Chapter Seventeen
Agent Hotchner leaned back in the rigid metal chair, studying the young man sitting across from him. He waited a few seconds, allowing the silence under the harsh yellow light of the interrogation room to rattle the kid's confidence. The experienced profiler wanted to establish dominance right away, to set the pace of the interview and knock Casey Langston off his game. Any rehearsed defense the twenty-five year old might have practiced during his short stint in lockup flew out the window.
"Casey Langston," Hotch began, testing the waters. The response would establish his emotional state and determine the older FBI agent's course of action.
Casey nodded, his hands shaking visibly on the table before he pulled them into his lap.
Hotch softened his voice.
"Do you know why I'm here?"
Langston's crystal blue eyes blinked shut.
"They say I...they say I killed someone," his voice wavered.
"In front of at least a dozen witnesses," Hotch added matter-of-factly.
"I don't-" Casey's voice broke, eyes brimmed with tears.
"Your file says that while you were being detained, you exhibited signs of extreme anxiety, dehydration, and a dissociative fugue attributed to possible post-traumatic stress disorder..." Hotch recapped, "you couldn't even remember your own name."
Langston covered his face with his hands as Hotch continued.
"I am here to determine the legitimacy of these claims. The degree of your sentence is based on several factors, including the level of premeditation and the cogency of the assailant during the attack. There are several holes in your story- for instance, your parents filed a missing persons report almost six months ago...there are no phone records, no credit card purchases, no ATM withdrawals, no trail at all to tell us where you were for that time. We need to establish a timeline, starting with where you got the gun."
"I don't know!" Casey was visibly agitated now.
Aaron remained calm.
"Where were you staying? Were you on the streets?"
"I don't know!" Casey reiterated, sobbing as Hotch pulled out a 8x10 glossy photo of Amber Price, the young girl who Langston shot almost a week ago.
"Have you ever seen this woman before?"
"No!" Langston shouted, and Hotch paused.
"Are you sure?"
Langston was in tears as he replied.
"...No."
On Friday afternoon, Agents Kent, Jareau, and Garcia left work early to prepare for another infamous girls night out. After unsuccessfully attempting to convince Emily to ditch her date with her new beau, their wild night was downgraded to an evening with bad movies, red wine, and girl talk. Kristina volunteered to host movie night at her apartment, and rushed home to clean everything before JJ and Penny arrived.
Her apartment sufficiently reeked of Lysol when she heard a knock on the door.
After a brief moment of panic induced by the lemon-scented toxic cleaning fumes, Kristina realized that she still had an hour before the girls were supposed to arrive. She collected herself and answered the door, a gust of frigid November DC air sending a chill down her spine.
"Hey Frank," she skipped the formalities, opening the door wide enough for her best friend to slide through, "Come inside, quick...it's fucking cold out there."
Frank chuckled, slacking his winter coat off his shoulders.
"You're such a wuss."
"It's below freezing, Frank," the brunette countered, "I think it's justified."
Frank cracked a grin, tossing his coat over one of the barstools at the kitchen counter and offering the slender, younger woman a warm hug, her head tucked under his chin.
"You're going to have to get used to it, Miss California. You've only been in DC for three months. It hasn't even snowed yet. Just you w..what is that smell?"
"Lysol," Kristina replied nonchalantly, "and you're not helping. I hope our next case is somewhere warm..."
"God, it's in my throat..." Frank winced, "this is a biohazard, you could kill someone."
Kristina laughed.
"Now who's the wuss? I'm just trying to clean up, the girls are coming over tonight. Thanks for stealing our Emily, by the way," she added sarcastically.
"I thought she was my Emily," he shot back, "and these reservations were almost impossible to get."
Kristina feigned disgust as she poured them two glasses of water.
"You two are gross."
"Gross?" Frank scoffed in mock offense, then grinned.
"Did I tell you she wants to set you up with another agent so we can double date?"
Kristina paused before taking a sip.
"You're kidding."
