Lost in a Memory
Chapter 8
The Chronicler
Once the wife of a powerful senator, she had been the social queen bee, the philanthropist of every good will organization with an upper class dress code. She was the hostess of celebrity balls, the tour guide for the rich and famous to the African needy, benefactor of Iraq adolescent heart patients… and the retirement of her husband didn't slow her down one breath.
Sarah Dommas had been discarded on the pile of empty soil bags and foam flower pots in the corner of the garden house as if she was simply no longer of any use.
Morgan crouched down at the foot of the crime scene, resting his arms on his knees. "I don't get it." he mumbled.
The body had already been removed, but the photos supplied by the CSI filled in the blanks.
"Which part?" Elle wanted to know as she paced the room behind him, flipping through the pictures. "The part where Reid doesn't remember anything? Where half the world seems to be hunting Reid down? Where he's accused of murder? Where we let some nobody sheriff drag him away in cuffs? Where Reid's fingerprints are all over this place?"
Morgan looked back and up at her. He waved a hand at the garden house. "Let's try and focus here, huh?" he suggested.
Elle paused, sending him a glare. But then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Yea." She snapped the pictures against her hand and turned back to the matter before them. She looked around the garden house before observing "She wasn't killed here. And she wasn't killed at the house where her blood was so nicely displayed." Again she snapped the pictures against her hand. "Where the hell did she die?"
"Where ever it was must be wall to wall blood." observed the sheriff deputy standing near by, their escort through the crime scene. He waved a hand at where the body had been. "I mean, jeez, she'd been stabbed somethin' like fifteen times! Your boy must'a gone postal on her. You think it was the drugs? You know, not his fault 'cause the drugs made him crazy or something'?"
Through clenched teeth Elle ground out "I'm getting real tired of saying it."
But Morgan interrupted, choosing to stay on topic. "Let me see the body shot." He rose up as she quickly produce the right picture. Taking an extra look at the photograph, he turned it to show Elle what he saw. "The cuts… they're not panicked, not rushed." He gave her a moment to get a good look before concluding "This wasn't an out of control, hyped up attack. This was a precise attack that took time and know how."
"And your little wonder boy… bet he has the know how!" the deputy tossed in, only to be ignored.
Elle leaned in to take a good look at the body. She flipped through the pictures to find a few other body shots from different angles. "She isn't splattered. Wasn't as if someone took time out of their busy day to clean her up and just toss her here on garbage heap. For some reason she didn't fight the attack." She paused. "A powerful, out spoken woman, used to getting what she wants when she wants it how she wants it…. She would have fought like hell. But, if she had, the cuts wouldn't be so clean, so smooth. There would be defensive wounds, bruises, some sign of a fight."
Morgan nodded slightly. "She didn't fight back."
She moved around the room again, watching as if she could see the unsub carry the body in and just drop her. "They didn't care about her. She was a thing, a tool that had served its purpose and was tossed away." Elle paused and frowned, her gaze drifting down to the pile of trash, her eyes seeing what wasn't there. "What sort of purpose did she have?"
"Dying." Morgan answered, his voice low, far off, coming from deep within his own line of thought.
Elle glanced at him, but it was agreement, not a question. "She wasn't the ends. She was the means."
"Why did they just now find the body?" was Morgan's question. He looked back at her. "You were at the main house, what, three, four hours ago? We're twenty yards from the blood pool. Any good cop would have searched every building immediately. Hell, a bad cop would have. Why did it take so long to find her?"
Elle crouched down beside him. "Look at the body shots again." she quickly said. "Lets play CSI for a moment. It's pretty warm in here, right?"
Morgan shrugged. "A garden house. A green house. They tend to be warm."
"And Reid's been in somebody's custody for…"
Morgan glanced at his watch. "Little over fifteen hours."
Elle tilted her head to one side. "If Reid did this, why isn't the body more… icky?" she wondered.
Her partner smirked. "Icky?" he repeated. "Is that official CSI lingo?"
Her response was to hit him in the arm with the pictures, before standing up again. "Reid didn't… he couldn't have done this. He was with us when she was placed here." She shook her head. "It's a frame up! Who the hell would frame Reid?" she demanded angrily.
Morgan also rose up. "Piss poor frame up." he observed. "Took us ten minutes. CSI probably already have time of death on paper and filed. They'll have Reid cleared before they get him to Jackson's office."
