Chapter 6

Warren County Sheriff Dept.
Tuesday, Nov. 4th
5:50 pm

"We were hiking all afternoon. When we got back to the car, there she was lying alongside the path at the trail head." Rob Lambert had the weary air of a man who'd told this story too many times.

"And you're certain she wasn't there when you passed the first time?"

Lambert gave him a patient look. "A naked woman lying two feet away? I would have noticed." He crossed his arms, glancing at his wristwatch in the process.

Mulder jotted a few notes on his legal pad, then put his pen down and mimicked the man's posture. "And your hiking companions...?"

"...were three ten-year-old boys who luckily saw nothing. I took them home as soon as I saw the body, then called the sheriff on my way back. There wasn't another soul around that day because of the weather. My boy and his friends were doing a hike for their Boy Scout badges, or we wouldn't have been there, either." This time, he made a point of looking at his watch, then back at Mulder with a questioning eyebrow.

"That will be all, for now. If you think of anything that might be helpful, please give me a call. My cell number's on the card." Mulder handed one to him, and they both stood up.

Lambert tucked it into his shirt pocket. "I told you everything I know. Believe me, if I could find the guy myself, I'd do it. And I can tell you, there wouldn't be enough of him left to prosecute."

"I can appreciate your frustration."

The man snorted. "I don't think you have a clue, Agent Mulder. My wife knew all of the women who've been killed. She's afraid to go to the damn bathroom by herself." He closed his jacket and zipped it shut. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm sure she's chewing her nails to the quick waiting for me to get home." He gave Mulder a curt nod and walked out, closing the door firmly behind him.

Mulder sat down and let his head hang forward, rubbing gingerly at the knots in his shoulders. The man was right. He didn't have a clue. What was worse, he had no idea what to do about it. He was asking obvious questions and getting equally obvious answers. There was no technique involved; no experience to draw from. It was, for all practical purposes, his first field investigation. And it showed.

Come back, Scully. I'm in way over my head.

It was too bad he didn't have the balls to tell her that. Too bad for him. Too bad for the case. Too bad for the whole damned town.

His cell phone lay on the table to his right, obstinately silent, no matter how many vibes he sent toward New York.

After a long moment, he packed up, pulled on his coat, and headed back to the hotel.

* * *

Scarsdale, NY
5:50 pm

"What in God's name is that?" Jeremy Grissom took a few stumbling steps backward the moment the image became visible on the monitor.

Scully hit the off button and the screen went blank, but not soon enough. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grissom. I didn't think." She stood up and walked over to where he leaned woozily against the wall, his eyes wide with shock. "Are you all right?" When she touched his arm, he jerked it away and turned his horrified gaze on her.

"Is...is that what he did to my sister?"

The photograph Sheriff Kessler sent out had been retouched to remove the mutilating slashes on the victim's face. "Mr. Grissom, I'm not sure it's in your best interest to hear the answer to that question."

"I have to know."

He seemed to be making a concerted effort to steel himself for her answer. Unfortunately, her rash actions had erased any hope of breaking it gently. "Please, sit down."

"Just tell me the truth." His voice shook, but his gaze was rock steady.

Scully let out a slow breath that puffed her cheeks. "Yes. The killer did the same thing to your sister."

His knees abruptly unlocked and sent him sliding down the wall, but Scully was ready for it. She took him by both biceps and steered him out into the hall. There was a bench to her right, and she lowered him onto it. "Where's the kitchen?"

He waved down the hall. "Back of the apartment. That way." He was swallowing hard.

She hurried down the hall and into the spacious kitchen, snatched a glass from the drain rack and filled it with tap water. When she got back to him a moment later, he was leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed. "Here. Drink this." She put the glass in his right hand and waited until he looked at her. "Drink it, and we'll talk."

He drained it, then handed her the glass. "When was someone going to tell me about this?"

"The details of your sister's injuries will be in the autopsy report, but it's not usually given to the next of kin, for obvious reasons." She studied his face for a moment, relieved to see some color returning. "I can't tell you how sorry I am that you had to find out the way you did."

Grissom's horror was rapidly changing to outrage. "This animal is on the loose, and you're worrying about my feelings? Jackie would laugh her ass off, and then she'd kick yours."

Scully felt her throat tighten. He was trying so hard to hide how much her thoughtlessness had hurt him. "We're doing everything we can to find him, Jeremy." Her use of his first name was deliberate, and it seemed to take the edge off his anger.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "So, what happens now? When do we leave for Warren?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to Warren with you. When are you heading back?"

He stood up, towering over her in a very familiar way. She looked up into stormy blue eyes and decided against trying to reason with him right now.

"For the moment, I'm not going anywhere. If your offer to let me stay here still stands, I'd like to spend a few hours looking through the rest of your sister's files."

"Of course it still stands. You're doing me a favor, remember?" His smile was a bit shaky, but the glassy shock had left his eyes. "I'm not sure my stomach's up to it, but I could even make you something to eat, if you like." "That's really not necessary." Not to mention that having him cook for her was a bit too familiar for comfort.

