostly scrap and on occasion wrappers were taped to her desk in what Chandler felt was an incoherent fashion. Basen liked taking and keeping notes on her desk versus keeping notes on the computer or in some type of binder or folder. Chandler had made the mistake on his nightly cleaning and threw away what he had felt was trash from Basen's desk. Problem was Basen didn't feel it was trash. A strange heated argument ensued and afterwards an agreement that Basen would tape down important paperwork to prevent it from being thrown away, had been agreed upon.

She had her own system to keep it organized but to Chandler it still looked like rubbish. Random numbers and phrases were written on several pieces of paper taped to the desk. He recognized one as a list of books Block had in his apartment, there was also a series of dots on a piece of paper that Chandler wasn't sure of the meaning, on a small square yellow "stickey" was the name "HOTCH" and an international American number. He remembered briefly that she mentioned having friends in the FBI and wondered if this was the person. Is that who Basen had called? Surely she would have taken the number with her if she were to call.

"Anything useful?" Miles asked, walking over to the desk.

"Not that I can tell," Chandler answered, again running his fingers over the papers on the desk. He then touched each note individually with his index finger. Joe silently counted them, when he finished he did it again.

"Chandler" Miles said, interrupting the count. He looked down at Chandler and tried not to allow concern anywhere near him. Chandler was becoming nervous, falling into his OCD habits were his way of coping and it had only been a few hours since Basen walked out of the office, panic was a bit premature. If Miles allowed himself to be concerned then it would give Joe's anxious nature a fertile ground to propagate on and right now they didn't need that. Basen could quite easily be in the rest room or still on the phone somewhere out of the way or she may have ignored Chandlers request completely and snuck out of the office to continue to pursue her case on Block. Miles didn't think the last part to be true. Basen, although initially a pain in the ass had started too grown on him and he quickly learned there was a method to her madness. Direct in-subordination wasn't something he thought she would do.

The smoker's lounge was tucked into a small alleyway, that had previously been used to move prisoners or suspects out of the building to a waiting transport but after a renovation some years ago it became quickly forgotten. Only those who had worked in the building for longer than 20 years still remembered it. Now it severed as a respite for those who needed more privacy that the janitor's closet would allow.

As a precaution, markers were set out to let others know when the spot was occupied. Mansell noted none of those markers at the moment. Of course in the darkening evening it was difficult to see anything. He took out his phone and used it for a flashlight.

"Did you try calling her cell phone?" Mansell asked Chandler. He was starting to recognize the tale tell images of panic just creeping up into his DI's face. His fingers again started to fidget with items on the desk, Miles knew he needed to get him focused on something instead of sitting here wondering what may have happened. Miles also knew from his experience as a parent, your mind can fill the unknown with wild outlandish images if it didn't have something to center on.

Realization spread across Chandler's face.

"No, I actually didn't think of it, thank you Miles." Chandler smiled stood up and started to walk in his office.

"Chandler." Miles stopped him.

"Yes?"

"If she's trying to avoid you she won't answer her phone if you call. Use mine or Kent's she may answer ours before yours." Chandler nodded in agreement, understanding and took the phone out of Miles' outstretched hand. Chandler punched the numbers on the phone, he didn't need to bother with the contacts list, he knew the number by heart.

Mansell stepped into the short alley but saw no one. He turned back and was about to head into the building when he heard the ring of a telephone. He briefly looked at his own phone but quickly realized it wasn't his ring tone. This one sounded more like an old telephone and it was coming from somewhere on the ground. He looked down and again used his phone as a flash light to illuminate the area around him. After a few moments he located the phone and picked it up, it had stopped ringing and he could see the "missed call" on the display and there was something sticky and wet on it. He walked over to a street light for a better view and immediately wished he hadn't. The street light picked up a large crack in the screen but it also helped confirm the unmistakable deep maroon red of blood. Mansell went back to the squad room in a dead run.