Chapter 8

Doctor Stanley Dracut let out a deep breath as he walked down the hallway towards his office. It had been one of those long exhausting days he couldn't wait to be over. The past six months had not been as difficult as today. He passed by several co-workers as he continued toward his office and smiled at them. They returned his smile, but to him, their smiles seemed forced. It had been this way since his admission of guilt involving Donald Gannon's appendectomy. He believed their smiles and pleasantries were because they tolerated him and his presence in the hospital. In reality, he had embarrassed them and the hospital in which they worked. He realized he had embarrassed himself and his chosen profession. Hell, a few of the people he had been close to before his 'incident,' as he considered it, were even shunning him like he had the plague. It would take a long time to regain the trust of his co-workers again. But he was determined to give it his best effort. If he failed and had to leave the hospital, at least he can hold his head high and say he tried.

Reaching his office, he opened the door and started to enter but froze in the doorway. Inside, he saw a beautiful woman with straight, shoulder-length black hair waiting for him. She was standing and looking at his framed lists of accomplishments on the far wall. Hearing the door open, she turned her head and looked at Dracut.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting long, Miss…." Dracut closed the door behind him and smiled.

The brunette reached inside her jacket and removed something. "Not at all." She held up her credentials for him to see. "Emily Prentiss. I'm with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. I'd like to ask you a few questions." She put the identification away.

Dracut's eyebrows arched as he walked around his desk and sat down in his chair. "Not at all, Agent Prentiss." He gestured to the empty chair facing his desk for Prentiss to have a seat. She crossed her long legs which the doctor can only fantasize about as she wore slacks. But he was certain her legs would be as perfect as the rest of her. "Are you sure you want to speak with me, though?"

"You are Doctor Stanley Dracut, aren't you?" Prentiss asked, her eyes studying the man.

"I am," Dracut admitted, confused. "But I still don't…"

"And you operated on Donald Gannon three years ago?"

The smile on Dracut's face disappeared and replaced with a frown. He turned his attention to the file folders on the desk in front of him. "It is an unpleasant and unfortunate incident I would rather forget if you don't mind," he said not looking at her.

"Is that what you call it, doctor? Unpleasant and unfortunate?"

With a sigh, Dracut looked Prentiss in the face. "Look, I'm working hard to make up for what I did. And now you want to bring this up again? Why after all this time?"

"Have you been reading about the recent murders?"

"I have. Most disturbing. But I can't understand what…" his eyes widened with shock as realization suddenly sank in what she inferred. "You can't be serious. You can't possibly be accusing me of committing these crimes?"

"Doctor, these murders were committed by somebody with surgical precision and understanding. And you are a surgeon," Prentiss explained. "Where were you the day Shannon Carstairs and Thomas Gannon were murdered?"

"This is ridiculous!" Dracut became angry. "I'm trying to rebuild my reputation. I don't have to sit here and listen to this." He started to get to his feet.

"You will sit down, doctor. Or perhaps you would prefer answering questions at police headquarters?" Emily paused seeing the tension in Dracut's face. She knew she had hit a nerve and decided to dig a bit further. "Need I remind you the trouble you could face if this happens? You say you're trying to rebuild your reputation. You might not have a reputation to rebuild if I drag you to police headquarters in handcuffs. And if you're innocent, how much more damage will be done to your already damaged reputation? Do you really want more trouble, doctor?"

Dracut sat back down, resigned. He shook his head and looked at Prentiss knowing she was right. "That won't be necessary. To answer your question, agent, I've been assigned to working triage every day for the last week. The day of those two murders I was in triage all day handing a full room of patients. I know you'll check out my alibi. Go ahead."

"Dr. Dracut, tell me what happened during Mr. Gannon's surgery?" Prentiss's eyes never wavered. The doctor let out a deep breath.

"I…Mr. Gannon's surgery was the second surgery scheduled that day. I was tired from the earlier surgery which went longer than I had planned. When I began the appendectomy, I didn't realize I had nicked the appendix during the operation, or that there was leakage. I didn't realize anything had happened until a few days later when Mr. Gannon returned complaining of respiratory problems. Tests showed he was suffering from multiple organ failure. Fortunately, we were able to save him."

"And Mr. Gannon sued you for what happened?"

"Yes."

