--
To say that their father wasn't happy was the understatement of the year. Don knew the minute he stepped through the door that he'd seen the news and the size of Alan's frown let Don know just how much information the press had gotten hold of.
"I called your cell phone and all I got was your voice mail. There was a murder in Charlie's office?"
"Yes," Don admitted reluctantly. "And I was on the phone when you called." He watched Charlie slump down in a dining room chair. He rested his hands on the tabletop, and as much as he was trying to hold himself together, it was easy to see that morning's events still had him shaken.
"I thought you had caught the guy. The one killing professors. Then I turn on the news this morning and find out you haven't. What's going on and why does it involve a dangerous criminal in Charlie's office?"
Don sighed. This is why he never used to bring work home with him. Before Charlie had gotten involved, Don hadn't talked much about work. He'd drop by for dinner, perhaps a file or two under his arm, but he'd never shared many details. Oh, sure, he'd mention it was a murder case, sometimes vent a tiny bit of frustration if his day hadn't gone well, but that had been it.
When had that changed? He'd like to think it had been Charlie, since that seemed to be the easiest explanation, but he knew it wasn't the truth. Mom hated his job. Respected it, but didn't like hearing the gritty details at the dinner table.
"We did get the right guy. It's just gotten a lot more complicated, Dad."
Alan crossed his arms. "Well, I have time. Care to elaborate?"
"I can't." He shouldn't, but that wasn't what was holding him back.
"Can't? Or won't?"
"Does it matter?"
Both Don and Alan turned at Charlie's voice. He stared down at the table, his head shaking back and forth slowly, his fingers moving restlessly. "Because it doesn't. We got the right guy the first time. This is different. An anomaly. The data doesn't add up."
Don let Charlie's statement sink in. It was true and it made his life a mess. He could hope that when he headed back to the office they'd have a lead off that note, but he wasn't holding his breath. He had a feeling this guy wasn't careless enough to leave a fingerprint behind. The note was typed, so handwriting couldn't be analyzed. This guy was good. His father was looking at him, he knew, and still waiting for a further explanation.
He though about what to say, but before he could even open his mouth, Charlie pushed his chair out and got up, making a beeline for the front door.
Don stopped him.
"Where are you going?"
"Out for a walk," Charlie answered.
"Charlie, you can't-"
"I need to clear my head. I won't go far. Send whoever you want to follow me. Just make sure they keep their distance." He met Don's gaze. "Please."
He nodded. "Yeah, sure."
Charlie gave him a terse "thanks" and headed out the door. Don reached for his cell, making a quick call. He gave a glance out one of the front windows and watched the car containing agents slowly pull out. Satisfied, he turned back to his father.
"Explanation?"
"Charlie's right. Peters, the guy we arrested, is the right guy. This is a copycat and we have absolutely no leads. Only that he wants me to listen to him." Don paused a minute. "I pulled Charlie off this case."
"Pulled him off? Why?"
Don gave him an odd look. "Why? I'd think you'd be overjoyed that I did."
"Well, I'll admit, the fact that Charlie was working on a case involving the murders of college professors was not something I liked, but I'm surprised."
Don sat back down at the table. "Surprised about what? That I told him I didn't need his help?"
"Yes," Alan answered. "The last time you had no leads, you pushed Charlie. You always push Charlie, even when I don't agree. Charlie pushes himself. Something happened."
"Nothing happened." He was lying and he knew his father would see right through him, but he hoped, like the last time he'd dropped by, Alan would let it go.
"Donnie."
Nope. His father wasn't going to. But this case had him rattled and Don wasn't in the mood for a long conversation. Especially one where his father reminded him again that Charlie wasn't an FBI agent.
"It's personal, Dad, and it's confidential. It something I shouldn't be talking about and frankly, I doubt you'd want to hear it anyway. I put a couple of agents on Charlie. But I can't have him helping me. You're right, Dad. I chose this life and Charlie didn't. And he shouldn't pay for my choice." He sighed and got up. "I have to get back to the office."
Before Alan could ask him anything further, Don was out the front door.
--
There was pavement. Smooth and gray, with a straight line of white. A parking lot, he quickly realized, but something was different. His view was unusual.
Then he understood. He wasn't there. It was as if he was watching a movie. A faraway observer seeing the events unfold across the big screen without any input into what happened, yet knowing inevitably what would.
There were tires. Just the hint of rounded black in the corner of his vision and a sliver of hub cab. Again, familiar, but he had trouble placing them.
A step closer, a pair of feet entering the scene. Sneakers that paused and he heard a jingling. The person was searching for their keys.
Then it hit. The moment in every horror film where the viewer knows the person on screen is in peril, that in one more second it could be -
--
"Don."
Someone was shaking him and he bolted up, startled. It took a few seconds for him to notice his surroundings. His desk. He'd actually fallen asleep on his desk. He'd fallen asleep across his keyboard, in fact. He found that ironic, since it was an action he'd expected of Charlie, not himself, especially not in the middle of the afternoon, in the midst of a busy FBI office.
And even if he did, he didn't dream.
