XxXxX Chapter Six XxXxX The crack of dawn parted to reveal a bitter gray sky with low- slung clouds, as if the ashes from the night hung suspended in the air over us. The wind rattling the panes of my window, I shivered into my clothes with haste and escaped into the quiet shadows of the hall. Mulder's door was still closed. I debated a minute whether to knock, but then decided I should search out some coffee before searching out Mulder. Downstairs, the kitchen radiated warm light and the scent of cinnamon and black coffee. I gathered that either Cathleen was an early riser by nature or the events of the previous evening had troubled her sleep. I felt a prick of conscience, remembering my talk with Mulder about consequences. It seemed unfair of us to drag ours into her home. Nearing the door, I stopped short at the sound of voices coming from within the kitchen. Kazdin had apparently decided it was okay to set foot inside the house and was saying something about the sink. "...just need another U-joint and a new valve here. It would be no problem for me to..." "No, John. It's fine. I'll take care of it." There was a short pause and the sound of his boots scuffing on the hardwood floor. "Silly to pay someone when I can do it in an hour." "No. I appreciate the offer, really. I just don't think it would be appropriate." "Appropriate? I must have put months of my life into this place by now. What does one more hour--" "Amy Quinlan." Her voice was so soft I nearly didn't hear her. But Kazdin did. "Makes no difference," he answered tightly. Cathleen sighed. "She's good for you, John, and I think -- " "No! I do not want to have this conversation with you." I felt trapped, having listened too long but unable to break away. When at last I turned, I bumped into Mulder's chest. His hands gripped my arms. "What's going on?" he asked in a low voice. "Kazdin's here." I could tell from the look on his face that he'd drawn the same conclusions about Kazdin's relationship with Cathleen. "We should go." Mulder nodded, but before we could move, Kazdin pushed into the hall. "Hey," he said, crowding with us into the narrow space. He cleared his throat. "I, uh...I dropped off a car for you to use while you're here. It's nothing special, just an old department Chevy, but it'll get the job done." "Thanks," Mulder answered, and we all found cracks in the wall to study as the awkward moment lingered. Finally, Kazdin spoke again. "I checked some old newspaper clippings this morning, and Regina Tuttlesworth was involved in Katherine Centara's trial. She was a neighbor who testified about the time of the gunshots coming from the Centara's house. She also saw Lee-Lee running out the back door a few minutes later." "What about Joe Bowman?" I asked. Kazdin shook his head. "Don't know yet. I'll search the official records today and let you know what I find." He held out his hand, dangling the keys between us until Mulder reached for them. "See you at noon," he said, and then stalked out the front door. "High noon on Main Street," Mulder murmured after he left. "I hope you remembered to pack your white hat and spurs, Scully." "No, but I've got my six shooter." "My hero," said Mulder, and we went into the kitchen for coffee. XxXxX The rain arrived before we finished breakfast, so Mulder and I waited out the hours before our showdown with the Purcell family at Cathleen's house. She set us up in her own living room with a roaring fire -- dutifully contained by an iron screen -- and plush golden chairs. I let the warmth from the hearth chase away my chill as I pored over autopsy reports, but Mulder stood with the floor lamp by the window, as far away as possible. Between the howling wind and crackling fire, I could only hear snatches of his phone conversation. I knew he was trying to get through to Dr. Vitton, the man who had treated Lee-Lee after her breakdown. At eleven-thirty, he finally sat down, his eyes on me and not on the fire. "We should get going soon." "Did you reach Dr. Vitton?" "Yes." The rain filled his silence, pattering against the window panes. "And?" I prompted eventually. "Did he talk to you?" "Some. He's very fond of Lee-Lee. You can add him to the list of people who think she's incapable of committing these crimes." "Fifteen years is a long time to be hospitalized for a mental disorder, Mulder. There must have been something wrong with her." He nodded. "Vitton said she had some kind of dissociative disorder, presumably brought on by the abuse from her uncle and the trauma of his murder. Lee-Lee didn't speak for almost a whole year after that night. Since then, she's had recurring panic attacks every time they push her to talk about the details." "It sounds vaguely like post-traumatic stress disorder," I said, and Mulder agreed. "But then that doesn't make sense with the length of her hospitalization," I