Elle shrugged. "So why are we here? Hotch really didn't think we'd behave while they cuffed and hauled Reid away?"
Morgan smiled at that, amused that Hotch might think his team would lose control. But then his amusement faded.
That wasn't like Hotch. The man trusted his team. They'd been in the most impossible, mind bending situations and had never lost control. With Reid at stake… Hotchner knew his team would never brake.
He shook his head. "It isn't about us." he mumbled. "What happened?" he wondered
"The question of the day." Elle grumbled.
"No." Morgan hurriedly said. "I mean as a result of this particular part. What does the unsub get out of us being here now? Why drop the body now?"
Elle looked out the window at the deputies and investigators wandering around the grounds, still looking for the missing Senator Dommas. "How did the unsub get the body here? Through all those cops?" Her eyes narrowed. "Unless it was a cop who put it here." she mumbled almost to herself.
Morgan glanced at her sharply. "A cop? A sheriff deputy?" He wanted to be clear about what she was suggesting.
Elle looked at him. "They were here long before anyone else. Jackson has a particular interest in getting Reid away from us…"
"Hey, now!" the deputy protested, shoving a finger in her direction. "That's uncalled for!"
Morgan looked at the man. "Who found the body?" he wanted to know.
But the deputy shook his head. "You're not gonna shift the blame on one of our guys, buddy! Just to save your own little monkey, not a chance in hell!" he snapped.
"Who!" Elle snapped.
The man threw them each a glare before admitting "We got a tip… a call." He shook his head. "Don't know who the caller was. It was anonymous."
"Why wasn't this area checked already?" Elle demanded.
"It was!" the deputy snapped, before he stopped himself. Frowning, he dropped his eyes.
The agents could see the man's mind working franticly as he made his own realization, his own thoughts connecting dots that he had been sure a moment ago would not have connected.
Tone gentler, yet still challenging, Morgan asked "By who?"
The deputy looked up again. After a quick glance at Elle, he turned to face Morgan square on. "Sheriff Jackson and Deputy Hawkins…. sir." After another quick glance at Elle, he added "But they're good men! They wouldn't have done… He's the Sheriff for crying out loud!" But there was hesitation in his voice now, as if he now had his doubts.
Elle and Morgan exchanged glances then, both headed for the door.
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Sheriff Jackson glanced back, offering a reassuring smile to Agent Reid. He paused to look at the young man and his protector for a moment.
Hotch kept his agent close under his protective wing… not too close as to risk touching and spooking the boy, yet close enough to make sure that if something, anything, did spook him…
Jackson's smile took on a slight edge, and he quickly turned his head away. "And here we are." he announced, holding up his key chain and beeping the alarm off.
A gray hummer flashed its lights in response.
Jackson opened the back door, stepping aside to allow the FBI agents access to his vehicle.
Reid stopped so suddenly Hotch was forced to side step to avoid running into him. The young agent's eyes narrowed as he stared at the back seat of the hummer.
Frowning, Hotch looked down at his young agent. He glanced at the seat to make sure it was nothing more than a back seat, before turning back and asking "Reid?"
But Reid's attention remained on the hummer. Biting his lip, he tilted his head to one side.
"Everything alright, Dr, Reid?" Jackson questioned. He let his hand slide down the edge of the door, moving just enough that he could make a grab for the boy if he had to.
Reid's eyes shifted just enough to take in the sheriff. He blinked before observing "You didn't change vehicles."
Jackson smiled slightly. "I didn't." he admitted. He shook a finger at the agent. "Those braniac genes of yours are starting to kick in again, aren't they? You're remembering."
Hotch frowned. "Remembering what?" he wanted to know.
Reid stepped back.
"Don't do that." Jackson warned. "You wouldn't want Agent Hotchner here to get hurt 'cause you didn't cooperate now, would you?" He smiled a friendly, welcoming expression.
As if a demonstration of his implied threat, an unmistakable click drew their attention to a man stepping out from behind a parked car. In his hands was a small submachine gun, held lightly and at the ready. Though the weapon wasn't pointed at them yet, neither agent doubted that in a breath it could be.
Reid's eyes snapped up to the agent at his side.