Megan stared down at him, a folder in hand. She didn't look like she had woken him with good news.
"What?" Suddenly a flash of sneakers crossed his vision. Yet again, he knew this wasn't something he'd like.
"There was another incident at CalSci twenty minutes ago. We got a call from the local PD. Charlie found Larry in the parking lot, by his car. He'd been struck from behind."
Don's body went cold. "Is he...?"
Megan shook her head. "He's alive. They took him to Huntington Memorial."
He dropped the folder onto his desk. "I should-"
"You should get some sleep," Megan interjected, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Don, this case is getting personal. You need to drop by the hospital, check on Charlie and Professor Fleinhardt, but then maybe you should go home."
"I have a job to do. A team to lead." He needed sleep, yes, but he needed to solve this case first.
"We can handle it for a few hours," Megan answered. "You told me I didn't have anything to prove, why do you think you do?"
"I don't. But I didn't question you when you thought you did, did I?"
"Actually, you did. But you let me do my thing. You still didn't think I was okay. And I don't think you are." She looked directly at him. One thing he had to say about Megan was she didn't back down.
"What makes you say that?"
"You fell asleep on your desk. That isn't something you do. You're exhausted and we're hitting dead ends that lead to more violence. This person knows you, knows Charlie."
This person did. And between that and the dreams, it had Don more unglued than he was willing to admit. Not to Charlie, his father, Megan, anyone. He had a connection to this case he couldn't explain and it was unsettling and frustrating.
That had to end. And end soon.
"That is exactly why I'm going to the hospital and coming right back here."
Megan pursed her lips, as if she was holding something back. "Fine," she said. "But I'm driving."
--
They had barely pulled out of the parking garage when Megan thrust a folder into Don's lap.
"You'll want to see that."
"Why?" He flipped it open. "Wait...the note had a print?" His eyes scanned the pages further and he frowned. "A woman's print?"
"Yeah," Megan replied. "Which in and of itself is interesting because women don't fit the law enforcement's profile of a serial killer."
"Because they rarely torture their victims?" They'd mentioned that at Quantico and because of it, a serial killer was always labeled as a 'he'.
"Women who kill serially generally use poison and aren't normally associated with the sexual attack, torture, or violence of their male counterparts."
"Doesn't mean they can't though, does it?"
"No profile is completely perfect. At best they're guides that happen to be right a majority of the time. Bet Charlie would be all over those statistics."
"I bet he would...Maria Fosters. We actually gotta a hit off the database?"
"She was brought in two years ago for unpaid parking tickets. Almost five thousand dollars worth of them. Husband bailed her out; paid the tickets."
"That's a whole lot of parking tickets."
"Guess she never had any quarters on her. Of course, the real issue isn't that. Look at her sheet."
Don's frown increased. "She's five-two. One hundred and ten pounds. There's no way she could have taken down Philips and Carlson. There were signs of struggle."
"Against someone that clearly had to be bigger than both of them. I'm thinking her husband. Look, I sent David and Colby out to bring her in-"
"Good," he interrupted. "We got anything on her husband yet?"
"Just that his name is Jonathon and that he doesn't have a record."
"We-"
"David and Colby are on it," she repeated. "We just need to concentrate on getting to the hospital."
--
The hospital was a mad house. It was Megan who spotted Charlie slumped on a chair in the corner of the ER waiting room. Sitting next to him was Amita. She had a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Charlie paid her no attention. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two agents he had on Charlie standing near the ER admittance desk. One was reading a magazine, looking no different from another person waiting.
Charlie shifted as they approached, his gaze connecting with Don's.
"He left a note."
Don stopped in his tracks at Charlie's words.
"I know," Megan said. "I talked to the PD."
"You did?" Don asked. She hadn't shared that piece of information with him. Or maybe she had. Don zoned out a bit on the drive over, his mind wandering back to his dream and the attack on Larry. And more importantly, why he continued to have these dreams when they did nothing to prevent further violence.
"It was typed," Amita volunteered. "Three lines. It mentioned Don and Larry by name."
Megan nodded. "Were you with...?"
"Yes," she answered. "I met Charlie at the library and we were walking across the parking lot."
"I told you to stay away from CalSci," Don muttered, eyes still locked with his brother's.
Charlie turned, a slightly guilty look clouding his features. "I needed to work," he stated. "Besides, who knows what could have..." He bit his lip.
Don wanted more answers, but getting them now wasn't a good idea. He let it slide, knowing full well why Charlie had ended up at CalSci.
"How's Larry?" he asked.
"He's still unconscious," Amita answered. "I think they're doing a CAT scan now. But the doctor's optimistic."
"He has hit from behind," Charlie said softly. "Maybe with a tire iron, they're not sure. We have to get this guy." There was no denying the urgency in Charlie's last statement.
"We will, buddy." Don sat down next to Charlie. His glance swooped up and met Megan's for a second before settling back down to his brother.
"I'm going to check in with David and Colby. See if they picked up Maria Fosters yet."
"Good." Megan headed towards the emergency room exit, cell phone in hand.
