CM/WMC Crossover - The Unexpected, part 6/?
Title: The Unexpected, 6/?
Fandom: WMC/CM Crossover
Pairing: Emily/Cindy; Cindy/Lindsay and Emily/JJ implied, if you squint really hard.
Rating: Probably PG/PG-13 for right now. There will definitely be some NC-17 at some point, but I’ll forewarn you.
Disclaimer: Don’t own a damn thing except what’s in my head! If I did, I wouldn’t have to write these fics to fill in the blanks.
Warnings: This is un-beta’d. All mistakes are mine.
AN: All blame is on those who keep poking me.
AN2: I’ve only visited San Fran once so I have no idea what the streets in the city are called. I basically made it up so just overlook that.
CHAPTER 6
Morgan slipped from the SUV, eyeing the nondescript bar in the bright light of day. He turned back to Reid, adjusting the strap of his permanently attached bag.
“Come on, kid!”
“I’ve never been in a gay bar before.”
“Come on,” he slapped Reid on the shoulder, “I’m sure it’s like any other bar.”
“Okay, I’ll put it like this. I’m not real familiar with bars in general.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the big, scary lesbians.”
“Funny!”
They entered the dimly lit bar and waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Morgan sauntered up to the bar and the only person currently visible, a tall woman in a black tanktop and a flat top.
He flipped his ID open for her, “I’m Agent Derek Morgan and this is Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. We were wondering if we could ask you a couple of questions.”
“Ask away.” Reid produced two pictures of the victims.
“Have you seen either of these women before?” The bartender picked both up and squinted in the dark light.
“This one looks familiar. That one,” she pointed at the latest victim, “no. Never seen her before.”
“What do you remember about her?” Derek tapped the first picture.
“Quiet, didn’t come in much, but she always got noticed. I remember several women trying to buy her drinks.”
“Did she accept them?” The bartender picked up a glass to wipe down.
“Not all of them. Just one. One of our frequent flyers. She’s real suave. Never goes home alone.”
Morgan’s interest was piqued, “Really? Does she have a name?”
“Besides ‘Sweet Jesus’?” The woman smirked as Reid turned away embarassed. “Yeah. Her name’s Catherine. Catherine Holloman.”
“You know where we can find her?”
“Yeah, up those stairs. Last door on the right.” The bartender pointed to the office at the top of the stairs. Morgan and Reid looked at each other curiously. It couldn’t be this easy.
*******
Morgan knocked at the half open door, “Ms. Holloman?”
“Yes? Come in.”
Morgan did the introductions and shook hands with the tall blonde. He never would have guessed in a million years that she was gay.
“We understand that you knew this woman.” Reid held up the picture.
“Briefly,” she smiled at the subtle innuendo, “Is she okay?”
“Actually, no. She’s dead.”
“Oh god. When? How?” Morgan’s gut already told him she was legit, but he had to follow the lead to its end.
“A couple of months ago. We think it was murder, perhaps a hate crime.”
“That would explain why she didn’t return my calls.”
Catherine sat forward, resting her elbows on her desk, processing the information, “And you’re here because…”
Reid popped up, “Statistically, victims tend to know their killers.”
“And you think I did it.” The woman was incredulous.
“No,” Morgan jumped in to correct Reid’s social fumbling, “but we think you may know who did and you may not even realize it. Killers, especially those provoked by an irrational hate of a group or type of person, tend to hide in plain sight. They get to know their victims and their routines. They watch them, letting their lives provoke them into acting out. It’s possible the killer watches women he knows are lesbians and when he sees them going home with other women, it angers him so he lashes out.”
“Has anyone odd been hanging around or has anyone complained about being watched or followed?” Reid asked.
The woman shook her head, “No, not that I’m aware of. Men are pretty rare around here anyway.”
“Do you have a doorman? Someone that may have seen anyone cruising the parking lot.”
“Trish is our bouncer, but she would tell me if someone suspicious was hanging around.”
“Do you mind if we talk to Trish?”
“No, not at all. She’ll be in this evening at 8 if you want to come back by.”
Morgan rose and shook her hand, “Thanks, we will.” He handed her a card, “If you think of anything, please let us know.”
******
The station was relatively quiet. Emily came in with an armload of folders, the dark rings under her eyes telling an untold story. She stopped short at seeing JJ in a chair at the conference room table, leaning over engrossed in the files in front of her, but quickly relaxed when Hotch appeared from around the corner.
“Morning, Prentiss.”
“Morning,” the files started to slide at the same time JJ looked up at her, but Hotch grabbed them before they hit the floor and placed them on the table.
“Thanks,” he looked at her concerned.
“You alright? You look tired.”
“I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well. Lumpy mattress, you know?” Hotch grunted his understanding before moving to stand next to Rossi at the board.
Emily quickly moved to the coffeemaker, determined not to make eye contact with JJ, who watched curiously from the corner of her eye. Emily closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself for a long day. She knew she needed to get the walls of her compartments back up. This case was far too important to let her personal issues get in the way. With resolve, she turned just in time to see Morgan and Reid come in. With a sigh of relief, she welcomed the bustle of new information. It was much better than silently rummaging over files across from the woman she told to fuck off last night.
In fact, she piped up first, “Did you guys find out anything?”
“Well, we have a couple of leads,” Morgan started, “One of the bar owners apparently knew one of our vics intimately. She bought her drinks. They went home together. Yada, yada. She seemed to be truly surprised by the murder, so we don’t think she’s a suspect after all. She didn’t notice any strange people hanging around, but the bouncer may have better info on that. We’re going to go back tonight to see if she saw anything suspicious.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to cover all of our bases. If no one saw the vic leave the owner’s place, her alibi doesn’t hold water,” Hotch thought outloud.
“You know, the city recently installed about a million dollars worth of security cams all over the city,” Lindsay called from the door.
“Morning Inspector,” Lindsay nodded at Hotch, “Do you think we can pull tapes for any cameras in the vicinity of this bar?”
“Sure, give me half an hour.”
“I have a better idea,” Morgan flipped his cell open, calling two floors up to Garcia’s new bat cave, “Hey, baby girl! Do me a favor?”
“Anything for you, my glorious hunk of hot chocolate!” Morgan laughed at the image.
“Pull any city sercurity cam footage near the intersection of Lafayette and St. Dominics for the evening before of our first vics murder. If you can get an image of the door or parking lot of the bar, even better.”
“I’ll get right on it, sugar.”
He turned to a stunned Lindsay, “Give her 10 minutes.”