"I don't mind. It'll give me something to do besides hover over your shoulder." He gave her a lopsided grin. "and you won't have to tiptoe around the files to avoid shocking my tender sensibilities."

He had a point. "Okay, then. But please don't go to any trouble. I'm really not hungry." She had gotten a good whiff of the coffee, though, on her brief trip to the kitchen. "I would like some of that coffee you made." She offered a smile that was part apology, part olive branch. They agreed that he would make dinner while she worked, and she would share with him as much information as she could without compromising the investigation. He agreed only grudgingly to the latter, and only after she insisted.

Finally alone with the computer, Scully turned the monitor on and studied the image more closely. It was Nemhauser, of that she had no doubt, but how had Jackie Acres gotten hold of it?

The most obvious answer was Mulder. But if he had been her contact, why the secrecy? It certainly wouldn't be the first time he had consulted over the Internet, and he had never-- to her knowledge-- made any effort to hide his identity. What would be the point?

And what were the odds that a woman Mulder met over the Internet would turn up as the first victim in a serial murder case he was assigned to investigate?

Grissom had said that anything she wanted to know about his sister was in this room. Scully decided to begin her search with the mysterious Mr. M.

She closed the image of Agent Nemhauser and clicked on the email icon, then waited while the program labored to populate a list of over two hundred unread messages. The oldest was dated September 29th, the day Jackie Acres had left for the conference in Pittsburgh. Scully scrolled back past the unread items until she reached the oldest saved message, dated June 6th. Nothing jumped out at her. She sorted the list by email address, looking for any of Mulder's usual aliases. Still nothing.

Finally, she searched the text of all messages for the word "Warren" and for the file name of Nemhauser's image, but got no hits.

Having spent as much time as she had watching the Gunmen work their magic, Scully had picked up a trick or two. It didn't take long to satisfy herself that there were no deleted files of interest, nor any hidden folders.

She moved back to the "Warren" folder and clicked on the date column, putting the oldest files at the top of the list. It seemed the best approach, since the file names themselves were too cryptic to be useful.

The first file was a jpeg image from May of last year. Scully scrolled down until she reached a group of images from early September with similar file names. She highlighted the group and right-clicked the thumbnail function to display previews of the images.

When they came up, she wanted to slap her forehead. It was always so obvious after you knew the answer.

Dreamcatchers. The fine, intricately patterned cuts that had seemed familiar when she found them on the victims looked exactly like the webbing on the Navajo dreamcatcher images now arrayed before her. That Jackie Acres had placed the images in this folder, and a short time later had become a victim bearing those very marks--it was beyond eerie.

Navajo dreamcatchers, a small town in northwest Pennsylvania, and Mostow-like facial mutilation produced absolutely no meaningful connection. Yet, the first victim had put them together.

The question was: how and why?

She pulled out her phone and dialed Mulder's cell.

* * *

Holiday Inn
Warren, PA
Tues, Nov. 4th
6:40 pm

Mulder was coming out of the bathroom when he heard someone in the hall outside his door and turned back to open it. He was expecting the pizza he'd ordered for dinner. Instead, he found Michael Hobart bent over a package on the floor. She stood up quickly and gave him an apologetic smile.

"Agent Mulder! I didn't know you were home."

So, we're back to Agent Mulder. "I just got here." He jerked his chin at the package that was still on the floor. "Is that for me?"

She bent quickly and picked it up. "I made some changes to the profile after we talked."

He accepted an envelope that looked large enough to contain a manila folder. "Thanks, I'll take a look at it." He did not want to invite her in, but she showed no sign of being ready to leave.

Michael cleared her throat. "Look, I know this is awkward for you, but we still have to work together. I'd really appreciate a chance to clear the air."

She was doing it again. Putting him on the defensive when there was nothing to defend. He tucked the envelope under his arm and closed the door another inch to signal his intentions. "There's nothing to clear, Michael. I'll see you tomorrow."

She reached out and pressed her palm against the door. "If that's true, then you won't have any problem letting me come in to show you the changes I made to the profile."

It was rapidly getting to the point where standing his ground would make matters worse. He stepped back and opened the door wide. "I've got a pizza coming. We can talk until it gets here."

She stepped past him with a wry grin. "Not what I'd call a warm welcome, but I'll take it."

Mulder followed her to the little table under the windows and they sat down. She took the envelope back and opened it, fanning the typewritten sheets out before them. "I marked the sections with yellow highlighter, so finding them isn't the problem. I really wanted to hear your take on what I've done." She selected one of the pages and handed it to him with a shy smile. "I'm coming around to your side on the question of whether this guy is a stranger or not. I think he might be."

Mulder skimmed the highlighted paragraph, once again impressed with the lucid flow of the thoughts expressed. Oddly out of character, though, now that he knew the author a bit better. "What changed your mind?"

"Well, the first victim being from out of the area, for one. Maybe he followed her here, or brought her here. The area may appeal to him because it's remote and unsophisticated. Less chance that he'll be caught before he decides to move on." She leaned closer, pointing to her comments on the paper as she spoke.