continued. "People with PTSD are usually out-patients." Mulder leaned back in the chair and tapped his cell phone on his knee, looking thoughtful. "What if I told you that Mayfield Hospital was a private institution?" "You mean her family was paying to keep her there all those years? Why would they do that?" He shrugged. "Maybe they know something about her that the doctors didn't. Or maybe she knows something about them. All I know is Dr. Vitton was ready to release Lee-Lee three years ago. He said she was nervous but looking forward to leaving." "What happened?" "She had a nice long visit with her family and the panic attacks started up again." "So the implication is that they were keeping her sick. If that's the case, why let her out now? What's changed?" "I don't know," he said, looking into the fire at last. "I don't think we'll be able to answer that until we find out what happened the night Abe Centara was murdered. There may have been a verdict, but there's been no resolution for these people. Just look at the way they all treat Lee-Lee like she's still fifteen years old. Time goes forward but not the Purcells -- they're still stuck in that one night." His face was carefully neutral, but I could feel the undercurrent in his words, hear the sense of recognition. "So what do we do about it?" I asked. "Only one thing we can do." He stood up, his face grim as he studied the dying flames. "We unstick them." XxXxX The rain had dissipated by the time we reached City Hall, but the wind had doubled in force. It howled around us and shook leaves off the trees like a schoolyard bully as we hurried inside from the storm. Carson Purcell's secretary, a woman with small eyes and a cloud of silver hair, gave us a frosty smile as we presented ourselves. She picked up the phone. "Sir? They're here." A moment later a door to our left opened and Purcell appeared, beefy hand extended. "Right on time," he said as he pumped Mulder's hand. "I like that -- shows respect. You want some tea or coffee? Soda? I can have Evelyn fix you up in just a minute." "No, thank you," I said. He nodded, pleased with my answer. "Just right," he said. "Just right. Best to get down to business straightaway." Just as he started to shepherd us toward his office, the front door flew open and Jeff Purcell lurched into the room out of breath. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded, glaring from me and Mulder to his father. "I stop by the station to talk to Andy and find out he's here with Lee-Lee for some hush-hush meeting you cooked up. Funny, but my name seems to have been left off the guest list." Carson Purcell frowned. "Calm down, Jeffrey. It's not what you think. The Feds have some questions for your sister, and I felt it would be better for her to answer them here than at the station." "You already asked your questions," he said, scowling at me. "She told you she doesn't know anything." "There's been another fire," I answered, and that revelation stopped him short for a minute. He blinked. "Where? When?" "Our car was torched last night," Mulder said. "And you think Lee-Lee did it? That's bullshit." "Jeff, please. Not here, not like this." Carson Purcell's voice was low and steely. I cast a glance at Evelyn, who was devouring the scene with clasped hands and eager eyes. Better than the daytime soaps. "Fine," Jeff growled, straightening his wind-blown coat. "Let's go inside, then." He started toward the office, but Purcell stopped him. "It's crowded enough as it is. If you want to wait here, you can, and I promise I'll fill you in afterward." Jeff jerked his arm free. "You're kicking me out? I can't believe this!" "Jeff, listen to me..." "No, you listen! I don't know what you and Andy think you're doing, but I am NOT going to sit in the yard like some goddamn dog while you manipulate Lee-Lee with touchy-feely interviews! Just because I moved away, just because I got OUT of this shit hole doesn't mean you get to tell my side of the story." "Is there a problem here?" Andy Purcell emerged from the office. Drawn to his full height, he was a good five inches taller than his brother and heavier by about twenty pounds. But Jeff was not backing down. He pushed right into Andy's face and said, "Finally got what you wanted, little brother? You the man in charge now? Did you hold her hand and promise it would be okay?" "The fuck you know about it," spat Andy, pushing him away. "Where the hell have you been the past fifteen years?" "Not here!" Jeff's voice was on the edge of tremble. "So I didn't hang around on Dad's coattails. So what! You think this makes you better somehow?" "That is enough!" Purcell cut in sharply. He yanked Jeff by his elbow until his son stumbled backward a few steps. "Get out," he ordered. "Now." The fury in Jeff's eyes was so strong that for a second I thought he would charge at Purcell, knocking him flat