A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating, but have developed a bit of writer's block. Am trying, after stepping away for a few days, to work through it still. Please bear with me as I intend to finish this story. I also don't know how the sale of retired government vehicles is conducted, so I'm playing it by ear here.
Chapter 30
Dave Rossi stepped outside the hospital, allowing himself a few minutes to mull over what had transpired. He was somewhat dismayed. Not only had he found three people who swore Caswell was in the hospital that night, but two assistants who verified his presence in the operating room. Also, he learned that Caswell had gotten to the hospital forty-five minutes from the time he got the phone call. Not enough time to contact Aaron, attack him, and get to the hospital promptly. Not in forty-five minutes. Regardless, Rossi still had his suspicions, and wasn't ready quite yet to dismiss the doctor as a possible suspect.
The agent sighed wearily at the same time his cell phone beeped indicating he had an incoming text message. As he took in then let out a deep breath, he removed his cell, and read the message. It was from Prentiss. As he read the text, his blood began to boil. And like Prentiss, he began to suspect Jason Hemminger might be more involved than they originally believed. And if he was, that wasn't good. As an FBI agent, the younger man would know how to stay under the radar around them, and also how to cover his tracks. But no matter how much Hemminger tried to hide his actions, the team had a secret weapon. Her name was Penelope Garcia, Technical Analyst extraordinaire. He pressed the button and put the phone on speaker as he stepped aside so as not to block the entrance to the hospital.
"You've reached the office of the almighty Penelope Garcia, goddess of all that is technological in the universe. Speak mere mortal. Your wish is my command."
Rossi smirked. "It's me, Garcia."
"Yes, my Italian sex symbol. What doth thou wisheth of me?"
"Two things. One, I need you to check the bank accounts of Doctor Adam Caswell. See if he made any unexplained deposits. Also, the good doctor is embroiled in a divorce, so check the status of his divorce."
He listened to the sound of Penelope's fingers typing furiously and waited patiently for her findings. Something about the good doctor got under Rossi's skin and bothered him. And it wasn't just the man's arrogance. He sensed the good doctor was still hiding something.
"Sir, I found something. More than one something if you must know."
"I wait with bated breath," Rossi said with a chuckle.
"Flatterer," the tech analyst replied teasingly. "Anyway, the good doctor…or in this case, the bad doctor, is in a bitter divorce with his wife of twenty-six years, Christina Caswell. The divorce is based on Christina's accusations of mental cruelty, and incompatibility. She also accused him of having an affair with one of his former patients, a Monica Hillyer who, I might add, is around eighteen years-of-age. Cradle robber."
Rossi smirked. "I suspected he had a girlfriend, a younger woman. But I never considered the younger woman would be a teenager. What else?"
"Apparently the current Mrs. Caswell is suing for sole custody of the couple's minor daughter, Cassidy. And…she's asking for three thousand in alimony, and another three thousand in child support. Looks like our doctor is financially stretched very thin like the proverbial elastic band. In fact, he barely earns enough to meet everything."
"So what you're saying is that the good doctor needs cash and plenty of it," remarked Rossi.
"Exactamundo."
"And there's only one way to increase his cash flow."
"I don't understand," Garcia sounded puzzled.
"He means accepting money for services rendered," JJ explained.
"What services?" asked Garcia. "He's a doctor."
Prentiss moved a strand of raven hair behind her ear. "What Rossi is saying is that Caswell might be accepting money from someone who wants him to help do something bad."
"Like hurting Hotch?"
"Possibly," Emily confirmed for her friend.
"How about his bank accounts?" Rossi asked, wanting to keep Garcia focused on the task at hand.
"That is where things get interesting."
"How interesting, Garcia?"
"There's a joint checking account which shows no abnormal activity. And the soon-to-be Mrs. Caswell also has a checking and savings account of her own, separate from her husband. And every month, like clockwork, she deposits a cool six grand in alimony and child support. But their joint savings account is another matter. There have been several large cash withdrawals in the last two years."
"And we both know on whom that money was spent."
"Correct o-mundo, sir. And there's one other thing. This bastard has opened a savings account in his own name in the last week, and has made at least two deposits of twenty-five thousand dollars each. And sir, the first of those deposits was made shortly after Hotch was admitted to the hospital."
What do you think, Rossi?" Prentiss asked.
"It's interesting how a man who barely earns enough to pay six thousand monthly, can deposit twenty-five thousand dollars on a regular basis."
"So what do you want to do?" asked JJ, brushing a strand of long blonde hair from her eyes.
"I think it's time we brought in the good Doctor Caswell for another talk."
