Chapter 11

1653 Caton Pl.
Georgetown
Washington DC

"So we're looking at a variation on victimology here, right? Why this victim at this time." Spencer just wanted to clarify as they walked down the path to Claire's house. He sighed as he looked at the all too familiar front door, the swing where they had sat through more than one sunset, the flower boxes he'd helped her plant. Claire and victimology were two words he never wanted to put together, and work and the cottage were two worlds he never wanted to put together. I'm going to wake up from this any minute now, he thought.

"Yeah, or at least as close as we can get. Who's after her and why. If we can find out a why, maybe we can use it to protect her. Or to keep anyone else from getting hurt in the crossfire." Morgan walked up behind him. "You okay for this?"

"I have to be. I need to make sure she comes out all right." Spencer replied. He used his penknife to cut the seal on the door and led the way, Morgan behind them. He was wearing gloves, out of habit. Not that it mattered, he was all over this place. "I don't know how much help I'm going to be." He informed Morgan, as he landed on the couch, staying out of the way.

"Rossi and JJ went to do the shop." Emily informed them as she brought up the rear. "Nice house."

"Yeah, but what's wrong with it. Something's not right." Morgan summed up his instincts. He stood at the foot of the stairs and looked around. To his right as he came in was the small sitting area, couch, TV, fireplace. Past that was a large open doorway through which he could see a desk and shelves of books. Whoever had tossed the place had concentrated on the desk, it was utterly a shambles, but other areas were nearly as disordered. To his left as he came in was a miniscule dining area and past that the kitchen. He turned and looked, and looked some more. "There is nothing personal about this place."

"What do you mean? I thought it was very original." Spencer replied.

"Not exactly." Emily had pulled a basket out from under the coffee table and was looking through some old magazines. "These are all two years old. Country Living, Country Style, Romantic Style, it's almost like she hired a decorator and said give me a country cottage."

"Yeah, and look around, other than the books it's all straight out of the magazines. Where are the family photos? The real heirlooms?" Morgan shook his head. "The only thing original is that." He pointed to the painting hanging above the fireplace.

Spencer moved over to look. He'd never really thought of it but it didn't fit the house, not really. It was a painting of the Golden Gate bridge, all bright colors. "Z." He read the signature. "Panted three years ago. I have no idea."

"Any of the other rooms like this?" Morgan asked. "Just like this?"

"Not the bedroom." Spencer shook his head, how had he missed that.

They went upstairs and stopped at the dark painted walls in the bedroom. "Whoa." Morgan said.

Spencer closed the blinds and turned off the light, revealing the glowing stars. "I thought it was rather romantic myself."

"At least you've been up here." Morgan grinned. They rummaged through her nightstand and bathroom, but nothing came to light. No medications, no letters, no journals. Nothing more personal than the usual toiletries. "Okay, that's a dead end. Where's her computer?" Morgan asked as they headed downstairs.

"She doesn't have one." Spencer informed them.

The other two stopped and stared at him. "At all?" Emily wanted to know. "She owns a small business, how does she work? How does she do her taxes, place her orders?"

"By phone and paper. She said that she preferred the personal contact, that she preferred moving at book speed rather than net speed." Spencer thought about this a long moment. "At the time it seemed charming, but you're right, it is weird."

"What about her cell phone?" Morgan asked.

"She doesn't have one." At the look they gave him he just shook his head. "Old-style land lines, here and at the shop." He nodded at the phone literally hanging on the wall in the kitchen. "She said when she was out she wanted to be out. She has an answering machine at the shop but not one here."

While Emily went to actually prove this to herself Morgan called Garcia. "Hey babygirl, how goes the war?"

"Well, I've won so far. Someone is going to pay for this; I swear someone is going to pay." The familiar voice came over the speaker phone, only this time cranky and decidedly out of sorts.

"Can you get me the call records from Claire's house and shop? Looks like she just has landlines, no cell service."

"You're kidding me. Seriously?"

"So Reid tells me."

"Oh, I have got to have a long talk with that girl. OK, that will take me a bit, but I will have it ASAP."

"Thanks mama, you're a wonder."

Garcia purred into the phone. "Yeah, you remember that." The line clicked closed.

Morgan pocketed his cell. "Okay, so no computer, no cell phone, but she has a TV and a DVD player?"

"Actually I bought her those." Spencer looked over the inexpensive set. "She'd never seen Star Trek before."

Morgan looked over the comfortable couch. "Yeah, and how many has she seen now?"

"A gentleman never kisses and tells."

Morgan chuckled. "There is hope for you yet."

"Hey guys." Emily called from the kitchen, prompting them to both head over there, "This phone is glued shut."

"It can't be, we use this phone all the time." Spencer said.

"No, I mean the body is glued to the base." Emily showed the fine beads of glue she had found around the bottom edge of the thing.

"Meaning?" Morgan asked.

"It keeps you from placing a listening device in the works. That's Cold War spycraft." Emily moved over to look at the TV and DVD. "These have been glued closed as well. Before you ask, so are mine."

"Spycraft?" Morgan looked from Emily to Spencer.

"Guys, Claire's not a spy." Spencer was certain of that. He was. Wasn't he? He went to his usual spot at the table and leaned back against the wall under the china clock.

"You sure? Because that would change her victimology profile right there." Morgan said.

Spencer opened his mouth, wanted to say no. No. There was no way his Claire could be….but he couldn't finish that thought. Because honestly, he didn't know. Not for certain. Not at all.

"I'm thinking we go with the assumption that she is. Look here." Emily was sniffing at the windows, of all things. She took a tiny bit of what looked like glazier's putty or paint on her gloved fingertip and touched it to her tongue, indicated that they should to the same.

Spencer noted that whatever it was tasted minty, and rather familiar. "What is that?" Morgan asked.

"Toothpaste." Emily replied. "Spencer, how high does she usually open her windows?"

Spencer stepped forward and opened them the usual six inches or so, until they just started to stick. "She said past that and she'd never get them down."

"Morgan." At Emily's nod the larger man stepped forward and forced them up another six inches. The pane moved grudgingly, but it did move. Then he closed it again. Where the toothpaste had been white against the white wood it was now aqua green, the softer toothpaste having been rubbed away. "It's a tell, she'd be able to know at a glance if someone came in the window. I'll bet they're all marked that way."

"Yea, but what about the door? Someone could come in that way." Morgan pointed out.

Emily went over, pulled out her flashlight, and looked over the door carefully. "Reid, did you unlock this when you got here the other night?"

"Yes, why?" Spencer and Morgan moved to join her.

"See that?" She use the powerful beam of her light to show them the lock. A hair fine wire of a slightly different shade of metal could just be seen in there. "Let me see your key." Spencer presented her with the key, which had one of those plastic key markers over it. Emily took her penknife and cut away the black cover, revealing the computer chip attached to the wire that ran the length of the key.

"Okay, that's got to be hard core." Morgan said.

"Oh yeah, that's embassy level security. Stay here and see what changes." Emily stepped to the stoop, locking the door behind her. After a moment they heard the distinctive, fine sounds of a lock being picked. Just as the lock popped the pendulum on an anniversary clock on a shelf right across from the door began to spin. When she came in the other two pointed to the now spinning clock. "The chip in the key disables the tell."

"I must be missing something. If she's running because she's afraid of violence, why all the tells? Wouldn't they wait for her, jump her when she gets in the door?" Morgan wanted to know.

"There must be more than one player in the game." Emily responded.

"Now we just need to figure out who." Rossi said as he came in the door, followed closely by Hotch and JJ.

Spencer took a deep breath. He wasn't certain he wanted to know.