on the plush gray carpet. But the rage died impotent, and instead he stalked toward the door, kicking over a chair along the way. The door closed behind him with a reverberating slam that stirred our clothes with its breeze. Purcell made a low noise in his throat and tugged at his tie. "Sorry for that," he said, nodding at Evelyn to retrieve the errant chair. "Shall we?" His office was dim thanks to heavy red drapes and the clouds outside, and it smelled faintly of stale cigarettes. Lee-Lee sat at the far end of a black leather sofa, huddled inside a beige trench coat. Purcell lowered himself down next to her and squeezed her knee. "Don't you worry, honey. In a few minutes we'll have this all straightened out." Mulder, Andy and I sat in the chairs provided, and then there was a short silence as we tried to figure out where to begin. To my surprise, Lee-Lee made the opening gambit. "I didn't do it," she whispered, raising her eyes to mine. "Do what?" Mulder interjected. "The fire at your house last night. Or any of the ones before, either. Why can't you just believe me?" "We believe you, honey," Purcell said soothingly, and patted her again. Andy's jaw tightened as he nodded. "Where were you last night?" I asked. "Home in bed," she answered. "I went to sleep early because I worked double shifts at the diner yesterday. I didn't know about the fire until Andy called me this morning." Before we could question her further, there was a short, loud knock on the door and John Kazdin burst into the room. I had forgotten that he was supposed to be present for this discussion. "Sorry I'm late," he said, his breathing uneven. "But I thought you might like to see this." Mulder was closest, so he accepted the piece of paper Kazdin offered. He looked at it for a few seconds and then handed it to me without a word. Purcell frowned. "What is it?" he demanded. It was a computer printout of the names of the men and women who had served on the jury that convicted Katherine Centara of murder in 1981. Number eight, circled in red ink, was Joseph Bowman. I passed the list to Purcell and turned my attention back to Lee-Lee. "What did you think of your mother's trial?" I asked. She looked stricken. "I...I wasn't there. I was in the hospital." "But you must have heard about it," I countered. "You knew she was convicted, didn't you?" Lee-Lee bowed her head and then nodded slowly. "Yes." "I don't see what this has to do with anything," Purcell broke in with a huff. "Sir, you said you would let us ask all the questions we want," I told him. He narrowed his eyes. "Within reason." Mulder leaned forward in his chair. "Well, with three dead people connected to your wife's murder trial, I'd say these questions are not just reasonable but obvious." He looked at Lee-Lee. "What did you think about your mother going to prison? She was trying to protect you, wasn't she?" Lee-Lee's eyes filled with tears, and she covered her mouth with her hand. "It's all my fault," she whispered through her fingers. "I should have been there." "Been where?" Mulder pressed. Lee-Lee shook her head, mute. "You were there the night of the murder, weren't you? Regina Tuttlesworth testified that she saw you running out of the house after the gunshots." "Can you blame her?" snapped Andy. "Kat had just shot Abe in our kitchen, for chrissake!" "Did you see the shooting?" Mulder asked her. "Is that why you ran?" "I don't remember," she answered, swiping her eyes with delicate fingers. Tears shimmered on her lashes. "I don't remember that night. But...but I should have been there, at the trial. If I had been there, maybe they would have understood..." She trailed off in an aching whisper, but I wanted the rest of the thought. "Understood what?" "My mother was a good person. She never meant for this to happen...none of us did." I glanced sharply at Mulder to see if he had caught the odd phrasing of her words, and he gave me a tiny nod. "What do you mean, 'none of us did'?" I asked. Lee-Lee drew back, a little too quickly. "Nothing, I...I just meant..." Floundering, she looked to Andy for help, and he jumped right in. "All right, that's enough. This interview is over." He stood and extended a hand to Lee-Lee. "It's all horseshit, anyway." "Mayor Purcell," Mulder started, but Purcell held up a hand to stop him. "I think my son is right," he said as he rose. "Lee-Lee has been through enough this year, and I don't want her bothered with this ridiculous theory any further." Mulder looked to where Lee-Lee was being led from the room by Andy. "With all due respect, I don't know if that's going to be possible. Someone is burning your town to the ground, and they don't show any signs of stopping." Purcell wiped his palms on the front of his suit and moved to stand behind his sprawling oak desk. He began shuffling papers around, and for a minute I thought he wasn't going