6:15 am, BAU Office
"Did you or did you not buy a black sweatshirt and ski mask from the convenience store on 3rd Street?" Rossi demanded of the guy with short brown hair and a smug look on his face who was sitting in the chair across from him, a wrist handcuffed to the table.
"So what if I did?" the guy asked.
"Did you actually bring those items home?" Rossi asked, throwing a receipt and security footage pictures on the table.
"You found the receipt at my house. You're the FBI agent, you put it together," the man sneered.
"I did put it together. We found all of the items listed on this receipt at your house except for the black sweatshirt and ski mask. The cashier said that you left the bag containing those items behind and this man--" he stabbed a finger at one of the pictures from the security cameras depicting a blurry face that matched the one Garcia had pulled from the cameras at Reid's apartment-- "took them out to you."
"Is that a crime?" he questioned dryly.
"You tell me," Rossi casually challenged.
The man scoffed but didn't respond, guiltily avoiding the agent's gaze.
Rossi gave him a look and then turned and left the room.
"He knows something. We just need to get him to give us a name," Hotch said, arms crossed over his chest as he glanced at Rossi who joined him behind the two-way glass.
"He thinks we don't have anything on him," Rossi remarked as they observed the smug young man casually slouching in his chair in the other room.
"Then I guess we just have to get something on him," Morgan finally said. He had been watching the whole thing in silence only because Hotch had refused to let him in the interrogation room.
Morgan turned and left the room to go see what his Baby Girl could dig up on Michael Jameson in order to save Pretty Boy.
Twenty minutes later, Morgan barged into the interrogation room and slammed a sheet of paper down on the stainless steel tabletop.
"If you tell me what I want to know, we might be able to make a deal," Morgan negotiated.
"Why would I make a deal with the Feds, Mr. Bad Cop?" the guy questioned.
"Because we found child porn on your home computer, Mr. Jameson. That's five years, minimum, and your cellmates won't take kindly to sharing a cell with a pedophile," Morgan threateningly demanded.
The man's look of shock quickly morphed into a guilty glare, and he crossed his arms and stared down at the table before asking, "What do you want to know?"
"Who brought the bag containing a ski mask and black sweatshirt out to you?" Morgan asked, hands braced on the table as he glared at the man sitting across from him.
"His name is William Delgado," the man said, and Morgan turned and left, practically running out the door to go have Garcia search the name of the unsub who had their teammate.
6:30 am, One Block from Capital Plaza Apartments
The man observed the apartment he had taken Dr. Reid from through his binoculars. He was parked a block away, his van hidden in the street-level story of the parking garage right underneath the office building where he had dumped his second victim behind.
His second victim hadn't been...right. Too strong. He didn't scream enough when he had stabbed him so he'd had to dispose of him sooner than he would have liked.
Spencer's apartment wasn't heavily protected, there were three police cars parked around it's perimeter and two officers, one guarding the front entrance and the other the often-used side entrance into the building, but they had left the back entirely unprotected.
He peered through his binoculars at the second story window that he knew from months of surveillance was the window in the doctor's apartment where he often sat playing chess or reading for hours. There were no police officers or FBI agents lurking in the apartment, but he saw a bullet-vested silhouette in the window of one of the adjoining apartments, so he'd have to use the basement. That would work much better. It was too messy to clean blood off of tile floor and carpeting.
The man lowered his binoculars and glanced into the back of the van where the young doctor was lying unconscious on the floor of the van. His wrists and legs were chained, the bandage around his middle loose and torn in places, gray with patches of rust slowly growing bigger instead of the clean whiteness of the gauze when he had first wrapped the doctor's wound and broken ribs.
Just the sight of the inflamed bright red star-shaped wounds on his chest and shoulder blade sent a new spurt of delightful rage through the man, thinking about what it had felt like to see the terror in Dr. Reid's eyes when he pulled the trigger. Deep purple, blue, and black bruises were spread across his pale skin, for some reason reminding the man of a galaxy. A galaxy of pain. It was a pity the doctor's face was all banged up, but that couldn't be helped. He had deserved it for trying to escape, to fight back, to fail to recite well.
The man started the engine and then pulled out of the parking garage, crossing the street and backing right up to the back door of the apartment building. He clambered out and checked the surrounding area for any curious cops or civilians but spotted none so he wrenched open the back doors of the van, dragging Dr. Reid across the dirty floor of the vehicle before heaving his limp damaged body over his shoulder and disappearing inside the building.
He took the stairs down to the basement and carefully dropped Spencer on the floor, dragging a wooden chair much like the one in his sanctuary into the middle of the floor and then setting him in the chair, affixing the chains around the legs and arms of the chair so he couldn't escape.
He left the doctor slumped over in his restraints and returned to his van. He grabbed his gun and knife, and both boxes of cartridges. It was time.
YOU ARE READING
Pretty Boy- A Criminal Minds Fanfic
Fanfiction"Who are y-" With a swift backhand to the face, Spencer was silenced, yet again. The force interrupted his balance and he swayed a bit before falling onto his back. The man stood above him, weapon pointed at his head.