"She thinks you and Anderson would make a great couple," Frank chuckled.
Kristina nearly spit out her drink laughing.
"Anderson? Do you want to tell her, or should I?"
The younger woman continued cleaning as they continued their conversation.
"Are you getting any time off for the holidays?"
Kristina scrubbed a nondescript sticky substance from the counter with a wet rag.
"What holidays?"
"Thanksgiving is next week," Frank replied incredulously as his best friend shrugged.
"I hadn't even noticed."
Despite her attempts to pretend like there was nothing wrong, Frank knew that he would have to press the issue, to force her to confront what she was avoiding.
"Have you talked to your parents lately?"
"Not lately, no..." she mumbled, turning away from him. Frank sighed.
"Kristina, you can't-"
"I'll probably be on a case," she interrupted him, trying to shut him out. Unfortunately for her, Frank Washer had known her far too long to let that happen.
"But if you're not...you can't spend Thanksgiving alone."
Kristina sported an impish smile.
"Says you and what army?"
Frank rolled his eyes.
"I don't need an army, Kricket. Just call them. I bet they miss you."
"Frank, I can't," she insisted. Frank shook his head.
"You can. You're just scared."
"I'm not scared," she shot back stubbornly, "I'm not a child."
"I know you're not," Frank conceded after a few seconds, knowing not to press the issue any more.
"I better go get ready for tonight."
Kristina nodded.
"You crazy kids have fun. But not too much fun," she grimaced, making Frank chuckle.
"No promises."
"Do you buy it?"
Supervisory Special Agents Rossi and Reid stood behind a two-way mirror, watching Hotch continue to press Casey Langston for any details about the case. The younger agent cocked his head to the side, watching the suspect grow increasingly hysterical.
"It's hard to say. The line between dissociative fugue and full-fledged traumatic amnesia is very thin. He could wake up tomorrow morning and be an entirely different person. In 2008, Brian Matloff- also known as the Blue Ridge Strangler- woke up from a coma and recovered his memories over the course of the trial."
Rossi nodded.
"Like I could forget that case..."
"In any case, the polygraph and cognitive memory recognition exercises tomorrow should shed some light," Reid decided, "We're not going to get much more from him like this."
Dave couldn't help but agree- it was clear that Langston was deeply affected by the events of that day. Still, some things didn't seem to add up about his story. The young man was exhibiting classic signs that they would expect from a victim, not the perpetrator. He simply didn't fit the profile of a random shooter, aside from the glaringly obvious lack of a motive.
Spencer recalled a similar case only six months prior, where a young man only a year older than Langston was charged with shooting a woman in broad daylight. That man, Matt Pryor, was committed to a mental institution after he attempted suicide in prison. He briefly wondered if Casey Langston was doomed to the same fate. Both men were slaves to their own minds, the course of their entire life changed in a single instant. Even a PhD in psychology and an IQ off the charts couldn't help Reid fully understand the intricacies of the human mind.
Uniforms took Langston back to lockup, and Hotch joined his fellow agents in the observation room.
"Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking?"
Rossi sighed.
"That kid was shaking like a leaf."
"He wasn't lying to me. He doesn't remember anything."
Reid strapped his messenger bag to his chest as they began to leave.
"This is very similar to a case from six months ago-"
"Matt Pryor," Rossi interjected, and the younger agent nodded.
"It's statistically improbable that two men nearly the same age would disappear for six months and resurface only to commit a random shooting in broad daylight."
"You think they were put up to it?" Rossi responded incredulously. "Isn't that even more statistically impossible?"
"Improbable," Reid corrected him.
"Stockholm Syndrome would explain a great deal of Langston's behavior..." Hotch conceded, "but we aren't here to justify his actions. We're here to help Dallas PD in their investigation."
"But Hotch, if Langston was brainwashed-"
"Where is your evidence to support that?" Hotch challenged, taking Reid by surprise, but the young doctor bounced back immediately.