Morgan pulled up outside Merker's Cop Cars. He and Reid were getting out of their vehicle when a man in his fifties with graying hair and brown eyes approached.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked with both hands on hips and a wide smile looking back and forth between Reid and Morgan.
"Are you Sebastian Merker?" asked Morgan.
"That's me," Merker replied with a chuckle. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"
Morgan held up his credentials. Merker's smile faded and he appeared confused.
"Agent Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid. FBI." He put away his identification. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."
Merker's eyebrows shot upward. "FBI? Why does the FBI wanna talk with me? I run a legitimate business."
"We're not here about your business, Mr. Merker," Morgan explained. "We're here about a specific vehicle you sold that was used in a crime." He gestured to the building behind Merker. "Can we discuss this privately, sir?"
Merker swallowed the lump which had formed in his throat and glanced at both agents. Nodding, he turned and walked back toward the small building with the agents behind him. Once inside, Merker gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk as he closed the door. He sat down behind his small, worn desk.
"Now what's this about a vehicle I sold being used in a crime? I'm not responsible for what a vehicle's used for after they're sold. I just sell 'em."
"We understand that, sir…." Reid spoke for the first time. "And we're not blaming you in any way. What we need is the name of the person to whom you sold the vehicle."
"Why don't you tell me which vehicle you're talkin' about here?"
"It's a 2010 silver ice metallic SUV," Morgan explained. "You probably sold it within the last two weeks."
Merker chuckled. "I remember that SUV," he explained. "It was one of the SUVs I bought from the government." He walked over to a filing cabinet in the corner of the office. He pulled open the top drawer, searching through the many file folders. Once he found what he was looking for, he pulled it from its spot and handed it to Morgan. "I remember that vehicle because of its pristine condition. Couldn't believe it was being sold. Looked almost brand new."
Morgan scanned the contents of the folder paying close attention to the bill-of-sale from Merker's business. "This bill-of-sale doesn't show who you bought the SUV from," Morgan said as he and Reid studied the document together. "All that's written in the space where the name of the seller should be is federal government."
"You didn't deal with a specific person?" Reid asked looking up at Merker. "That seems odd."
Merker chuckled as he sat on the edge of his desk facing the agents.
"Not really. The federal government is the seller of these vehicles once they're retired from service. The only person I ever dealt with about these vehicles is a Frank Mitchell. He's in charge of selling retired vehicles and acquiring new ones to replace those that were retired."
"Then how come he didn't sign his name as the seller?" asked Morgan.
"It's obvious you don't have any idea about the sale and acquisition of vehicles by the government. The reason Frank doesn't sign his own name, is because it would appear he's selling the vehicle instead of the government."
"So this ID number beside the name federal government…."
"That's Frank's ID number. It shows him as the person representing the government. He's the representative I deal with when vehicles are sold to me."
Morgan was flipping through the other papers in the folder until he came to another bill-of-sale that caught his interest. It showed the sale of a 2010 silver ice metallic SUV.
"Reid…" Morgan handed the bill-of-sale to Reid. "Check out the name of who purchased the SUV."
The young genius's eyes scanned the document, and narrowed when he saw the name written where a signature was required.
Aaron Hotchner.
"Hotch bought this vehicle?" Reid asked no-one in particular. He turned his head toward Morgan. "Why would Hotch buy a used government vehicle? He has an SUV and a regular car at home."
"And Jack's too young to have a license. Reid, there's something hinky goin' on here." He took the bill-of-sale from Reid and held it up in front of him. "Mr. Merker, this man who called himself Aaron Hotchner, can you describe him?"
Merker squinted his eyes as he retreated into his memory. "I think so. Let's see…white guy, about six feet tall…kinda on the thin side with real dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Real pleasant fellow as I recall. Never woulda figured him for FBI though."
Morgan suddenly shot forward with narrowed eyes. He stared at Merker.
"Wait a minute. Go back. You said the man you sold the SUV to was about six feet tall with real dark brown hair and hazel eyes. You sure about that?"
Merker studied Morgan as if taking offense at the question. "Sure I'm sure. He was here before lookin' at SUVs, but didn't see anything he liked. I told 'im I was expecting several more vehicles the following day. He came back the next day, and bought that silver ice metallic Chevy Suburban you asked about earlier."
"Mr. Merker, no offense. But the man who bought that vehicle was not Aaron Hotchner."
"Sure he was. He showed me his FBI credentials. The name on his ID said Aaron Hotchner."
Reid bit his lower lip. "Mr. Merker, Agent Hotchner is 6' 2" tall, weighs about 185, has jet black hair, and deep brown eyes. Your description doesn't match him at all."
Merker shrugged. "Maybe he has a brother."
