A/N: Please excuse the roughness of a little language used in the latter part of this chapter. It was necessary for the plot.
Chapter 29
The expressions of Morgan and JJ told the threesome something was wrong.
"Uh oh…" Garcia said, seeing the scowl on her best friend's face. "I know that look, Derek Morgan. "You look like you just lost your best friend. But since I'm still here, that can't be it. So what's got my Chocolate Adonis all hot and bothered?"
Morgan took a deep breath. What he and JJ had learned during Morgan's recent questioning of Wheaton had unnerved them both.
"What did you find out?" Emily asked, worried.
"Wheaton remembered a few more details about the vehicle the UnSub used," Morgan began. "It had tinted windows and is a Chevrolet Suburban." As he continued to speak, Garcia's fingers raced furiously over the keyboard. "It had a bike roof rack system on the roof."
"Dare we hope he recalled the license plate?" asked Reid.
"That's where we could have a problem," JJ continued grimly. "He recalled it had a government plate, and could only remember a partial number. It's G32 46…that's all he could remember."
Emily, Garcia, and Reid exchanged concerned looks before Garcia returned to her keyboard.
"If that partial number proves to be what I suspect," Prentiss explained. "That could lead to Jason Hemminger."
A sudden gasp by their tech analyst got their attention.
"What is it, momma?" asked Morgan knitting his eyebrows.
"Oh no. Oh no, no, no."
Reid and Emily leaned closer to see what had come up on the screen, while JJ and Morgan bent forward and looked over Garcia's shoulders. On the screen appeared a police report dated several hours ago.
"This is not good. The license plate does belong to the U.S. Government," Garcia explained. "The complete license number is G32 468N2." Everybody stared at the close-up image of the impounded vehicle's license plate, the words 'US Government' printed across the top.
"And it's not a silver Suburban," Garcia continued. "From what I can tell, it's a silver ice Metallic color which sorta looks like silver, but that's an easy mistake to make since they both look alike."
"Where did they find the vehicle?" asked JJ. This was the first they were hearing of this.
Penelope looked closer. "Uhhhh…according to this, several teens were caught stripping the vehicle when our illustrious boys-in-blue spotted and arrested them on the scene. The vehicle was considered abandoned and missing its license plate. There was other damage to the vehicle as well. Police searched the vehicle and that's when traces of blood and the license plate with blood stains on it were found on the back seat. Oh…" Garcia cringed as she read the rest.
"What is it, Garcia?" asked JJ.
"…a sample of the blood was taken and sent for analysis. It came back as a match for Hotch. Also, the vehicle was found miles from where Hotch was found, but in the same neighborhood as that slimy janitor who robbed Mon Capitan."
Morgan growled. "So this bastard used an FBI vehicle to kidnap Hotch." That knowledge made him furious.
"Not exactly," Reid replied. "This license plate is a fake."
"How can you tell that, kid?" Morgan asked, his growing anger overriding his judgment at the moment. "It looks like a government plate to me."
Reid pointed to the screen with his forefinger. "According to this, this vehicle was retired from use in 2008, and sold to a place called Merker's Cop cars for Sale. It's run by a Sebastian Merker. They bought this Suburban from whoever owned it, and then sold it in 2010 to whoever used it to take Hotch a week ago."
"But that doesn't make sense," JJ added. "How can somebody sell an FBI vehicle that still has an FBI license plate on it?"
"Easy, gumdrop," Penelope interjected. "Our boy genius is right. The license plate is fake."
"How can you tell?" asked Emily.
"Because the license plates on all FBI vehicles have the words US government all in capitals, not just the first three letters," Reid explained. "And in the lower left hand corner is a thumb size photo of the FBI logo. This one doesn't have either of those things. Also, the American eagle is a light gray hologram positioned vertically down the center with the plate number printed over it. This plate has no hologram on it anywhere."
Morgan exhaled through his nose and shook his head as he straightened his posture.
"What does that mean?" JJ asked the black agent.
"What it means is that our UnSub thought he was clever enough that if he stuck a government plate on a vehicle, we wouldn't notice it was a fake."
