Front Lines| Spencer Reid + Anne Grey

thirty four

Derek Morgan and Anne Grey step into a cramped room, accompanied by a Haysville police officer. The witness had been outside of Wichita city limits when the killing occurred, so his aunt had decided to meet with the agents at their local department, rather than Wichita.

In the small space stood a woman in her mid 30s, presumably the aunt. A child was sat practically at her feet with a coloring book. That was their witness.

"Ms. Andrea Beverly," the officer confirmingly says, looking to the agents for permission to leave.

Grey gives him a nod, clearly trying to dismiss him as she spoke to the woman. "Hi, I'm Dr. Anne Grey, I work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. This is my colleague, agent Derek Morgan." She reaches out her hand, holding next to no expression.

"Nice to meet you," the woman greets, shaking Grey's hand, then Morgan's, with a tight, forced smile. "I take it that you're here to interrogate my nephew." Her eyes linger on Anne's sutures for a second, but cut away just as fast.

Her eyebrows instantly sink, though she falls silent, giving Derek time to speak. Grey knew that her defense would be far too snappy for the aunt's liking, and trusted that her coworker could handle it better.

He takes that opportunity with ease, starting, "Ma'am, interrogate is hardly the word. We just want to speak with him to see if he saw something. He's a witness."

"He didn't see anything," the woman shoots back, crossing her arms with defiance. Neither agent believed it, though. She didn't even look convinced of her own words.

The child was oblivious to the discussion, giving each agent an odd look, then returning to his coloring.

Morgan squints slightly, asking, "How do you know for certain, ma'am?"

Grey resists a minimal urge to laugh at Derek's repetition of the title ma'am. She didn't understand how women could stand being called such without exhibiting the slightest amount of agitation. She knew that if Morgan ever called her that as anything other than a joke, she would probably feel the need to clock him in the jaw.

Andrea tries to uphold her irritated tone, but it falters as she weakly defends, "He told me."

"And you have experience with these types of things?" Anne asks, seizing the woman's moment of self doubt. She was mourning, so any form of anger was superficial, and easy to overpower. "We've both worked with the community for years, Ms. Beverly. We also both have a great understanding of the child psyche. I'm not going to traumatize a five year old just to get some information. I'd just like to do my job."

Andrea starts to surrender slightly, sighing and asking, "How long would it take?"

Morgan quickly explains, "Less than half an hour. You can watch and listen to everything we discuss with him, as long as it's from this room." He points toward the one way glass, adding, "We'd just take him right in there."

The woman eventually nods to both agents, slightly hesitant. "Fine, if it'll help find whoever killed my sister," she consents.

Grey smiles the smallest amount. She glances to the child, who was still none the wiser to the cause of their presence, then to Derek. She knew she would be the one primarily speaking to him, but wasn't eager to get on with it.

Morgan gives her an encouraging look, and nothing more.

Biting the inside of her cheek and bearing with it, Anne squats down next the child, her voice going up by multiple octaves as she asks,"Hey, how's it going?" When the brunet child shoots her an unsettled look, she smoothly defends, "Oh, it's fine, I know your aunt. What're you coloring?" She holds a soft smile, trying to be comforting. That wasn't exactly her strong suit.