Don shifted and silence settled between him, Charlie, and Amita. Don's mind wandered again, back to his dream, back to the case.
He'd put someone on Larry, and hoped it would make Charlie feel better. He wasn't sure if it made him feel better. But it would make him feel a little less guilty.
Less guilty because he was thankful it wasn't Charlie.
"Dr. Eppes?"
Charlie turned at the voice and Don saw the anxiousness flash across Charlie's face when a nurse approached.
"He's awake and asking for you. The doctor says you can come back."
Charlie sagged in relief and looked towards Amita and Don. Amita gave him a small smile and Don found himself mirroring the gesture.
"Go," he said. Charlie didn't need to be told twice. In less then three seconds, he was up and following the nurse.
Just as Charlie disappeared out of view, Megan returned. "Colby and David found Maria Fosters. They're on their way in."
"Good." Don made a mental decision to stay for while, for both Charlie's sake and to see if Larry could offer any information. He'd told Megan to go back to the office, but she wanted to stay and he knew there was no convincing her otherwise.
He sure as hell hoped Maria Fosters was the key, because if she wasn't, they were back to square one.
--
Thankfully, it appeared Larry would be all right. Despite the fact that tests showed the physicist had received a hairline skull fracture, the doctor assured them he would be fine and only in the hospital for a couple of days. Don didn't miss the look of relief that ran across Charlie's face, and he realized a similar weight had been released from his own shoulders.
He needed to head back to the office and check on Colby and David's progress, but he had been reluctant to leave Charlie. Charlie, however, insisted, and Megan volunteered her car keys and to stick around.
Colby was already talking to Mrs. Fosters when Don reached the area outside the interrogation room. David was standing outside.
"How's Professor Fleinhardt?"
"Awake," Don replied. "But he doesn't remember anything." He nodded his head towards Colby and Fosters. "Well?"
"There's no way she did it. The first two victims have at least sixty pounds on her."
Don stole a look into the room. Maria Fosters was close to what he'd pictured from her written description. She was dark-haired, slim, and petite. She was shaking her head as Colby spoke, a worried look evident across her face.
"What about her husband? The one that paid her parking tickets."
"Dead," David replied. "Killed in a car accident two months ago. Big guy, though. There were pictures of him all over the house. Six four, at least, and well over 200 pounds."
"There goes that theory," Don muttered.
"Yeah," David agreed, "but she's got a son."
Don perked up a little at the news. "Oh? Any chance he take after his father?"
"Oh yeah," David confirmed. "Pictures of him all over the house, too. But that's not where it ends."
Don raised an eyebrow, urging David to continue.
"Her son received his PhD last year. From CalSci."
Don blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. "CalSci?" he repeated. He'd been expecting to connect Fosters to himself, since every note addressed him by name, appeared to target him, taunt him by getting closer to Charlie.
He never even considered this angle.
Colby finished and got up from the table, leaving Mrs. Fosters wringing her hands on the barren interrogation table. He joined Don and David, letting the door close behind him with a gentle click.
"She doesn't know anything," were his first words. "And she has a solid alibi for the first murder. She was at a book club meeting and it checks out."
"She could've typed the letter. Helped out her kid," David put in.
Colby shook his head. "Not that woman. No one's that good an actor. And her son's out, too. He's been out of the country for the last two weeks. Some physics seminar in England. She called him last night."
"Or so she says." He wasn't ready to believe anyone anymore. Not when they started striking close to home. "Phone records?"
"On it," David answered, walking towards his desk.
Don looked through the glass into the interrogation room. Maria Foster was still wringing her hands, her eyes worried. Colby was right; she had no idea. It, of course, didn't explain why her prints were on that note. Something was missing. Something obvious.
"You said her son got his PhD in physics, right?"
"Right," Colby answered.
"Name?"
"Robert Fosters. Class of '05."
Don needed more information. And unfortunately, he knew where he'd have to go to find it.
Charlie.
"I'm heading back to Huntington Memorial and will see if the name rings a bell with Charlie. Try and track down her son."
--
Don tucked Megan's keys in his pocket as he made his way towards the hospital's elevator. Hopefully Charlie could shed some light on the name. Don was betting Robert Fosters might have taken a math course or two of Charlie's along the way.
The lead wasn't much and it still nagging at his brain. It didn't fit the case. Something was still off.
The feeling stuck with him as he approached the nurse's station. A quick phone call to Megan before leaving the bureau told him Larry had finally been moved to a room, so he went there, not expecting Charlie to have headed anywhere else in the past couple of hours.
What he found on Larry's floor eclipsed his worst nightmare. Megan was questioning a nurse. That in itself wouldn't have rung any alarms, but the woman was sitting down, while a doctor taped a piece of gauze to her forehead. The two agents he had on Charlie were a few feet away.
Charlie was no where in sight.
The door to Larry's room was open, something that didn't automatically strike Don as odd - patient's doors were always open during the day. But Don knew beyond a doubt that Charlie wasn't in there.
Don's blood turned cold.
"Where's Charlie?"
Megan turned. She didn't need to say a word. Don knew the answer.