"Agent Hotchner has one brother and he has blonde hair," Morgan continued. "So that means it wasn't his brother, but was somebody pretending to be Agent Hotchner." He paused for a few seconds before continuing. "Mr. Merker, we need to show you something."
He held out a hand to Reid who handed him a folded paper. Morgan unfolded it to show the sketch artist's drawing JJ had used during her earlier press conference. "Take a look at this sketch. Is this the man who called himself Aaron Hotchner?"
Merker stared at the sketch for a few minutes before handing it back with a shake of his head. "Sorry. Don't recognize this guy at all."
"Sir, we'd like you to come to police headquarters and sit with a sketch artist."
Merker looked annoyed and didn't care if the agents saw it or not. He put his hands on his hips. "Is this necessary? All I did was sell the guy a vehicle."
"You have no choice, Mr. Merker," Reid said. "If you refuse to help, we'll have no choice but to arrest you as an accomplice to kidnapping, rape, and attempted murder."
Merker's eyes widened. "Rape? Attempted murder? But I didn't do anything. You can't arrest me!"
"Actually we can," Reid explained. "See, the law says if you have evidence of a crime and refuse to show it to the authorities, you can be arrested for obstruction of justice."
"What evidence? I don't have any evidence."
"You've seen the man we may be looking for in regards to a crime and refuse to help us. That's not only obstruction of justice, but withholding evidence." Reid maintained a straight face throughout his explanation.
"You could be in a lotta trouble, Mr. Merker," Morgan added, sensing what Reid was doing. "But, it's up to you. Let's go Reid," he said putting a hand on the younger agent's shoulder as they both started toward the door. They were both careful not to let Merker see the smirks on their faces.
"All right, all right. I'll do it. I'll show up at police headquarters in an hour. If I do this, you promise you won't arrest me?"
Both agents looked back at the man with serious expressions.
"We promise, Mr. Merker," Morgan added. "Once we have what we need, you won't hear from us again unless we have more questions." Both agents saw the man nod slowly. "Good day, sir."
As Morgan followed Reid out the door, he waited until they had reached their SUV. Morgan looked over the top of their vehicle at Reid who was opening the front passenger side door.
"Hey kid, you do know we couldn't charge Merker with anything if he refused. You're damn lucky he didn't call your bluff." He opened the driver side door.
Reid smiled. "I knew he would cooperate from the look in his eyes."
"What look?"
"The scared look he got after I told him he could be charged with a crime if he didn't cooperate." He got in the car and closed the door.
"And just how did you know that, kid?" Morgan asked after climbing behind the wheel and closing his door as well. He stared at the young genius. "He could've called your bluff. What would you have done then?"
Reid shrugged. "I would've thought of something else," was all he would reply with a lopsided grin.
Morgan just rolled his eyes, shook his head, and started the vehicle.
An hour later, they were about forty-five minutes from Quantico when Morgan's cell phone rang. He and Reid glanced at each other as he grabbed the cell to e who was calling. It was the M.E.'s office. Morgan put the call on speaker so Reid could listen as well.
"Got something for me, doc?" he asked.
"I thought you'd want to hear what I found after completing the autopsy on Diedre Stimson."
"Give it to me."
"Well, there's no sign of sexual abuse despite the condition her clothes were in when she was found. Autopsy shows something smooth was used to cause the blunt force trauma to the back of her head. Probably a hammer. But the blow wasn't enough to kill her. The bruises were from someone beating this young woman with their fists viciously. Her entire body is a mass of multicolored bruises. The official cause-of-death was ligature strangulation. The line around her throat is deep, smooth, and not broken, so I'd say possibly a wire was used. Nearly decapitated her from what I can tell."
"Tox screen show anything?" interjected Reid.
"I found no signs of any drugs or alcohol. But I'll know more after I receive the breakdown."
"Okay, thanks doc," Morgan sighed as he pulled into the FBI's underground garage. After he pulled into his usual space, he turned off the engine. He leaned back in his seat with narrowed eyes, and shook his head.
"What's bothering you?"
Morgan shook his head again and looked at the young agent. "I don't get it. I just don't get it, Reid."
"Get what?"
"This bastard kidnaps both Alana and her babysitter. We figure he took the babysitter to keep Alana under control."
"Right."
"Then why suddenly kill the babysitter? I mean, why kill Diedre now?"
Reid mulled it over for a few seconds. "We arrested Darryl Wheaton," he pointed out. "I mean…the UnSub isn't going to kill Diedre Stimson because he doesn't need her anymore. He still has Alana. It's to send a message to Wheaton to keep his mouth shut. He's letting Wheaton know that what happened to the babysitter can happen to his daughter next if he talks."
"But what if it's because he doesn't need her anymore, Reid? It could be Alana's running out of time."