"Langston had restraint marks, on his wrists," He retorted, "if we get Pryor's records, we can see if they were bound by the same apparatus."
Hotch sighed, knowing that Spencer wouldn't rest until they checked up on his hunch. To his credit, his hunches rarely were completely off base.
"I'll call the ME."
"No!"
"Yes!"
"You're kidding me," Frank wheezed, "an IQ of 187-"
"-still a bit foggy on the concept of group emails," Emily cackled, eyes squeezed shut as she remembered the latest response that Reid intended for Morgan but instead sent to everyone on their floor- including Chief Strauss.
"At least it'll give us something to laugh about at the Christmas party," Emily justified. She stifled her laughter, realizing that the entire restaurant was staring at them.
"Something other than Garcia's ugly Christmas sweater," Frank amended, and Emily almost snorted.
"Last year it had colored christmas lights that blinked on and off."
Frank paused.
"I was kind of kidding but oh my God..."
Emily's cell phone vibrate cut their laughter short.
"Prentiss," she answered quickly, casting an apologetic glance across the table. Frank simply nodded in understanding as she continued.
"Yes sir. Yeah, okay. Goodbye."
Emily bit her lip as she stowed her phone back into her purse.
"That was Hotch," she muttered, eyes cast down at the menu that she hadn't even had the chance to peruse before they were interrupted. "I have to go."
Frank sighed.
"I figured as much."
"I'm so sorry," she apologized, exhaling a deep breath when he reached across the table to offer his hand. She instinctually laced their fingers together. "I know these reservations aren't easy to get, and I really wanted us to have this weekend to ourselves.."
He shook his head.
"You don't have to apologize. I understand. How soon do you leave?"
She winced.
"Thirty minutes."
He chuckled and stood to his feet, their hands still linked.
"I'll drive you to the airport, then."
"Shit," Garcia cursed under her breath after hearing her cell phone ring from inside her purse across the room. She looked down at the sluggish, drunken brunette with her head in her lap and sighed.
"Jayje," she called out to the petite woman filling their wine glasses in the kitchen, "phone. Help. Please."
"One sec," the blonde called back, filled Penny's glass to the brim and carefully carrying it with her own glass back into the living room. She dug through the technical analyst's purse and pulled out her blackberry.
"Garcia's phone, JJ speaking."
Kristina stirred from her sleep to chuckle at the former media liaison's instinctual phone greeting.
"Who is it?" Garcia whispered, watching JJ like a hawk as she listened to whoever was on the line. JJ nodded slowly.
"Mmhmm...yeah, okay. Um, hold on-" she covered the mouthpiece and winced.
"Hotch."
Kristina sat up at the mention of their team's leader.
"It's Hotch? What does he want?"
"Shh," JJ waved her off, still listening to Aaron. Kristina and Garcia giggled and waited impatiently for the agent to respond.
"Um, here's the thing, Hotch," she chuckled, still juggling two glasses of wine in her left hand, "we didn't think we'd be getting a call this late on a Friday night..."
She hesitated, and Kristina snorted at the thought of their boss realizing that one-half of his team of elite FBI agents was drunk off their asses.
"Oh god," JJ muttered, closing her eyes in embarrassment. Both of the other agents were lost in a fit of giggles. "Yes, we'll be there first thing in the morning. See you then. Thanks, Hotch," she hung up in shame, and there was a second pause before they all burst into laughter.
"We have a case," JJ wheezed, "in Dallas. Morgan and Em are leaving tonight."
"Of course we do," Kristina doubled over, "of course."
Garcia buried her face into the arm of the couch to stifle her laughter and JJ looked at the clock for the first time that night.
"Oh God, it's almost eleven...we're gonna have to sleep this off."
"Dibs!" Garcia shouted, claiming the couch as her own. Kristina chuckled.
"Suit yourself. Jen, you mind sharing a bed?"
The older woman chuckled.
"Not at all, babe."
Kristina laughed.
"Keep it in your pants, agent."