Hotch's expression was blank, his eyes locked on the Sheriff, his hand only inches from his own weapon on his belt. "Reid, go back inside." he ordered, his voice low, his words spoke with care and intent.
Jackson continued to smile as he explained "You make this difficult, Dr. Reid, and Agent Hotchner will be the one to pay." He tilted his head to one side. "You might not remember what he means to you, but you know… You know that you can't let him be hurt because of you."
Hotch reached out, took Reid by the shoulder, and started to pull him behind him.
"Hotch…" Reid hissed a warning.
The agent froze, though he didn't need to look to know that the submachine gun was now aimed at him. His eyes remained on Jackson. "You are in the parking garage of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, threatening two F.B.I. Agents. Do you really think you have a chance…"
Jackson spread his hands, his smile growing even wider. "Agent Hotchner, with all your schooling and smarts and high and mighty muck…" He spun in a circle as he talked, waving a hand in the air. "With every great and powerful agent of the mighty F.B.I. alerted to their poor, little Reid's hardships, with your best and brightest standing watch…" He paused until he was facing the man again. "I still walked out the front door with my prize in hand." He shook his head. "And you are supposedly the great brainiacs of America's law enforcement."
The gunman chuckled at that.
Hotchner's eyes shifted just enough to take in the gunman, before returning to Jackson. For only a breath he wondered if he could draw and shoot the man before he fired. But he knew better. His hand would never land on his gun before the submachine gun began to kick. His only hope was that someone would come, that someone would see or hear or otherwise become aware of what was happening. If he could just keeping Jackson talking long enough…
"What do you want from me?" Reid suddenly snapped, stepping pass the lead agent. One hand went to his head as his own voice boomed in his ears. The other balled up into a small fist, his anger digging his nails into the palm of his hand.
"Reid…" Hotch hissed. Again he glanced at the gunman.
Equally startled by the young doctor's sudden move, the weapon had left Hotch and now followed Reid.
"Why did you do this to me?" Reid demanded. He shook his head. "It was you! It was you all along!" he accused. "You in the car, talking to the Senator. You called us brainiacs then too."
Jackson sighed, his smile fading. "This is tiresome." he complained to no one in particular.
But Reid waved a hand at him as he took another step toward him.. "Tiresome? Another word too big, too… sophisticated to fit into your usual speech pattern. You should be saying fed up or boring… " He shrugged. "Who are you trying to impress, Jackson? Why is it so important to you that we think you're smarter than you really are?" He grimaced at the man as he wondered "Are you really so insecure in your stupidity that you need to let everyone know just how in depth your idiocy goes?"
Jackson's fist snapped out slamming into Reid's jaw, dropping the boy to the ground.
Hotch moved, spinning about, drawing his gun and firing from the hip.
Catching the movement out of the corner of his eye, the gunman started to turn, refocusing his aim from Reid to Hotchner. But Hotch's bullet punched into his stomach, slamming him back against a car.
The car alarm began to blare, echoing throughout the garage.
Grinding his teeth, the gunman braced himself against the car and tried bringing his gun up again.
"Don't do it!" Hotch snapped. He hoped, but knew better. Bring his gun up, clutched in both hands, he fired again.
The second bullet caught the gunman in the chest, slamming him back again. This time the gunman dropped his weapon, sliding down the side of the car until he dropped to the ground.
Satisfied he was no longer a threat, Hotch turned to find Jackson.
"Hotch!" Reid yelled
Jackson was waiting for him, standing just behind where Reid sat on the ground, his own weapon out and aimed at Hotchner. He fired first.
Hot lead struck Hotch in the forearm, spinning him about. His gun hit the ground with a loud clank as he stumbled back against a cement ceiling column.
"No!" Reid cried. His hands cupped over his ears, trying to protect his pounding head from the gunfire that echoed through the garage. He tried to scramble to his feet, but Jackson shoved him back down again as he hurried pass.
Jackson rushed on the injured Hotchner, kicking the fallen weapon away and taking up a stance over him, his gun leveled with the agent's head.
Grinding his teeth against the searing pain in his arm, Hotch stared up at the Sheriff. The hand of his good arm pressed on the bullet hole, blood flowing through your fingers. Still, wounded, bleeding, unarmed, he tried to find a way to save his man. "Even if you out smarted us… how long before the C.I.A. catches up with you?" He paused, his eyes closing momentarily as he swallowed hard against the pain. Then he looked up again, his eyes clear, his jaw ridged. "C.I.A. will not allow a rouge unit loose for long."