"Were you angry when he sued you? I mean you were suspended from a job you loved. And your license suspended preventing you from working in the medical field. Surely you must have felt anger towards Donald Gannon. Angry enough to want revenge perhaps?"

Dracut's face didn't change, but a sadness showed in his brown eyes. "Agent Prentiss, I'm going to say something which might surprise you. Donald Gannon was right to sue me."

Emily's eyebrows arched in surprise. She hadn't to expected to hear this. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I never should have operated on him when I did. If anything, I should have postponed it, or had somebody else do the surgery. I could have killed him with my carelessness. I couldn't deny being responsible for his physical problems later since I operated. So I did the only thing I could. I confessed my mistakes and prayed I would be given a second chance to atone for what I had done."

Prentiss nodded. "And you were in a way. You still have your job with the hospital, and you didn't lose your license although you and your license were suspended for six months."

"Then I don't understand..."

"I already checked out where you were at the time with your co-workers before I spoke with you. I needed to see if what you just told me matches with what your co-workers said. It does. You could not have murdered Thomas Gannon or Shannon Carstairs."

"Perhaps not," Dracut sighed. "But I still paid a price for my carelessness." He shook his head and swallowed the building lump in his throat. "The hospital put me on probation for two years. My surgical privileges are suspended for two years as well. Also, a few of my associates want nothing to do with me because I am a black eye on both them and the profession. And I have nobody to blame but myself. If word were to get to my superiors that I am a suspect in these murders, I can kiss my career and license goodbye."

Prentiss studied the man during their entire conversation and she had reached a conclusion. Doctor Stanley Dracut is not their Unsub.

David Rossi walked into the conference room looking exhausted. He exchanged looks with Morgan, Reid and JJ; Hotch was talking on his cell and looked at him briefly. He waved to him with a hand as he continued talking. As Rossi entered the room further, the Unit Chief disconnected the call and returned his phone to his inside jacket pocket.

"You look like someone who's had a long day," teased Hotch with a smirk.

"I'll tell you something, Aaron…" Rossi began running a hand over his hair. "…seeing all those college students reminds me of how old I am, and how young I wish I was."

"What happened, Rossi?" asked a grinning JJ with a shake of her head. "Not many coeds asked for your autograph?"

Morgan chuckled. "Naaaa. That's not it, JJ. Being at that campus just had Rossi reminiscing about the good old days when he was the center of attention with the ladies." He looked at the young genius. "What do you think Reid?"

Reid never looked away from his files. "Leave me out of it," he said. "I have no interest in discussing Rossi's love life."

"Smart kid," Rossi observed. He then smirked at Morgan and JJ. "I will have you both know, I am still the center of attention with the ladies; both young and old I might add." The older man grinned at Hotch who chuckled knowing the Bureau's non-fraternization rules were because of Rossi.

Morgan looked at his boss. "How 'bout you, Hotch? You have an opinion?"

Hotch glanced at his close friend and then at his subordinate. "Leave me out of this conversation," he said with a chuckle. "Besides, we have more important things than Rossi's love life of which, for the record, I have no interest in like Reid." He sat back down at the table.

Morgan, being outnumbered, decided to let things go. He looked at his boss and pursed his lips. "Who was on the phone?"

Hotch sighed. "That was Prentiss. Looks like we can scratch Dr. Dracut off our list of suspects. He has an alibi for the day Shannon Carstairs and Thomas Gannon were murdered. He was in triage all day and his presence can be verified by others who were present. Since Dracut is off our suspect list, I told her to forget about Gannon's father. Without Dracut, it doesn't matter why Gannon's father didn't tell us about the lawsuit anymore."

Just then Morgan's phone rang. Grabbing his cell, Morgan checked the caller ID and put the phone on speaker. "You're on speaker. What you got for me, baby girl?"

"I finally found Doctor Denser, my handsome chocolate God."

Morgan shook his head. "Hey sweet thang, shouldn't you be calling Hotch with this?"

"But I haven't talked to you in hours. I'm hurt. I felt like you didn't need me. This Baby Girl needs her chocolate stud muffin."

"Garcia, what did you find?" asked Hotch, getting to the point. While he enjoyed the banter between Morgan and Garcia as much as the next person, now was not the time.

"Oh, ah, yes sir. The good Doctor Denser is no longer a doctor. In fact, he's no longer anything."

