"I no longer listen to what people say, I watch what they do. Behavior never lies."

- Winston Churchill -

After leaving the precinct Rossi found a KMart, inside he bought himself a map along with some cheap scotch, a pack of notebooks, and multicolored pens, things he normally kept in his go bag for cases.

He got a few instructions from his cashier and then made his way to a hotel that split the hour drive between Wieder, Kirschenbaum & Moore and the local college that Professor Harris taught at.

It was not fancy, in fact it was a bit run down. Yet another step back in time to the hovels that they used to sleep in all those years ago. After dropping off his suitcase and his purchases on the creaky mattress he ordered in room service and took a shower.

After he was clean and the room service arrived he sat in the room at the desk/ table and opened both his food as the notebook and pens. As he eats he begins to info dump, a skill he learned from his childhood and perfected sitting in the passenger seat of an FBI car tuning out Jason's horrid taste in music.

He sat and took every single detail of what he remembered out of his head and placed onto a page before his mind had the ability to distort it. It also helped put real weight to his thoughts by making them real. Something others could see and understand. He has always used multiple colors to separate ideas.

That night he used three colors, one for the account given by Mrs. Baker, which no doubt came from the media. Next the official report made by Murphy and Stewart. Finally he penned the account of Julian Reid. He used a fourth color to draw the connections that were the same in each story.

Where was the truth?

He worked until his eyes hurt and his back arched. Then he decided to call it a night. Tomorrow he would talk to William Reid and Professor Harris and see if he can not make a clearer picture of Spencer Reid's last moments.

Then he would go home.

He rises early, dresses in a button up shirt and a pair of slacks. He toes on his leather boots and prepares for the day.

Before he leaves the hotel he calls both the college that Harris taught at and the office where Reid worked. He found out when it would be best to corner Harris, 10 after his second morning class but before his noon lunch hour, and set a meeting with William Reid first thing.

Tucking his notes into a briefcase he threw on his long taupe peacoat and his scarf before making his way to his rental car. He looked back over the notes as he waited to meet with Mr. Reid, who was surprised already at work before their 7:30 appointment and from the look of how deep he was in his files, he had been there for a good hour at least.

When the secretary let him back he smiled at her and dismissed her before she got the chance to announce him. Through his years as an investigator he learned there were a few precious moments between when he entered a room and when someone who was engaged in work as William Reid was would notice his presence.

A small part of Rossi, had hoped to walk in to find a man fitting the physical description Julian had given. But instead there was a clean shaven man in his late 30s, balding, dressed in a sharp suit and a red tie. A calculated presence if Rossi ever saw one.

The office around him was generic, with dark yellow walls two bookshelves on opposite sides of the room filled with trinkets including some drawings that were no doubt made by a younger Spencer or Julian. There was a hat on the left book shelf and two baseballs in clear cube cases and a signed wooden bat laying across the table against the window.

He scanned the room for photographs. Of which there were a total of four. One of his graditation, one of his wedding day, one of hismelf and who Rossi assumed were the partners of the law firm shaking hands and the final picture of a family of four. But it was old, outdated and showed a much happier life than the one Rossi had heard sincebeing handed Spencer's picture.

In this photo Spencer was maybe four years old sitting on a hospital bed to the left, a healthier looking Diana who held, Rossi assumed, Julian in her arms. William is to Diana's left and is smiling up at the camera where Diana is smiling down at what from an angle seems to be Spencer, who only has eyes for the newest member of the family of four. But that is where the photos end. No smiling photos of vacations or sporting events or birthday parties. Nothing at all. It was as if William paused in time almost six years ago.

"A beautiful family," he said finally. When William looked up there was a brief moment of panic, a jump that came from the fact that Rossi had infiltrated his space without William's knowledge. Then there was a look toward the door which still sat open.

"How old?" Dave asked a smirk present as William floundered under his gaze.

"Excuse me?" The man asked standing up walking toward the door as if to question it on how it opened.

"Your children, how old?" Dave continued before walking over to one of the leather back chairs that sat across from William's desk and sitting down his bag at the side of the chair.

"Three and Eight," the man said.

Dave schooled his expression but inside took note of the fact William Reid aged his children three years down and did so while dismissing the question outright. "How did you, what are you, look sir I have an important meeting at 7:30."

"Oh I know, I am your meeting. David Rossi nice to meet you." He said extending his right hand while his left flipped open his badge. Now to watch William flounder to compose himself as his face flipped through a good deal of micro expression before falling into a fake smile and a firm over practiced handshake.