Sheriff Jackson smiled his ever friendly smile. "Agent Hotchner, I have beaten them. I have beaten you. And that little code breaker…" He tilted his head back to where Reid sat looking on with big eyes. "He's gonna deliver me my winnings."
Hotch allowed himself a glance at his young agent.
Reid had reached up, grabbed the open door of the hummer, and was dragging himself to his feet. His jaw was red from the hit and his knees wobbled. There were tears in his eyes and he winced with every sound. Still he fought his way to his feet.
Jackson sighed. He straightened his arm, finger on the trigger. "Alas, Agent Hotchner, at this time you are more burden than asset."
"Don't." Reid growled. "You kill him and I won't help you!" he swore.
The Sheriff paused. His smile wavered slightly. "Dr. Reid, what makes you think you have a choice?"
He closed his eyes against the flashes of memory. Then they snapped open filled with hate and anger. "Because… you're not as smart as I am."
Jackson jaw stiffened. But, after a moment, he forced a smile. "Well, what do you know, Agent Hotchner, seems it's your lucky day."
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She sat quietly, relaxed. Her hands clasped before her on the table, seemingly unaware of the cuffs around her wrists. Her smile was comfortable, as if it was her everyday expression for everyday life and not something she just wore out for F.B.I. interrogations. It was a completely at ease expression that revealed absolutely nothing.
Gideon studied her from the other side of the table with the same, well practiced, everyone's favorite distracted professor look he was famous for. He tilted his head from one side to the other on occasion as his silent observations were placed in the proper slot in his head. He was putting her together in his head, developing a profile.
"I win." she suddenly spoke up.
His eyebrows rose.
She smiled. "You blinked first."
Gideon smiled back. With a slight bob of his head, he allowed her the win.
The woman leaned back in her chair, her smile never wavering. "Special Agent Dr. Jason Gideon." Her tone was awed, as if she had been looking forward to meeting the man himself.
"Abby." Gideon answered. But then he frowned. "Or would you prefer Elle?"
She chuckled. "I hear the latter's already claimed." She glanced at the one way observation mirror. "So, how is little J.J.? Her feathers still ruffled over our little tiff?" She leaned forward again. "You know, it isn't often that I underestimate someone. Can't remember the last time I was taken by surprise." She smiled. "Kinda nice."
"Indeed?" Gideon asked. Not that he was really asking. He already knew that she, a highly intelligent, multi talented woman never quite as happy as when she's challenged. The question was what challenged her.
Abby turned a raised eyebrow at the man. "Indeed. And the great mind of Jason Gideon doesn't prefer the unknown to the knowing it all?" She tilted her head, waiting for an answer.
The agent offered her a crooked smile, but, otherwise, didn't answer.
After a moment of waiting, Abby leaned back in her chair again. She glanced about the dull, plain room. "So, we going to get the official crap out of the way? Or we going to just sit here and profile each other?"
Again Gideon smiled. He couldn't help but think, if the circumstances were different, he might actually enjoy sitting here and exchanging banter with the woman. She was smart, quick, observant… she would have made a good BAU agent.
Deciding he had learned all he was going to learn by simply watching her, he leaned back in his own seat, crossing his arms over his chest, he asked "How do you know Dr. Reid?"
The woman's smile was so expertly displayed that a lesser profiler might have missed the ever slightest flinch.
Gideon did not miss it.
Abby laid her hands flat on the table, palms down. "Little Spencer?" She shrugged. "Kid and I go way back. You should ask him about us." Her eyes narrowed slightly as they watched the agent for a reaction.
Gideon smiled again, but this time it was not in amusement nor appreciation. "I did ask Dr. Reid about you." His head tilted slightly. "He doesn't remember you. In fact, he's afraid of you."
Her jaw tightened, but her expression remained the same. "Indeed?" she mimicked. "Now that just hurts my feelings. I mean, after all I've gone through for the little bugger…"
"Bugger?" Gideon suddenly straightened up, his eyes narrowing.
Bugger? He knew someone once who used that term.