"And that we'd believe an FBI agent was behind the attack on Hotch," Reid added. "Thus causing us to turn the investigation in a different direction, and maybe get Hotch killed at the same time."
"But he made a mistake this time," Morgan explained.
"Which is?" Garcia looked back at Morgan, puzzled.
"He wants us to think whoever attacked Hotch works in the bureau," Reid explained carefully. "Actually, he made two mistakes. He doesn't realize we use a black Suburban. And he doesn't know the correct format of the bureau's license plates."
"Is that gonna help us catch him?" Garcia asked glancing across at Reid, and then up at Morgan.
"It'll bring us closer, momma," Morgan told her with assurance. He studied the tech analyst. "Baby Girl, before I forget. Rossi said he wants to talk with you later about doing him a favor."
"My Italian Stallion need only ask. Did he say what he wants?"
Morgan shook his head. "All he said is that it's for Hotch, and he'd tell you when he talks to you."
"For my Boss-man I will await Sir Rossi's orders." She would do anything for Hotch no matter what Rossi asked of her.
Morgan now turned his focus onto the team's youngest agent. "C'mon, kid. We're gonna take a little drive." He started toward the door as Reid got up from his chair.
"Where are we going?" Reid asked.
"We're gonna see Sebastian Merker about a cop car." He walked out the door with Reid following behind him.
Emily removed her cell. "And I'll text Rossi about the police finding the Suburban."
Hotch let out a deep breath as he continued to wrestle with what Rossi had told him. He truly believed he knew Wheaton well enough to know he would never do what he had been told the man had done. But he also knew Rossi would never lie to him no matter what the circumstances. Hotch found himself in a quandary. If Darryl didn't do this, then that means Rossi lied. But if Rossi didn't lie, then that means Darryl was guilty. He wasn't sure who to believe. Nor did he have an idea as to what he would do once he found out which one lied. But how to find out which one?
He turned his head at the sound of the door opening. He was somewhat surprised to see Detective Moeller looking at him from the doorway.
"Agent Hotchner? Are you up to answering a few questions?" the detective asked hesitantly.
"Detective, come on in and have a seat. I promise I won't bite." The ends of Hotch's mouth curled upward but resembled more of a grimace as his face still hurt. But because of the pain meds, it had been reduced to more of a dull ache for which he was grateful.
The detective entered the room and sat down in the hard plastic chair beside the bed. Hotch pressed the remote to elevate the head of the bed slightly so he could sit up comfortably and talk to his visitor.
"I'm sorry I haven't come by since that first visit," Moeller explained. "But the investigation into who attacked you has kept me busy." He licked his lips. "So how are you doing?" he asked with genuine concern.
Hotch let out a deep breath and hissed when his body reacted to the effort. He waited until the stab of pain had passed. After a few minutes he was able to speak.
"I'm…okay," he answered. "I'm just sick of laying in this damn bed doing nothing." He wanted to help find who did this to him. And hopefully clear Darryl's name. But that wasn't about to happen. And also, Rossi would have him handcuffed to the bed if he tried. "You said you had a few questions for me?"
"Only if you're up to it."
"Ask your questions. I'll do my best to answer them. But I need to tell you I've been told what happened to me. So I can only tell you things up to a certain point."
"That's okay, agent. I'm aware you had no memory of what happened because of the Rohypnol." The detective paused when the agent grimaced at the mention of the date rape drug. He suspected it was because it was a reminder of what happened. "I'm sorry. But there's no way around it. I'll try not to mention the drug by name too much."
Hotch sighed. "It's all right. I'm still trying to come to terms with everything. And just hearing Rohypnol only serves to remind me of what was done to me. But go ahead with your questions, detective."
Moeller removed a small tape recorder and placed it on the portable tray near the head of the bed.
"I'd like to get it on tape if that's all right with you?"
Hotch's eyebrows knitted together. "Isn't my team sharing what they find with you and your people?"
"They are. I just wanted to question you myself to find out if perhaps you remembered something else, or maybe forgot something originally. That's all."
"I see." Hotch sighed. "Go ahead."
Moeller pressed the 'on' button.
"Why did you go to the Serendipity bar that night?"
