Setting: July 18, 2017.

Chapter 2

Spencer Reid paced his small solitary jail cell with all the pent up energy of a caged tiger. What in the Hell? He raised his hand to slam it against the stone wall but managed to stop himself. There was no better way to get a bad rep with the guards than unprovoked self-mutilation. How many times had he seen a fellow inmate taken off to psych at Milburn for such a thing? He instead wrung his fingers together so tightly that he may well have dislocated his knuckles. Damn. The team would be here soon. The arrest may have happened at 10 pm, but it had to be morning by now. Surely they would notice when he didn't meet them by the SUV. Garcia would figure it out, and by her style it would take approximately 30 seconds to unravel the mystery that he'd spent the last what 9 hours contemplating. It didn't make any sense. The last time Cat and Lindsey had done a brilliant frame up job. He hated to compliment psychopaths, but it really was brilliant. Lindsey practically had to hand the answers to the team on a silver platter before anyone had a clue. But this? The team had kept him on a tight leash for fear of retaliation. It had been mostly paranoia with them in prison, but another accomplice trying to dish out the same twisted justice was still a possibility so every precaution had been taken. In Mexico he'd been at the crime scene, got his blood at the scene and had been caught fleeing - acting the Agent in a place that he KNEW he didn't have jurisdiction. Quite a stupid move for such a genius, but desperate - and drugged - people did stupid things. Clearly he was no exception there. But this time, he hadn't been in a compromising situation. What on earth could possibly warrant this arrest?

He decided to count his lucky stars that he'd been put into a segregation cell. At least he didn't have to sleep with one eye open, but his night of sleep hadn't been that much better. Jetlag had caught up to him and he'd finally gotten a full three hours of sleep before being awaked to a tray of - slop. To some it may have passed as oatmeal, but he wouldn't be so generous in his description. He'd managed to choke it down, before count began. If there were only three thing certain in this miserable life, it was: death, taxes and count.

The metal "mail slot" to his cell opened. He knew what that cue meant. He slipped his hands through the opening to allow for the dreaded handcuffs. Did they really need to be that tight?

"This way," the Guard -Timmons- instructed. "Follow me."

"Do I get my phone call now?" They passed a row of pay phones but he didn't have an account set up yet. Or did he? He hated being in the dark.

"All in good time", the guard - Timmons - assured him.

Whatever that meant. "And what time would that be?" Relax, Reid, the man's just doing his job.

"As soon as you're done here." The visitation room door was opened and the cuffs removed. With the dreaded click the lock was sealed and Reid turned around, half expecting to see a team member with information. His luck, however, seemed to have run out. The face that greeted him was familiar. Unwelcome, but familiar. "Detective Garrison."

"Dr. Reid." The greeting was curt and professional but that smile was, unnerving. "Take a seat." He indicated the metal chair at the other end of the table. "Have any questions for me, before we get started?"

"When do I get my phone call?"

"If you're asking for your attorney -"

"I am."

"I've already spoken to Miss Duncan on your behalf. She is in court with a client but will be out here this weekend."

That meant they'd already looked at his prison file, which meant they knew he was an agent - an agent with a record. Fiona had mentioned that getting records expunged was a lengthy process which had only just begun. That was beginning to look like a pipe dream. "We're done here."

"Sit. Down!"

"I'm not going to talk without my lawyer." It was true, what Hotch had always said about repeat offenders. Those who had been to jail before knew the drill and rarely talked without an attorney. Theoretically, he fit that profile too now. That thought was more than a little unnerving.

"Well then don't talk. Just listen. I, for one, am required to inform you of your charges and I intend to do that."

Reluctantly, he obeyed. The man did have a point.

"Dr. Reid, you have been charged on two counts of murder and rape."

"I didn't do it." Fiona wouldn't be mad at him for saying that much, would she?

"You don't sound all that surprised."

Technically, that wasn't a question, and they both knew it.

"I've been framed before. But obviously, you knew that."

"What is obvious to me, is that you walked away from the Ramos charge in Mexico, but you won't walk out this time. Come now, Dr. Reid, your reputation, both good and bad proceed you. So what I'm going to do is something that I never do for an inmate. I'm going to show you a little respect."