Abby shrugged. "Why do you always introduce him as Dr' Reid and not Agent Reid or just Reid or plain old Spencer?" she wondered. "You think you're protecting him from folks walking all over him, but aren't you really just keeping him weak?"
The profiler paused his own thoughts at that. "Weak?" he repeated.
The woman leaned forward. "You think he doesn't already know how different he is? You think you have to throw it out before him like some cattle catcher, clearing his path? Like how folks step out of the way of a man with a white cane? Or open doors for someone in a wheel chair?" She let her eyes drop, shaking her head as if she was disappointed in the man. "No matter where he goes or what he does, you throw that doctor out like calling to the room Hey! Look out! Pay attention! Poor boy's special!'" She shrugged. "What's the matter, Jason? Don't you think he's capable of impressing people all on his own? Do you really think that, just because he's young, he needs you to announce him? To protect him? Ready the room for him? Why do you need to broadcast his presence? You walk before him, ringing his bell, sweeping away obstacles that might, just maybe, tax him a little." Abby straightened, letting her eyes roam over the Agent before her with a disappointed look. "Do you really have such little faith in the amazing Spenser Reid? Do you really feel he can't stand up for himself? That he can't fight his own battles? Do you think so little of him that you won't let him stand on his own?"
Gideon blinked. How curious. She was poking him with a verbal stick, trying to provoke him, put him off his game. Why?
He watched her for a moment, before asking "Is that what Dommas wanted? For Reid to face him alone?"
Again there was a barely noticeable flinch. "Should ask the man yourself." she suggested.
"Thought I was… in the round about way." Gideon rose to his feet and began to walk around the room. "You are agency trained, but not agency. You wouldn't work well with a team."
"Yea, well, there was that pee-wee football incident." Abby chuckled.
Gideon leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest to continue. "When the Senator left the CIA he created his own personal security unit. Individuals hand picked from the earliest possible age, trained in counter intelligence as well as anything and everything that might be needed to protect our country if the rest of us failed to do so…. Or betrayed it ourselves."
"Don't you mean when?" Abby injected, her arrogant smile gone.
Gideon continued with only a slight pause to consider her comment. "Dommas trained his people in his own image. So closely, so intently, so loyal that they have been known to even pick up his speech patterns."
Abby's eyes widen, then she suddenly laughed. "Of course. What a stupid mistake!" She bobbed her head to the side, asking "Bugger?"
Gideon shrugged. "What does Dommas want with Reid?"
Abby sighed. "You know who I am, what I am. Agent Gideon, do you really think I'm going to just up and tell you whatever it is you want to know?" She chuckled again. "You get the feeling that we're just fencing here?"
The Agent pushed away from the wall and walked back to the table. "Did you receive your orders before or after Sarah Dommas was murdered?"
Abby's smile vanished. When she spoke, her voice was void of emotion. "Murdered? How? When?"
Gideon tilted his head to one side, watching her closely. "The popular theory is that, in drug induced rage, Reid attacked and killed her."
Her eyes dropped, darting back and forth as if searching the table top for answers. Her fingers curled up in tight fists.
Gideon slowly eased himself down in his chair again. Speaking carefully and clearly, he told her "They claim that he repeatedly stabbed her, leaving a large puddle of blood in the entrance of the Dommas' home. Leaving bloody hand and feet prints, he moved around the room in a drugged haze. He must have cleaned up before he carried the body out to the garden house, because there was no evidence that he had ever been out there." He shrugged. "No evidence, but circumstances, apparently, is enough to arrest him and take him into custody."
Abby's head snapped up. "Into custody?" she growled. "You arrested that kid?" Her question was almost hopeful.
But Gideon shook his head. "Sheriff Jackson took him in for questioning…"
Suddenly Abby launched to her feet, sending her chair skidding back. "You let that traitor bastard take him?" In very uncharactistic rage, she snapped "Son of a bitch! You idiot! Don't you know who the bad guys are here?!"
Gideon actually smiled. "Well, we're pretty sure it is either the man who flashed the badge and cooperated with us in every way, giving us free access to his investigation even though he didn't need to… or the woman who lied and manipulated, attacked us and attempted to kidnap Reid." He locked eyes with her. "Unless you can convince us otherwise, you do make the more likely unsub."
Abby bent over the table until she was only inches from Gideon. "Since when has the most likely ever been the real unsub?" she hissed at him.