[color=darkgray][indent][sub][h3][b][color=black] J O S E P H   T H O R E A U[/color]
[color=gray]J O S E P H   T H O R E A U[/color][/b][/h3][/sub][sub][sup][sub][h3][b][color=black] A N T H R O P O L O G I C A L   C R I M I N O L O G I S T   &   F O R E N S I C   P A T H O L O G I S T[/color]
[color=lightgray]A N T H R O P O L O G I C A L   C R I M I N O L O G I S T   &   F O R E N S I C   P A T H O L O G I S T[/color][/b][/h3][/sub][/sup][/sub][/indent][hr][indent][indent]The satisfying [i]snip[/i] of the garden shears rang out cleanly in the stillness of the sunny afternoon. In the distance, soft waves rolled over the numerous smoothed stones that lined the waterfront at the foot of the large yard. Adjusting the straw hat atop his head, Dr. Joseph Thoreau picked the cane beside him up from the ground, planting it firmly before lifting himself to his feet. A cry of protest in the form of a dull ache radiated from the old wound beneath the pleated pants and heavy apron. Finding his balance, Joseph picked up the dozen freshly cut roses before him, minding the thorns, before pocketing the shears in the front of his apron. Slowly he made his way inside, Joseph entered through the reardoor of the large colonial-era home. Sheets and tarps were draped across the antique furniture that lined the hallways and the living room looked like it hadn't been touched in this century.

It would be enough to unnerve the common man. It was almost downright macabre, the entire place looked unlived and abandoned. Pausing at the doorway into the large kitchen, a sad smile found its way onto the grizzled features of the older man. His hand traced the moulding around the door, dwelling on the notches made by the very same pocket knife that sat on his belt. Names in his own indecipherable scrawl were written beside each mark accompanied by a number. 

Clearing his throat, Joseph resumed his pace. His cane tapped along the marble floors of white and black tile until he came into a large study. Placing the flowers down atop the waiting wrapping, Joseph maneuvered himself onto the nearby work stool. Expertly creasing the wrapping, Joseph deftly turned the items before him from a bunch of roses atop a few pieces of paper into a beautiful bouquet.

It was around this time each year that Joseph would visit her grave. It was after all his fault she had died. Had he not talked to the media all those years ago, Mesmer wouldn't have escalated. Mesmer wouldn't have come after him, or his family.

The black Jaguar roared down the hallway leaving the old estate in the distance. Joseph had been so lost in his thoughts and memories that he barely remembered getting into the car. The sun was still shining, even as the afternoon was bordering nearer to dusk than it had originally. In the distance, the spire of the old Anglican church rose over the horizon, soon followed by the iron gates that closed the fence surrounding the graveyard.

Stepping out of the car, Joseph adjusted his sunglasses before placing a felt brimmed hat upon his head. Leaving the vehicle behind, Joseph wandered into the graveyard, passing through the iron gate before making his way through the rows of tombstones. It was a path he knew well, Joseph had become a profiler over a decade ago. He thought he was well equipped for the job, but the first two years were tough.

But nothing compared to the third.

Climbing a small hill, Joseph sat down on a granite bench situated beneath a large oak tree. He was a very well-educated man, and his meandering career path had afforded him opportunities many would be jealous of. By the age of thirty-nine, Joseph thought he was prepared for anything. He was an accomplished crisis negotiator, he knew how to speak to people going through their worst. But he was not prepared for how the media took his words nor the fallout.

[COLOR=WHITE]"I'm sorry."[/COLOR] Joseph stated, breaking the silence as he laid the bouquet of roses down on the bench beside him. He lowered his sunglasses before removing the hat from his head. Turning his body to look towards the urn occupying the end of the memorial. His hand traced along the engraving, fingers feeling out the letters spelling 'Beloved Daughter'. 

Time always seemed to stand still when he spent time with Ainsley. Dusk turned to dark and soon Joseph was roused from reading aloud under the moonlight by the ringing of his phone. Recognizing the ringtone he had assigned to members of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, Joseph slid the device out of his overcoat's pocket and unlocked the screen to view the message. With a heavy sigh, he bid Ainsley goodbye and tucked the book away.

There was something relaxing about driving at night. Joseph certainly found it preferable to driving during the day. Most people would argue driving during the day was easier, but there was something the older man found comforting about travelling along a single illuminated path. Lucian hadn't divulged any details of the case in his summon, but Joseph had learned to trust his Unit Chief's discretion even if he hadn't fully learned to trust the former undercover operative.

Leaving his Jaguar under the care of the Bureau's parking garage, Joseph took the elevator to the BAU's offices finding himself among the last of the team to enter. Nodding towards Stannis and Dr. Augilar, Joseph placed his bag down at his desk, before leaning against it to take the weight off completely off both cane and old injury.

[COLOR=WHITE]"Happy Memorial Day, hope you both were able to take the opportunity to spend it with family."[/COLOR] He stated, his faint English accent making the 'R's roll more than his true American colleagues. Despite all the years he had spent out from under his father's roof, he had never quite managed to lose the accent.

Even after living in Chicago.

[COLOR=WHITE]"Stannis, I'll wager your children are growing up fast. Jenny must be, what, almost one by now and Nathaniel must be about ready to start kindergarten in the fall."[/COLOR] Joseph added, picking up the latte he had carried in. Lucian no doubt brewed a pot of the black tar that the F.B.I. 'graciously' supplied its agents but Joseph had learned a long time ago that you did not start the case with that taste in your mouth.

The room was on edge, their tension was hidden behind the idle small talk, but Joseph knew that if there was a case worth being called in at this hour, then the clock was ticking faster than any of them wanted to admit. The other two were younger, Stannis had a family and Auiglar, though brilliant, was still wet behind the ears. Turning towards Neagore, Joseph opted to pull the bandage off.

[COLOR=WHITE]"Two questions,"[/COLOR] He stated, [COLOR=WHITE]"How many bodies, and when are we in the air?"[/COLOR][/indent][/indent][hr][indent][COLOR=LIGHTGRAY][b]Interactions:[/b][/COLOR] [@Artemis Arts] [@evierose] [@OddApproved][/indent][/color]