Part 1

Standing as a witness in all things means all things - big things, little things, in all conversations, in jokes, in games played and books read and music listened to, in causes supported, in service rendered, in clothes worn, in friends made.

Margaret D. Nadauld

Chapter 01

Station 7
Manzanita County Sheriff's Department
Manzanita County, OR

Morgan

It was perhaps the crappiest police station Derek Morgan had ever had the misfortune of visiting in his life.

It was buried in the center of the Manzanita County, Oregon public works storage facility, which meant that it was all the way at the edge of the county seat, practically in the farm fields. The only good thing was that right up the road was one of those long term stay hotels and a restaurant. The bad part was that both businesses catered to farmers, ranchers and loggers, the sort of folk that tended to be a little wary of black kids from Chicago by way of a government agency. They also liked their food with ample fat, flour and salt. Morgan stuck a chair under his door at night, parked in full view of the security cameras and was starting to accept heartburn as a regular part of life.

He also accepted that it would take a good twenty minutes to get through the snarl of paving equipment, mowing equipment, service trucks and everything else trying to get through the county fuel yard and out the one gate in the morning. "'Morning, Agent!" The deputy at the gate called as he finally made it through.

The building was a large, metal Quonset hut, likely a leftover from WW II. Two-thirds of it was garage for the heavily forested county's large Search and Rescue unit. The remaining third held the SAR offices. The tiny reception area was decorated in wood paneling from the 1960's, pale upholstered couches from the 1970's and copies of Field and Stream from the 1980's. The walls were adorned with copies of pictures of the current president and governor, yellowing pictures of former sheriffs, and faded pictures of hunting scenes.

Morgan parked in the garage, tossed a tarp over his car, waved to the two old guys working on one of the SAR Jeeps, and headed in. He passed the secretary, an overstuffed woman in her 50's with hair dyed badly to cover the grey. She was kind and friendly though, very efficient and made amazing coffee. "Good morning Agent!" She sang out. He managed a smile and a polite reply.

Most of the office area was actually set up to be an operations center, both for searches and as a backup for the general one downtown. There was a big room with folding tables and chairs, lots of whiteboards, walls that would pin up maps or pictures with ease, and a bank of phones and radios. The remaining third, roughly, was actual office space. There was an office for the secretary and an office for the Captain who headed the unit and a small bullpen for the handful of deputies who did most of the grunt work. They kept up the specialized equipment, organized training for volunteers, were the first out for calls and so on. The walls of their space were lined with not only maps of this county but of all the surrounding counties as well.

And in the back, tucked into a corner, was a desk in its own little nook, well out of sight of the rest of the building. That was where Morgan went to set up his laptop. As soon as he settled Deputy Wilmer brought him the file from the night before. "'Morning Agent." He said. "Here's what came in last night."

"Thank you." Morgan replied.

That was what made this place so special. Because the local rivers and hiking trails, so popular with outdoorsmen, meandered across multiple county lines, the SAR teams from six counties in this part of the state had cooperative agreements to share information, including access to 911 files. Which meant that if someone from the BAU wanted to monitor those 911 calls this was the best place to sit and do it.

Sit here. Because this region was having an Unsub problem. And both they and the Manzanita County Sheriff suspected, but had yet to prove, that the Sheriff from neighboring Mariposa County had something to do with it. But he had kicked them out four weeks ago, a week into their investigation. And they didn't have enough to press the issue.

And one Dr. Spencer Reid went missing in Mariposa County just over four weeks ago.

Morgan quickly went over the 911 calls from the night before, but none of them were his little brother calling for help. "Nothing."

"Sorry Agent." Deputy Wilmer replied. "Hopefully we'll find something today."

"Hope so." Morgan sighed. Come on little brother, he thought, find your way.

.

This is set between Seasons 10 and 11, and cannon through Season 10. Just something noodling through my head.

It's the crazy busy season around here, so expect slow publishing.

- TKL