"I appologize," William said before walking over to his desk. He wasn't concerned or cornered. Now he was confident flipping his suit jacket down before he sat and resting his hands on the desk facing eachother finger tips touching softly.

"Detective Rodriquez called me, said you were looking into Diana for research purposes?" He said head tilting in a more exateraded mannor than it would should the question be genuine and eyebrow raising. More than that the man distanced Spencer from the case, speaking only of Diana.

"Yes, the field of behavioral science is still new." He lied easily, "when cases crop up that have specific patterns we like to look into them. It helps us build a baseline for what we see each day and helps create a better profile in the future."

"Diana is not well," William said, raising his hand to his heart face softening.

"I am just here to try and make sure nothing like this is able to happen again." Rossi said feigning compassion. "I know it must be hard for you and your daughter at this time. I do not mean to pry at open wounds."

"Of course,"

"How is she doing?"

"Diana is doing better, medicine is helping."

"I meant your daughter."

"Excuse me?"

"Your daughter, How is she doing?"

"I don't see what she has to do with this." William said a bit too quickly, something else being hidden. Rossi tried to pull up the girl in his mind, wondering for a horrifying moment if she had any new bruises on her when he saw her for the second time. His mind just kept pulling up the shoes and the coats, specific details of her face were lost on him so he tucked that thought away focusing on the more important matters of the moment.

"Of course," He said showing all the small physical signals that showed he surrendered the topic all together.

"Detective Rodriquez said you had some questions."

"Yes, just some standard ones. Are you ready?" He asked, William Reid nodded and the game was

When he leaves Wieder, Kirschenbaum & Moore he is sure of two things. One that William Reid is a special kind of pond scum and two William Reid lists of concerns went his image, his job, Diana and that is where it stopped. Not once did the man mention either of his children's names. Nor did he even address their existence in passing. When asked things like did 'Diana often spend time with Spencer' he was given an answer of 'Diana loves to share her love of reading with those around her.' Which was crap.

But his lack of general interest in either child made it so that Dave was doubtful William Reid had done anything more than impede an investigation that might not place him favorably.

Dave felt sick when he thought of that. Ignoring getting justice for your son and ignoring your daughters grief so that you could keep the 'perfect' lifestyle.

Even with an hour drive and stopping to get food on the way Dave was early to meet Harris. But there in the main office was a student worker who offered to show him where M building was. He walked with said student to the building ignoring the hundreds of questions the young adult had about the FBI's intrest in Humorless Harris, or if by chance he was a serial killer and his weapon of choice was the death glare. Rossi just turned to the over eager teenager with a death glare of his own. At that the kid hopped back on his feet motioned to the door of the classroom and ran away.

With ten minutes to go before the lecture let out, and at least three minutes to clear the room before he could talk to Harris, Dave decided to sit down on one of the benches that populated the hallway. Making sure he twisted just enough so that he could see the door to Harris' classroom. Then he flipped out his notebook, chose a fourth color from his bag and started on the account of one William Reid.

Harris let the student's out of the room. He watched them all waiting until the second wave left before walking to the door. Harris was an older portly man who stood a good six inches shorter than Dave. He wore of all things a hawian shirt, a suit jacket that had no hope of closing, shorts, and dockers. His face was rounded and his features pinched together by the extra weight he carried. His hair was either white or yellow but under the fluorescent lights of the classroom Dave was hard pressed to figure it out. He wore a pair of thin wire glasses that perched on puffed cheeks and did not cover the face of his beady blue eyes.

He was currently tucking things into a leather satchel.

"Excuse me, Professor Harris?" Dave asked, walking up toward him.

"Yes, may I ask who would like to know." The man said turning and raising one practically invisible eyebrow at him.

"David Rossi, I am researching a case you brought to the attention of local PD involving this child." He said walking forward to pull out the photograph and show it to Harris.

"Ah yes the young Mr. Reid. A bright mind in deed. I will also mourn the fact we were unable to work closer in his time here." The man said before he turned to dismiss a teacher's aide. "Why don't we talk in my office. Less chance for interested parties to ease drop." He said looking around the room and having all the remaining college students quickly grabbing the reaminder of the items that sat on their tables and either stuffing it in their bags or under their arms to get out of the room faster.

The professor's office was simple, understated, and filled with photos of himself and his family, what seemed to be a son and two daughters. Though the daughters seemed to age through the years, the son stayed stagnant. There was a little league baseball cap behind him and a backpack in the right corner. A grieving father, Rossi thought, and if he was able to date the pictures correctly from a distance, one who has been grieving a long time.

