The Element of Surprise

Identity - Part 3

Francis Goehring's house is, stated lightly, a dump. The walls are made of loose pieces of drywall he nailed and stapled together. The wall plugs dangle from their wires instead of being installed within the walls, there's not a single piece of furniture that matches, the linoleum tiles are rotten and peeling, and layers of dust cover every surface in the one-room shack. The only thing that indicates Goehring's military background, is the American flag hanging against a wall, the military-fashion cot on which he slept, and the army-green trunk at its end.

Spencer examines a stack of letters and magazines on the table, "Mostly just junk mail, catalogs for fire arms, survival preparedness..."

Rossi drags his fingers over the cot and rubs them together, "He doesn't sleep here."

"Postmarks are new," Reid holds the mail up into the light, "He probably just uses this address for mail.

I make myself useful by going through the pile of books at the head of the cot. The majority of the books are historical or medieval documentaries such as The History of Medieval Feudal Society and The Spanish Inquisition. Holding the books up for the senior agent to see, I deliver my input, "Odd choice of reading material, right? Any thoughts on that?"

Rossi inhales to respond but pauses before he could utter a word. He studies me strangely - suspiciously - his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly on his search for something that might be hidden in my expression. I remain as still as a statue, willing my face to appear innocent and neutral.

'He's on to you,' and subconscious enters the room, 'He suspects something, he might even know about Hotch's little favour.'

Then what should I do?

Fortunately, I didn't have to do anything. Spencer, bless his soul, saves me by interrupting the awkward silence with his fascination towards the senior agent, "Speaking of reading material, I've, uh, read all your books."

Shifting his eyes from me to the doctor, he mutters a thanks and moves on to the trunk at the foot of the cot. Lifting up his foot, Rossi stomps off the lock and and kicks it aside.

Spence continues, "Um... one thing that always kind of struck me as odd is that you really just sort of glance over Ruby Ridge. I mean mean, you don't..." he begins to stutter when Rossi visibly tenses, "...you don't have to tell me, I..." At last, he decides against pressing the topic.

Oping the lid of the trunk, the first thing we see is a picture of Francis Goehring and who I can only assume is his wife. Leaning down - and a bit closer to Rossi to get a better look - I study the image, "It seems old, like it's part of a past life."

"We need to find where his new life is," he lowers the photograph and glances at Reid, "How's that map of yours coming along?"

"I've got it narrowed down to about a thirty mile radius," Spencer quickly replies.

While they discuss the geographical details of the case, I crouch beside Rossi and rummage through the rest of the trunk; a military flashlight, some night vision binoculars, a chemical agent detector, a bayonet, what's left of a first-aid kit, a uniform and...

"Guys," I successfully grab their attention and point at twelve old-fashioned cassette tapes at the bottom of the trunk, "Home movies, anyone?"

"And earthly kingdom cannot exist without the inequality of persons. Martin Luther understood the weak will always serve the strong. Like me, he had dreams. And ideas..."

The three of us plus Prentiss occupy the sheriff's office, watching one of the tapes we found in Goehring's shack. Reid is perched on a desk, Emily on my right with a notebook and pen on her lap, Rossi on my left with his hands folded underneath his chin. He probably seems the most interested and fascinated by the tape of Goehring explaining his point of view to the camera.