"Warren is certainly less threatening than New York, if he followed her from there," Mulder agreed.

Michael's head came up so abruptly that he had to jerk back to keep their heads from colliding. Her eyes were wide. "She's been identified?"

"Well, yeah. You haven't talked to the sheriff?"

"No. I've been home since this morning, working on my profile. She's from New York City?"

There was something decidedly odd in her reaction. "Scarsdale. It bears out your theory about her clothing, doesn't it?" She had said 'Pittsburgh,' but the sentiment was the same. A large town rather than one like Warren. "You don't look very pleased about being proven right."

His cell phone started to ring, and Michael's relief was unmistakable. Mulder got up and grabbed the phone out of its charger on the dresser. The display said it was Scully.

"Hey, Scully. How was your flight?" He turned away from Michael and took a few steps across the room.

"Fine. Mulder, I'm not going to the hotel, and I probably won't be coming back until Thursday, at the earliest."

All business. Okay, then. "What changed your plans?"

"I'm staying the night at the victim's apartment in Scarsdale. Her computer is here, and a room full of notes that I have to review."

"Anything promising?"

Pause. Long pause.

"Scully?"

"I don't know how much to tell you over the phone." Her voice was tentative.

It occurred to him that she might not be alone. "Is someone there with you?"

"Jacqueline Acres' brother, Jeremy Grissom is here, yes. He's the one who showed me the files."

"Is everything okay?" She sounded odd. Not in danger. Just odd.

"Everything's fine, Mulder. I'll bring you up to date when I call tomorrow afternoon."

Two sharp raps on Mulder's door signaled the arrival of his dinner. Michael jumped up from the table. "I'll get it for you."

"Mulder, who was that?" Her tone said she already knew.

"Michael's here. We're going over some changes she made to the profile."

"In your room?"

He could lie, but decided against it. "Yes."

"I see. I'll talk to you later tomorrow. Have a good night, Mulder." The line went dead.

Mulder clicked off his phone just as Michael came back with the pizza.

"I gave him a buck." She balanced the box on one palm and gathered the papers up with the other.

Mulder took the box from her hand. "I'll take care of that. We can talk more tomorrow."

She stopped picking up papers and looked at him. "You want me to go."

He hefted the box. "I didn't really get enough for company. Sorry." And he wanted to call Scully back and talk to her, preferably without an audience.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but did your partner go home?"

He heard hope in the question. "She went to New York this afternoon to talk with Jacqueline Acres' family."

Her expression flashed something that could have been alarm, but it was gone almost immediately. "Then, she'll be back."

"With some answers, I hope." He put the pizza box down on the cleared table and looked at his watch.

Michael not only took the hint, she seemed eager to leave. "I'll let you get to your dinner." She went to the door and let herself out without a backward glance.

Mulder picked up his cell phone as soon as she was gone and punched in Scully's number. The call went immediately to voice mail. He tried again with the same results. She had shut off her phone.

* * *

Scarsdale, NY
6:50 pm

Scully closed the cell phone and placed it on the desk with exaggerated care. It was her way of suppressing an urge to throw it across the room. A moment later, she picked it up, but just long enough to shut it off completely.

Several deep breaths later, she got up and headed for the kitchen. The absence of any aromas other than stale coffee told her that dinner was either something uncooked or totally nonexistent. The latter would be fine, because her appetite had vanished with the sound of Michael Hobart's voice.

She found Jeremy Grissom seated at the square oak table with his elbows propped and his head in his hands. There were two opened wine bottles in front of him, one empty and one only three-quarters full. "Jeremy?"

He looked up at her, and his bleary, red-rimmed eyes told her where the wine had gone. He tried for a smile and failed miserably. "I thought I was prepared for the truth, but--" He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I should go." He pushed the chair back and stood up, swayed a moment and sat back down just as Scully reached his side.

"You can't prepare for something like this. No one can." The coffee pot held a sludgy residue that looked totally undrinkable. "I'll make us some coffee, if you'll tell me where to find it."

"I should go," he said again.

"You're in no condition to drive. Besides, you shouldn't be alone."

He gave her a loopy grin. "Don't have to drive. I own this building. My apartment's the penthouse." He employed the overly precise enunciation of the thoroughly inebriated.

"Okay, then you're in no condition to walk. And I could use some coffee myself. Where is it?"

He waved at the cabinets to his left. "Right there, next to the pot."

She kept an eye on him while she started a fresh pot, realizing too late that she should have moved the wine out of reach first. He was halfway through another glass of it before she rejoined him at the table. "That isn't going to help, you know."

He lowered the glass and studied her face for a moment. "You look like you could use this even more than me. I. Whatever." He nudged the bottle her way. "Glasses are over there." He waved at a wrought iron wine rack that held a dozen or so bottles and a collection of glasses suspended upside down.

Suddenly, the thought of a gentle buzz was very appealing. She got up and fetched herself a glass. When she came back to the table, he picked up the bottle and filled it.

He raised his glass. "To justice."

Scully took a long swallow and let the loose warmth flow from her throat to her fingertips.

"To justice."

* * *

Continued in Chapter 7