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Reid looked down the hallway, expecting one of the CSIs he'd met or Captain Brass; he'd told the receptionist it didn't matter who he spoke to. But, now they came down the hallway like a posse out for blood. Brass and Willows led the way followed by Stokes, Sanders and a pretty dark haired woman he'd yet to meet, the aforementioned Sara, he presumed. Willows was the one to speak.

"Agent Reid?" She said, noting he was no longer the laid back son at the hospital, but the FBI agent complete with his sidearm, a revolver. Who carried a revolver?

"Lou-Anne McDaniels had an appearance in family court yesterday. She wanted to get visitation rights with her daughter who was removed from her care by DCFS." Reid began. "She didn't have a lawyer and my dad happened to be in the courtroom at the time and stepped up offering his services to Miss McDaniels pro bono. He asked for a continuance to give him time to familiarize himself with the case. The judge gave him a week. Then last night McDaniels is murdered and my father barely escaped with his life. I think that someone didn't want anyone digging into Miss McDaniels' daughter." He finished, with a squeak at the end of his speech as he finally took a breath.

"How did you find out all this so fast?" Brass asked.

"I have my ways," Reid said. He handed Brass a piece of paper. "Her name is Rachael McDaniels, eight years old and she is fostered by Wes and Tina Dinsdale; the address is on the paper."

"Did you say Rachael McDaniels?" The receptionist asked.

"Yeah, Judith, why?" Sara replied.

"An alert just came across my screen a few moments ago about a missing child, assumed a runaway and her name is Rachael McDaniels."

Reid looked back at the CSIs, "How convenient," he mused.

"Amber Alert in effect?" Brass asked. The receptionist nodded in the affirmative. "Judith, find out who's caught the case and I'll get in contact with them. We need to get over there and talk to these people."

"I'm coming with you, I just need to get my case," Willows said as she turned to leave.

Sara hadn't said much and they hadn't been formally introduced, but she had been studying the man. "You look skeptical," she said.

"Either she's already been taken out of the city and the Amber Alert is too late, or she's already dead and disposed of somewhere in the desert where she's not likely to be found. I don't think these people would put out an Amber Alert when there's the possibility she might be found. I think it's pretty clear that they don't want anybody talking to her so that's why they tried to take care of the problem by eliminating Miss McDaniels and my dad. When they didn't succeed in killing my dad, they had to go to plan B which would be to get rid of the child." He paused for a moment. "I think they'll have taken every precaution so she won't be found and are just covering their tracks with the runaway story. I mean it's believable. Foster kids run away all the time."

The group seemed to consider this for a moment. "Why wouldn't they just allow her to be found and say she died of misadventure, the elements, something? Greg asked.

"Because they don't want to risk an autopsy which will reveal what actually happened to her," Catherine answered. "I think you're right Agent Reid."

"The fact that she's gone missing will give us probable cause to search the house," Brass noted. "Maybe we can find some evidence of what's been going on."

Reid turned, "I'm going to head back to the hospital. I need to speak to my dad's doctor. I still have no idea what to tell him."

For a moment, the CSI team forgot that this was an FBI agent; a fed they felt was trying to stick his nose into their case. He was the son of a victim. Nick stepped forward. "I hope your dad's okay, man."

"For what it's worth," Catherine put a hand on his arm, "I'm sure you'll do the right thing."

Reid nodded, "Good luck with your case."

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Reid watched his father's chest move in and out according to the settings on the ventilator. He watched the blips on the screen when his father's heart beat. The cuff around his arm gave a perpetual reading of his blood pressure. The bags of fluid hanging from IV poles were being pumped into his body and the bag at the foot of the bed was taking the remains away. It was what was happening in between that was of utmost concern to him.

Did his father want to live like this? He knew he certainly wouldn't. To him there was no life without his mind. But then again, his father's mind could be completely intact, literally screaming at him to let him out. He had no way of knowing. How long did one wait for change, a week, a month, a year? Coma patients had been known to wake up after a year and be perfectly fine. Look at Brian Matloff, he told himself; once he regained his memory he was fine. Who was he to say it wouldn't be like that with his father.

He could have gone to his mother he supposed. They may have discussed something like that at one time, if she could remember, that was; and he really didn't want to upset her if there wasn't much to be gained from the conversation. He'd have to get over and see his mother. He'd have to think of some good reason for being there. "Dr. Reid," Pamela's voice brought him from his thoughts. "Dr. Sutton will see you now."

Reid followed the woman to the doctor's office. Dr. Sutton, Reid considered, was in his fifties, a couple of inches shorter than he was and completely bald with an egg shaped head that reminded him of the description of Hercule Poirot in the Agatha Christie novels he'd read as a child. Now that guy would have been a great profiler he thought. Although Dr. Sutton had a mustache, it was not the style of Ms. Christie's sleuth and was combined with a full grey beard. "Dr. Reid, please sit," the doctor said after they'd been introduced, offering Reid one of the chairs, upholstered in a geometric fabric, in front of his desk. The doctor, in blue scrubs topped with a white lab coat took a seat in the leather chair behind the desk while Reid noticed the many books that filled the bookshelf on one wall and the diplomas from many various areas of study on two others. The final wall had a copy of da Vinci's Vitruvian man. "Now let's get down to discussing your father's condition."

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"That was the cleanest kid's room I've ever seen," Catherine said as they left the Dinsdale residence. "It was almost sanitized." She hefted her case back into the vehicle and looked over the hood of the SUV at Brass. "You and I both had eight year old daughters Jim and their rooms never looked like that. I couldn't even find any prints. What woman with a missing kid takes time to dust?"

"There's more to this than meets the eye," Jim agreed as he climbed into the driver's seat. "I think Dr. Reid was right."

"So where do we go from here?" Catherine asked. "The other kids in the house didn't seem to think anything was wrong and I didn't get a vibe from the Dinsdales."

"Maybe we should go talk to the good doctor."