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It was a rainy morning and fifteen year old Spencer Reid was working on his thesis for his second PhD. He left the radio on the classical music station for background noise as he worked. Mid way through Beethoven’s fifth symphony, the broadcast was interrupted.
“Emergency Broadcast: A development has been made in the Taunting Killer case. Unlike the two previous murders, the newest body was not found in the victim’s home, but instead at a nearby gas station, and instead of a brunette woman, the victim was a blond man. The only connection the police can find is the Taunting Killer’s tell tale phone call, directly to the police captain. If you have a tip, please call-“
Spencer sighed. He thought it was kind of sick the way media always gave cool sounding names to serial killers. It just encouraged them- or, if it wasn’t what the killer wanted, caused them to get worse.
The FBI had been called into deal with this after the second body was found yesterday, but Spencer was sick of the interruptions to his music, so maybe it was time to take a break from his studies.
—
“Charlie Gates.” Spencer told the operator. He found a pay phone to call the tip line in privacy- the FBI agents might want to question how he knew which would just be a waste of time.
Spencer did his research and looked through the police captain’s old cases. He had wrongfully convicted one Charlie Gates for the murder of a brunette woman, Amelia Todd, who had been Charlie’s girlfriend at the time. It was pretty obviously him when you know what you’re looking for.
“Charlie Gates is the killer. Have a nice day.”
Later that day, the news of Charlie’s arrest went live.
“Thanks to an anonymous tip, a dangerous killer is off the streets.”
Spencer smiled to himself.
—
Anonymous tip.
“Rose Tate. She was a troubled foster child that they rehoused. She’s the killer. Have a nice day.”
Anonymous tip.
“Peter Lukas. Family friend recently let out of prison. He’s the kidnapper. Have a nice day.”
Anonymous tip.
“Cole Baker. Have a nice day.”
Anonymous tip.
”Richard Mulvey. Have a nice day.”
Anonymous tip.
Anonymous tip.
Anonymous tip-
“That’s it!” Morgan yelled out. Everyone in the jet turned to him.
“What?”
“This is the eighth case in the last twenty that was solved by an “Anonymous tip”. There is no way something weird isn’t going on.”
Hotch nodded. “I asked Garcia to look into it. She says the call always comes from a different payphone in Vegas. She also pulled the calls- it’s clearly the same person each time, likely a teenage boy.”
“A kid?” Rossi sat up. “A kid is solving our cases before us?”
“…yes.”
“That’s… kind of funny.” Prentiss smiled, “It’s better than a kid who’s giving us new cases.”
Morgan huffed. Prentiss wasn’t wrong, but this definitely hurt his ego a little. He definitely needed to talk to this kid.
—
It was probably a little bit ridiculous that Spencer was using solving murder cases as a way to unwind, but it was fun! He didn’t like the whole… death aspect fun, Spencer just liked the unraveling of a mystery fun.
This case the BAU (and himself) were working on was particularly interesting. All signs pointed to the gardener, but Spencer figured it was actually his estranged son.
He took a bus to a payphone (Spencer used up all of the ones in walking distance, and he didn’t want to reuse them) and dialled the tip line.
“This is Aaron Hotchner with the BAU, who is this?”
That was… odd. They didn’t usually say their name- and they were never “with the BAU”.
“Stanford Booth. Have a nice-“
“I was actually wondering if we could speak more. You’ve called in quite a few of these now.”
“That’s not a crime. It’s kind of the opposite, actually.”
The man- Hotchner, chuckled. “That’s true. But you must realise you are quite mysterious. Could we get your name?”
“No thanks. Have a nice day.” Spencer hung up before Hotchner could interrupt him again.
Suddenly the anxiety kicked in. The FBI could easily track the call. Spencer put his hood up, tried to avoid cameras, and slipped into a crowded area. What he was doing wasn’t illegal, but he preferred to be “mysterious” than the alternative.
—
Hotch took the headphones off. “Any luck, Garcia?”
“I have the payphone, but there aren’t any cameras nearby.” She leaned back in her chair. “Actually, there aren’t any surveillance cameras at any of the payphone booths he’s used. I think it’s intentional.”
“Hm. So he’s around fourteen, he lives in Vegas, and he’s highly intelligent.” Hotch listed the limited information they had on the mystery tipper.
JJ quirked a smile at him. “Are you profiling the kid? There’s nothing wrong with what he’s doing.”
“I’m with JJ. He’s helpful. Don’t want to scare him off.” Rossi added.
“But he’s so… suspicious about it! Sneaking around cameras, only calling at a payphone, not telling us his name!” Morgan argued enthusiastically.
Twirling her pen in her hands, Garcia nodded, “I feel like he has secrets that we need to dramatically unveil! I am deeply curious about the genius kid.”
—
The BAU team were back in Vegas. Their case was solved early than expected (no help from the kid, who had gone radio silent since their confrontation), so the team decided to stick around for an extra day. Hotch liked to demand breaks every once in a while.
Morgan was at the supermarket (he had forgotten to back toothpaste) when it happened.
A tall-for-his-age, scrawny looking, kid was on the phone to his mother while trying to carry a basket with what looked like a week’s worth of groceries and was failing miserably.
His phone slipped onto the ground and as he tried to grab it, his shopping spilt out (predictably). He hung up with his mother quickly, before rushing to stuff everything back in.
“Kid, do you want some help?” Morgan offered.
Without looking up, he replied, “That’d be great, thank you.”
His voice sounded oddly familiar.
“Maybe you should splurge for the trolley next time?” Morgan suggested once they finished.
“That’s probably a good idea.” He smiled at Morgan. “Have a nice day.”
Morgan froze and turned back to him, but he was already gone.
—
“I found him!” Garcia squealed. “I checked the supermarket surveillance like you said, and our mystery tipper is a Dr Spencer Reid!”
“Doctor?” Morgan echoed.
“Yep. He has a PhD in Mathematics and is one the road to a second in Chemistry!”
Hotch started to read over an article on Garcia’s screen. “A PhD at age fifteen. That’s impressive.”
“Would it be weird if we just showed up at his place?”, Morgan considered.
“I’ll go first because he already knows me from the call, then we’ll see from there.”, Hotch decided. “So, Garcia, where am I going?”
—
Hotch stepped out of the cab and was greeted with a row of slightly run down council houses. The house he was looking for had a red painted door that desperately needed a fresh coat, a slightly depressing flower bed, and a lanky teenager reading at the steps.
Approaching cautiously Hotch called, “Dr Reid?”
Reid jumped a little before looking up. He tilted his head in recognition, “Agent Hotchner?”
“Yes. I’m sure you remember me from the phone call?”
Squinting at Hotch, Reid put down his book and stood up. He tapped his own head, “Eidetic memory. But I’m sure you already knew that. Though, uh, seeing as I haven’t committed any crimes, I’m not sure why you’re here.”
“Underage gambling, if I remember correctly.”
Reid folded his arms and attempted to look intimidating, “I don’t think the FBI looks into that- especially not your unit. Also, you can’t prove that.”
“You’re right- on both fronts. We’re here because of your tips.” Hotch gestured to the front door, “Could we talk inside?”
Reid bit his lip. “It’s not tidy.” he said shortly.
“I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”
“…okay.”