Hotch pursed his lips and appeared lost in thought for a few seconds. He licked his suddenly dry lips.
"I was working in the office. It was about seven p.m. in the evening. My son, Jack, was staying with his aunt for the weekend. And since I didn't want to return home to an empty house, I decided to keep working. Everybody else was gone so I was alone in the office. Then the telephone rang."
"Who was on the phone when you answered it?"
"It was a friend I hadn't heard from for several years, Darryl Wheaton."
How did you know it was him calling?"
"He's the only one who ever calls me AM. Everybody else calls me Aaron or Hotch."
"What did he say to you? Do you remember?"
"Yes. He apologized for having left after we graduated from Georgetown, and that he was in bad trouble and needed my help."
"Did he tell you what trouble?"
"No. He said he didn't want to discuss it over the phone. Asked me to meet him at the Serendipity in an hour. So I went to meet him."
"Once you got there, did he tell you what the trouble was?"
Hotch shook his head. "No."
"So what did you talk about if I may ask?"
"We talked about my son, and my late wife Haley. I don't recall him saying much of anything at the time."
"He still hadn't told you anything?"
Hotch shook his head carefully.
"You told Agent Rossi before you left the bar, you felt strange. What did you mean by strange?"
"I had one drink, but I don't remember what. I had to drive home and didn't want to get drunk, so I nursed it. I tried to get Darryl to talk to me, but he kept procrastinating. At first I thought he was trying to find the right words. But after a few minutes, I began to suspect finding the right words wasn't the problem."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, he started apologizing to me, and repeating how sorry he was. He said this was harder than he thought it would be. I hoped he would finally tell me what the problem was, and how I could help. He looked so frightened. But then I started feeling dizzy and disoriented. I felt like I was drunk, and my speech became slurred. The last thing I remember was Darryl helping me out of the bar. I remember nothing after that until I woke up in that alleyway." He paused. "Rossi filled me in on what happened in between the bar and the alleyway."
Moeller nodded. He noticed Hotch was tiring. "Do you want to stop? We can continue later if you prefer?"
"I'm all right. Let's continue."
"Okay. Let's go back a minute. You said you had one drink?"
"Yes."
"At any time, did you leave your drink unattended?"
"Just for a few minutes. My son called me on my cell." An affectionate smile appeared whenever he talked about Jack. "He always likes to tell me goodnight when I'm not with him. I walked outside to talk with him. But I remember asking Darryl to watch my drink and that I'd be back shortly."
"So you left your drink with your friend."
"Yes. But I was only gone a few minutes. Jack was so sleepy when he called he could barely stay awake during our talk. We wished each other goodnight, I ended the call, and went back inside the bar. When I returned, Darryl swore nobody had touched my drink."
"And you trusted him when he said that?"
"Of course I trust him. I've known him for years. He's a good friend."
"Agent Hotchner, how long would you say after you finished your drink you became dizzy and disoriented?"
"Probably about thirty minutes or so. Why?"
"Did you suspect you had been drugged?"
"I began to suspect it if that's what you're asking." Hotch studied the detective's face. "You agree with Rossi, don't you? He believes while I was outside on the phone, that's when the drug was added to my drink."
"Yes on both accounts. I'm afraid it's looking more and more like your friend not only drugged you, but took part in assaulting you."
Hotch's eyebrows knitted together as his eyes darkened. "That's what Dave told me. But I can't believe that. Darryl wouldn't do that to me."
Moeller nodded. "Agent Hotchner, I understand you have difficulty accepting it, but your friend is partly responsible."
"Any more questions, detective?" Hotch asked, his voice strained. He turned his head away.
"Only one. When you regained consciousness in the alleyway, were you alone?"
Hotch momentarily forgot his injuries and shrugged his shoulders. A sharp stab of pain made him hiss again.
"Agent Hotchner…" Moeller began, concerned.
"I'm okay. I'm okay." Hotch closed his eyes until the pain passed. After a few minutes, he opened them again, but still didn't look at the detective. "Just somebody going through my pockets as if searching for something. Then I passed out again."
"Can you tell me anything else?" asked Moeller.