to answer. When he spoke, his voice was soft, his eyes still on his busywork. "You've got nothing. A theory, that's all. If you get more, you can come back and we'll talk again. I'll be here." He paused and looked up at last. "And so will my lawyer." We were clearly dismissed, so Kazdin, Mulder and I left the office under the watchful eye of Evelyn. "Bye," she called with false sugar but true relish. I would bet good money I knew where Purcell made his bed at night. In the hall, Kazdin let out a long breath. "I didn't want to believe it," he said, "but then I got that list and something inside me just went cold. I'm thinking maybe you're right about Lee-Lee, that maybe she's been boiling over her mother's conviction all these years and now she's finally getting revenge. I mean, hell, she always seemed sweet to me, but they didn't lock her up for fifteen years for nothing, right?" "Right," answered Mulder, but he did not sound too sure. "Would it be possible for me to get transcripts from Katherine Centara's trial?" he asked as we walked down the steps toward the front door. "Sure. Ride back with me, and I'll get you the police records, too." "Great. I'll be with you in just a sec." Mulder and I stood by the doors as Kazdin braved the wind and rain. "What are you looking for?" I asked. "Fishing, mainly. I don't know." He scratched his head and moved a little closer. "Scully, when she said that part about none of them meaning it to happen...what did you take that to mean? We're talking gut reaction." I hesitated. "Well, it could mean anything, I suppose, but I had this flash..." "Yeah?" I took a deep breath. "For a second it sounded like her relationship with Abe was consensual." "Exactly." "You think that's what everyone is trying to hide?" "Could be. It might help explain Lee-Lee's guilt over not testifying at her mother's trial." "As in, perhaps the family didn't want her to testify. Interesting." I checked my watch. "While you're chasing the court transcripts, I think I'll head over to the morgue and check out Joe Bowman's body." "Good idea," he said, palming me the keys to our borrowed Chevy. "I'll catch you back at Cathleen's then." And we went our separate ways into the rain. XxXxX It was dark when I left the coroner's office, and the rain had begun to freeze. Shivering under my umbrella, I walked across the slick street to the municipal parking facility to retrieve my car for the half hour drive back to Tiburton. The garage was nearly deserted, filled with long shadows and the stench of gas fumes and concrete. The hollow echo of my heels on the pavement underscored my isolation, and I picked up my pace. My heart contracted with relief at the sight of my car. I slammed the door and leaned against the steering wheel for a moment, feeling ridiculous for letting the jitters get to me. But I jumped at the sound of my cell phone just the same. "Scully," I said, leaning back in my seat and running a hand through my hair. Seven-thirty and it was already a long night. "How was the dead guy?" Mulder asked. I could hear him cracking sunflower seeds, and my stomach rumbled in empathy. "Still dead. I didn't get anything more than the county coroner. In all likelihood, the killer used some form of accelerant on the body, but with the chemicals from his auto shop that blew with the fire, I can't say for sure. Maybe the killer brought his own mix, maybe he just improvised." "Well, the transcripts make interesting reading." "Oh, yeah?" "Yeah. Guess who blew the whistle to Katherine about Lee-Lee's involvement with Abe?" "Jeff?" "You're half right. It was a joint effort by Jeff and Andy." "No kidding." I yawned, and when I opened my eyes I noticed a piece of paper sitting on my windshield. Had it been there all along? "Mulder, hold on a second." I craned my neck around but could not see anyone. "What's going on?" "There's something on my windshield," I said. "A paper of some sort." I looked around again and decided to retrieve the slip from outside the car. Phone to my ear, I got out and pulled the paper free from the windshield wipers. It was a hand written note, penned in big block letters. YOU WERE WARNED. "Well?" Mulder said. "What is it?" "Mulder, I think..." I was stopped by the sound of my own skull cracking. Bright lights flashed in front of me as I fell to the ground, chin scraping the pavement while the phone skittered away. Then all went black. XxXxX Continued in Chapter Seven. Thanks as always to my amazing beta readers, Alicia, Gwen, Jerry and Jintian. I am grateful and humbled that such terrific writers would take time away from their own work to help little old me. Thanks also to Lisa, who got me to quit playing solitaire and write this chapter. And to Maria for kindly brandishing a twig in my direction. All types of feedback are welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com