The juxtaposition of this office and the office that Rossi had left not to long ago were not loss on the italian man. Nor was the body language of the person he was interviewing. Because, although Harris seemed to be hiding something he did so more with a nervous energy that spoke to a deep fear, not a calm demenor and easy lies that William Reid had spouted.

"I saw that it was you reported the boy missing?" Rossi stated.

"Yes, I was worried," the man stated as Rossi narrowed in on his eyes. This action, once again something that his gut did without conscious permission from his brain. Harris seemed to be blinking a bit too much, his eyes bright and face unwrinkled despite the smile that adorned it, he was lying. Dave was sure of it. But with out an actual investigation Dave wasn't all to sure his imediate knee jerk reaction to treat this like an interrogation was going to work. Because if it escalated he had nothing to fall back on. So instead he took a deep breath in through the nose, out through the mouth 'In bocca chiusa non entra mosca.' his mother would always tell him as a child when she needed him to hold in his thoughts until she finished whatever task she was doing.

"Can you tell me why?" Dave asked, voice deceptively calm.

"Of course, you see, I saw Mr. Reid was a mentee of mine."

"You were close?"

"No, not close. But I paid him more mind than the rest of my students, spoke to him more often, took more note of his progress through the course."

"But you wouldn't call yourself close."

"Mr. Reid was a very private child. He spoke much but said very little. I do not believe there are many who could truly call themselves close to him."

"You teach advanced maths here correct."

"Yes, I teach both higher levels of calculus and a course of differential equations."

"What course did you have Mr. Reid in?"

"Oh he has taken all three, but I noted him missing in our differential equations course."

"Can you tell me a bit about him as a student."

"It goes without saying that he was brilliant. He learned concepts much faster than any one I have ever had the pleasure to teach, he not only understood those concepts but applied them to solve puzzles that I have seen baffle some of the brightest minds that the field of mathematics currently has. In each course he would come in by the second class meeting having mastered the material. I tested him at first, made him show me that he knew the material. He was sucessful so I gave him other material to work on and each week he would come back with the textbook and a notebook filled with problem set after problem set. He was a marvel, but he never was the most consistent student. He would disappear some weeks and come back with bruises or looking exhausted. I never pushed though, maybe I should have, but it didn't seem to be my place and children like Mr. Reid, well they always seem to have enemies amongst the normal minds of the world." The man rambled the ticks of a lie fading slightly making Dave wonder how much of what the man rambled was the truth and how much was carefully hiding lies behind it. He also wondered how any adult felt it wasn't their 'place' to insure the safety and health of the children around them.

"You said in the report it was him missing the final that made you concerned." Dave prodded.

"Yes, Mr. Reid may have had an inconsistent attendance record but he always was present on test day. Always. So I felt it was best to bring up my concerns with the local police." He said.

"The police reported that Diana Reid, the boy's mother was the one responsible for his death. Did you ever meet Mrs. Reid or have any inkling that she was hurting her son?"

"I never met her no, but the boy did show signs of abuse." The man nodded.

"The bruises?"

"Yes he stated that they came from the school bullies or that he was clumsy but you don't get like that from a bunch of kids or even from tripping over y our own feet."

"Before he disappeared did he seem to have more bruises or less."

"Less, he hadn't had anything significant for about three months. However he was out for about a week and a half before the final exam."

"Did you ever meet the sister?"

"No, I did not learn of the young Ms. Reid until after." And that was a blatant lie Rossi itches to call his bluff but instead Dave nodded, exchanged final pleasantries and made to leave when the man called out to him.

"I don't know how far your 'research' is ment to take you." The man says, his eyes glistening in a way that tells Rossi he knows a whole lot more than he is letting on but fear is keeping his lips sewn shut.

"But please, find him if you are able, I think we all would rest easier to know that he is safe." Dave just nodded.

He drives by the house and finds it for sale.

He calls the agent and sets an appointment to view the property early the next morning. After all, what's one more day in Vegas. He spends the rest of the day at the local news offices every weekly newspaper for the past two years laid out in boxes that he slowly pages through. Looking for a sign that could connect Spencer's case to something larger.

He gets through fifty two newspapers before the security officer tells him that they are locking up for the night.

He gets chinese take out, sits at the desk and adds the information he gathered that day to his notes on the case of Spencer Reid.