"What does that mean?" asked Morgan, eyes narrowed.

"It means he's dead, handsome. It seems he took his own life."

Everybody exchanged confused looks. "Are you sure?" asked Hotch, eyebrows knitted. This news did not sit well with him. If true, they had just lost their one remaining suspect.

"Yes, sir. He shot himself over a year ago after his legal troubles regarding Barbara Carstairs. Nobody would hire him and he couldn't get his medical license back. He died penniless and blamed the Carstairs family up to the day he died."

"Garcia, how did you not find this out in the beginning when you searched?" Hotch asked harsher than he intended.

"Because, sir, Dr. Desner's body went unclaimed by his family, and he was buried in a pauper's grave. That's so sad. I mean, dying alone is sad enough, but to have nobody claim your body and…"

"Focus, Garcia."

"Right. Anyway, he had fallen off the grid after he lost his job and his license. He tried getting jobs in the medical field that didn't need a medical license, but lost every one of them. In fact, he had five jobs since he lost his license. In fact, his last job was that of a custodian in a medical laboratory under an assumed name. But the lab found out his real name and fired him toot-sweet. After that he went poof! Off the grid. Out-of-sight, out-of-mind as they say."

"Baby Girl, are they sure it was Desner's body?"

"Oh yes, my dark knight in shining armor. The reason I missed him is because I wasn't checking for unidentified bodies buried in a pauper's field. It was only a few days ago his body was exhumed by a family member and re-buried in a cemetery but has no headstone to date. His grave is unmarked as we speak. That is so sad."

"I hear you."

"Oh, before I forget, is my blond cupcake there with you?"

JJ smiled. "I'm here, Garcia. What can I do for you?"

"You have that backwards, Sunshine. I checked out those names you gave me in connection with Clarissa Meadows…"

"And…?" JJ asked.

"And nothing. Each name clean as a whistle. Not even a parking ticket. Sorry."

JJ sighed and tossed a strand of her hair over her shoulder. "Don't be sorry, Garcia. Thanks anyway."

"You're all welcome my heroic crime fighters. Be careful. Stay in touch." Garcia disconnected the call.

Morgan looked at Hotch. "Where does that leave us now?" he asked.

Hotch shook his head; his face grim. "It leaves us without a suspect anymore. And puts us back at square one."

"So what do we do next?" JJ asked leaning against the table, hands flat on top. She looked at her friends.

"I'll tell you what we should do next," Rossi said. "I think we should all go to dinner, and then head back to the hotel and get some sleep. It's been a long day for all of us."

Hotch looked around at the others for any objections to Rossi's suggestions. There were none. He got to his feet. "Dave's right. We can do more with fresh eyes after a night's sleep." He reached inside his jacket, pulled out his cell, and scrolled down until he found Prentiss's number. He pressed the cell to his ear as it rang on the other end. "It's Hotch. Listen, we're all heading out to dinner and then going back to the hotel. I don't know but I can check." He looked at Rossi. "Prentiss wants to know where she should meet us."

Rossi smirked. "Tell her I know this great Chinese place called…" he said loud enough to be heard over Hotch's phone.

Hotch held up a finger stopping the older man from continuing. "She says she knows the place you're talking about and she'll join us there," he added. "Join us when you can," Hotch informed Prentiss. He disconnected the call and returned his cell to his jacket. "Let's go." The team followed their leader out of the conference room leaving the stress and strain of their latest case behind for the following day.

The man leaned back in his chair and ran both hands over his hair while letting out a deep breath. A smirk crossed his face as he put on a second pair of Latex gloves. He pulled the single sheet of paper from the typewriter and stared at what he had typed. The last thing he needed were fingerprints to be found on the paper. So to eliminate that possibility, he wore gloves when he put the paper in the typewriter, and removed them so he could type his message. He read the message with a grin.

'I am watching you. Soon. Very, very soon we will meet.'

He laid the paper on the table and folded it before inserting it into an envelope. Once done, he used a piece of scotch tape to seal the envelope. He picked up a felt tip pen and wrote a single name across the front in block letters. When finished, he held the envelope in his hands and chuckled while looking at it.

"I wish I can see your face, Aaron, when this arrives tomorrow. But I promise you, forty-eight hours after this letter is received, you and I will meet and the game will begin."