"Respect?" Reid stared at the man in disbelief. An officer showing respect to an inmate. Well, that would be a first.

"Yes." He drummed his fingers against two case file folders which had been rubberbanded together with a white envelope on top. He pushed the stack toward Reid, with a small smile. He looked quite pleased with himself. "This is my idea of respect. You're a smart man, Dr. Reid. Act like it."

Reid frowned, trying to wrap his head around this madness. He was getting used to being confused, and he didn't like it. "What makes you so confident that I did this?"

The detective didn't answer and on a professional level, he understood. No officer or agent liked it when the questions were turned on them. He took a deep breath and looked the detective in the eye, hoping to convey the intended emotions. Anxiety could be interpreted as guilt very easily. "You didn't wait to charge me. No holding cell, no questions. Nothing. What makes you that confident that I'm your unsub? Man, I just got OUT of prison. Why on earth would I want to risk going back? It makes no sense at all!"

"I don't know why, Dr. Reid, and unlike you, I'm not going to sit at my desk playing guessing games. Guard!"

Timmons walked back in the room. "Escort Inmate Reid back to his cell, and make sure he is given these files to browse at his leisure. Have a good day, Dr. Reid." He tipped his hat in what could only be describe as a mock salute and exited the room.

Reid laid back on his bunk, twirling the card in his hand. Detective Garrison had been "nice" enough to leave a calling card so he could make his phone call at his 'earliest convenience' which probably wouldn't be until he was let out for his one hour a day. That left him plenty of time to browse the files. His curiosity was driving him nuts. On the one hand, he wanted to see the so-called evidence to put his mind at ease. On the other hand, if the new accomplices were just as smart, the evidence might not have that calming effect. Oh, come now, Spencer, he chided himself. What could they possibly have on you? Well, apparently, something really incriminating to warrant skipping a proper interrogation tactic, and what a strange tactic this was too. He certainly had never been tempted to hand over a file to an unsub to 'browse at leisure'.

Oh to Hell with it. He picked plucked the white envelope out from the rubberbands. Maybe a letter from the team?

Dear Dr. Reid,

You may not remember me from the arsonist case a few years ago, but I remember you. Your help was very appreciated and I have the greatest respect for your team which is why it grieves me to see you here. But we must do as we must, which is to follow the evidence. Honestly, I did not think you would come, but then again the bodies were unidentified so you must have thought you would get away with it - that you could frame someone else for your murder, inject yourself into the investigation as Agent Hotchner would say.-

Wait just one -! Reid put the bizarre letter down and ripped open the files against his better judgement. Inject himself into the investigation? - but that would have to mean -

It was a trick. Unbelieveable, sneaky bastards. Sh*t!

Of course, it was a state case. They couldn't arrest him outside of their jurisdiction and what better way to get him to come -? He fisted the papers in his hands, the same papers he had been looking over in his hotel room. Did he really profile as - ? Think rationally, Reid, logic! Logic is the key here. It almost made sense in that he would know how to take extreme forensic countermeasures and post mortem mutilation meant - well, that. It was more about the countermeasures than any torture. That's what one would expect of a cop-turned-killer. But that still didn't answer - He picked up the letter again.

Enclosed is the primary evidence against you. The only form in these files that was NOT sent to Quantico. After you have reviewed the case in its entirety, I'm sure you will want to sign the very generous plea offer. I will return to pick up the completed paperwork.

Regards,
Detective Garrison

Reid gulped as he fingered the second page, his hand shaking. How bad could it be? Just do it, it's planted evidence. Whatever it is, the team will figure it out. You have nothing to hide...nothing to fear. You're innocent. You know that, this paper won't change anything.

Before he could change his mind, he unfolded the paper and read it in a heartbeat,

He shook his head in denial - no. It couldn't. It was impossible, preposterous even and yet - I'm screwed. In that one millisecond, he knew the awful truth.

With the stakes at their highest, Cat had just played a hand of aces...and he had nothing.