rarepairs_cm | The Lost Ones, 3/? (Reply)

Title: The Lost Ones
Author:

amichevole
Pairing: Morgan/Prentiss
Summary: Chicago, 1997. A beat cop and a federal agent join forces to solve the mystery behind the disappearance of several homeless teenagers. They uncover a conspiracy that turns their fight for justice into a fight for their lives. Morgan/Prentiss AU.

Chapter One
Chapter Two

The Lost Ones

Chapter Three

A/N: Thanks to Windy City Dreamer for the invaluable information about Chicago and its urban areas. I will endeavor to actually use the information at one point.

Standing in the office of Lieutenant Daniel Heller, Derek Morgan knew that something was wrong. There was a strange look on the Lieutenant’s face, as though something terrible had happened, and he was not quite sure how to respond.

‘Sit down, Morgan.’ Morgan simply stared. He had been running late that morning; it was five minutes to nine when he rushed into the locker room, scrambling to remove his shoes. No sooner than he had removed them, he was summoned to the Lieutenant’s office. To be reprimanded for his tardiness? He didn’t think so.

Heller gave a smile that contained no humor. He had been expecting this kind of stubbornness from the young officer. Already, he knew that Derek Morgan would go far.

‘An FBI Agent found a body in a dumpster this morning.’ He did not elaborate. Did not want to elaborate. It was hard enough losing officers, but informing the partners, the families? That was just as heartbreaking sometimes.

Morgan waited for the ton of bricks he knew was coming. There was just something in Heller’s voice that told him this was not just a body.

‘It was Pearson.’

Morgan felt the world drop away around him. He realized now why they always told family members to sit down when informing them of deaths. His legs felt like jelly. He knew that he would fall, would collapse if he stood any longer. He slumped into the chair that had been offered him.

He opened his mouth, wanted to ask how, when. All that came out was a rasping sound.

‘Single gunshot wound to the head.’ Heller knew what Morgan wanted to know, but it did not give him any satisfaction to shed light on the matter. ‘Initial coroner’s report suggests that he was killed sometime last night.’

Morgan was shocked. Frank Pearson was the last person who deserved to die. He was a good man; compassionate, strong-willed. He was the kind of man Morgan wanted to be some day. He felt his eyes watering, but he couldn’t cry – wouldn’t cry. He had to put his grief aside so he could bring justice to a murderer. He needed to find out who killed Frank Pearson.

Needed to find out why there was one less good person in the world.

* * *

Emily Prentiss found herself standing just beyond the boundaries of the crime scene, smoking a cigarette. After calling in the appropriate cavalry, she had then called SAC Wellington, informing him of the situation. He had given her a long sigh, as if it was somehow her fault that there was a body in a dumpster in the middle of Bucktown.

‘Stay there,’ he had said. ‘I’ll send someone over.’ It almost sounds as though it’s a burden.

Of course, “sending someone over” usually meant “you’ll be waiting three or four hours,” as it had the last time, and the time before that. She was beginning to wonder if any of it was actually worth it. Whether she could every break through the politics, break through the bureaucratic bullshit, break through the backstabbing. Whether she could ever find any of the important things, like truth, or justice, or even solace.

‘Excuse me?’ The voice tore her from her silent reverie.

‘Oh, motherfuck.’ She jumped backwards, knocking hot ash over her jacket. She took the cigarette out of her mouth as she tried to brush it off; she didn’t quite trust herself to multitask when there was fire involved.

‘Sorry.’ He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, the tight fabric accentuating every muscle. There was a sad, distant look in his eyes.

‘No,’ she said, smiling nervously. ‘You just…you scared the crap out of me.’ She flicked the dead butt of the cigarette into a trash can. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘They told me that…uh…the off-duty police officer whose body you found,’ he started. She furrowed her brow. No-one had released that fact to the public, so she assumed that he must be involved in some way.

‘Not in that t-shirt,’ part of her said.

‘…he was my partner,’ the man continued. Upon seeing the look on her face, he clarified. ‘Uh…work partner, that is. Derek Morgan.’ He pulled his badge from his pocket, to show her that he was, in fact, telling the truth.

‘Emily Prentiss.’ She did not normally give out her first name as well, but this man looked as if he needed comfort beyond a detached agent. ‘…I’m sorry – about your partner, that is.’ It was all Emily could say, but somehow, it didn’t seem enough.

‘Is there anything you can tell me?’ In spite of the fact that he was clearly upset about the death of his partner, there was a fiery determination in the young officer’s voice.

Emily shrugged. ‘Not much to tell. There was a trail of blood leading to the dumpster, and then inside…’ She trailed off, and stared in the direction of the offending dumpster, where several crime scene techs were at work. ‘One of the store owners mentioned having heard a gunshot last night. Not exactly uncommon, sure, but the timing fits with the coroner’s findings.’

Morgan stared at the scene around him. He had been here only yesterday - it had seemed much less of a forbidding place then. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to come back, knowing what had happened here.

‘There was a kid. A homeless kid – Stevie,’ he told her. ‘I think Frank might have come back, to find out what happened to him. The detectives…they had too much on their plates, apparently.’ He spoke the last words with some derision, as if the heavy workload of the detectives was responsible for Frank’s death.

Emily nodded. ‘I was sent here to check that out.’ She put some emphasis on the word “was;” she was uncertain of whether that would still be the case. ‘But now, I’ve got to stick around this scene until I get further orders.’ However much she wanted to sound bitter, she kept the sarcasm out of her voice. Her anger was directed at Wellington, not at the inconvenience of Frank Pearson’s death. She knew how easy it would be to construe otherwise.

‘It can’t be a coincidence that Frank was killed here. Whoever took Stevie must have killed him to stop him from looking into it further.’

‘Wouldn’t killing a cop arouse even more suspicion?’ she asked him. He shrugged in reply.

‘I don’t know, I just…I need to find out who did this. Who killed my partner. I need to know for my sake, and for the sake of his family.’

Emily checked her watch. It would be at least another two hours before anyone else from the FBI would show up. At best, her time would have been spent standing around, destroying her lungs.

‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘Let’s go find a killer.’

* * *

When Steven Jasper Simmons awoke, it was with his arms tied, his eyes blindfolded, and his mouth gagged. His head was feeling slightly fuzzy, but he could still hear a pair of loud, angry voices that piqued his curiosity.

‘…you killed a fucking cop, are you stupid or something?’

‘He was sniffing about – he would have found something.’

‘The whole point was to stay under the radar. Why do you think we picked up some little shit no-one cares about? Jesus Christ.’

Stevie heard one set of feet storm off, slamming the door. That still left one person in the room.

The other set of feet grew louder and louder until they were standing right by his head. He thought he could just see them through the bottom of the blindfold. Then, the dark piece of material was ripped from his face completely.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ The man was at least twice Steven’s age, his hair starting to grey at the sides. He had a fair complexion, pale blue eyes that looked almost sickly. ‘There’s no-one coming for you, is there, Steven? That’s why we chose you.’

And then the man stood and walked off, leaving Steven Jasper Simmons to the darkness.