"No. As I told you earlier, I had no memory of anything after I left the bar until I woke up in the alley." He tried to stifle a yawn and failed. "Detective, I'm very tired. I'd like to go to sleep. If you have any more questions, can they wait until later?"
Moeller reached over to the tape recorder and pressed the 'off' button. He picked it up and put it back inside his jacket.
"No more questions, Agent Hotchner, unless we need to talk with you again. I'm sorry to cause you to relive what happened."
"I understand better than anybody that it has to be done, detective." Hotch closed his eyes, hoping Moeller got the hint and left. He wanted to be left alone right now.
The detective smiled and quietly got to his feet. Then, as quietly as he could, he left Hotch's room letting the agent rest.
Jason Hemminger sat alone at a table in the cafeteria sipping a cup of black coffee, staring at the people walking in and out of the cafeteria. He recalled his interrogation by Agents Prentiss and Reid, and fumed.
Stay away from Hotchner, eh? I'm afraid I can't do that, agents. He needs to be taught a lesson. A good and painful lesson. And he will find out who taught him that lesson before he dies. Trust me.
He took another drink of coffee and let out a deep breath. His mind was working overtime on how to get his prey without the man's team finding out, but so far had come up empty. He looked up when someone stood in his line of vision. A smile appeared on his face. It was his good friend, Ronald Beckman.
"Hey, Ron. Everything all right?"
Agent Beckman sat down carrying a cup of coffee. He took a drink and let out a deep breath.
"I'm really beat, Jason. Guarding this Agent Hotchner continuously is monotonous. I don't see the big deal anyway. I mean, we're all FBI agents. Injuries are always a possibility in our line of work."
"Ain't it the truth," Hemminger replied tiredly. "So how's he doing anyway?"
Beckman shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I mean, from what I understand, somebody worked him over pretty good. Damn near killed him. Wonder what happened to him anyway?"
"I'm not sure, but I've heard whispers," Hemminger said.
"Whispers of what?"
"I'll tell you. But if anyone asks, you didn't get it from me." Hemminger leaned forward and brought his head close to Beckman's. "Talk is whoever it was, poked him in the ass if you know what I'm saying."
Beckman's jaw dropped and his eyes widened in surprise. "He was raped?"
"It wasn't rape from what I understand. But that's the cover story they're telling everybody."
"Cover for what?"
Hemminger lowered his voice further. "That the great Agent Hotchner engages in deviant behavior when he's not at work. I've even heard he likes it rough. You would never think that he's into that kinda behavior. Guess whoever he was with got a little rougher than normal. I can certainly understand his team wanting to keep his lifestyle hush-hush. I mean, the Unit Chief of the BAU banging men in alleys or who knows where else?"
"No shit! You serious?"
"It's embarrassing to the bureau."
"Sheesh. Just goes to prove one can never tell. And the man has a son too."
"Makes you wonder how the poor kid's gonna turn out having a pervert for a father."
"Poor kid." Beckman took another drink of coffee and checked the time. "I gotta go. I'm supposed to relieve Agent Decker." He started to his feet. "I'll maybe catch you later, Jason. And don't worry about anybody finding out you told me." He shook his head. "Who would've ever thought that Agent Hotchner was into men. Oh well. Whatever floats your boat I guess."
Hemminger watched his friend leave with a devious grin on his face. The tale he had spun had given him an idea. He would humiliate and embarrass the agent.
He would tell an altered version of the truth to as many people as he could within the bureau. The truth that Aaron Hotchner, the 'so-called super-agent of the BAU', in reality, sought out, and voluntarily engaged in, deviant acts with men. And the claim of rape was to cover up the perversion.
Let's see how much pain you feel when your fellow agents begin to whisper and talk about you behind your back, Agent Hotchner. You'll be humiliated and ashamed. All your fellow agents will know the truth about what happened. Or at least believe they do anyway. You won't be able to ever show your face in the BAU or the Bureau again. So it won't come as any surprise when people hear you ate your own gun. And nobody will suspect I was really the one who killed you.
Hemminger's smile widened. His plan would work. And work successfully if he planned it carefully. And if Jason Hemminger was anything, it was a careful planner.
