XxXxX

Chapter Three

XxXxX

Their usual meeting place was cordoned off with yellow police 
tape, so Vee waited behind some tall bushes at the edge of 
the park.  The wind sliced through the branches and pinched 
at her frozen fingertips.  Jackson was almost half an hour 
late.  She touched the envelope of cash inside her pocket and 
decided to give him another five minutes.  "No way in hell 
I'm doing this again," she muttered, stamping her boots on 
the hard ground.  "Quoc can freeze his nuts out here for all 
I care."

A man jogged by her hiding spot, his breath puffing in the 
air in front of him, and she startled at the intrusion.   
Richard Nixon's grinning face still burned in her memory, 
along with the sound of his footsteps pounding the pavement 
as he chased her down the street.  The jogger's cadence was 
shorter, and Vee allowed herself to exhale.  He'd be a 
fucking idiot to come back here now, she thought.

"There you are."

Vee jumped at the tap on her shoulder.  "Jesus, Jackson!  
What the hell are you doing?"

"Looking for you."  He nodded down the road to the crime 
scene.  "What happened?  Someone get iced?"

"Yeah, last night."  She willed herself not to think of the 
girl's white arms and vacant eyes.  Instead, she glanced at 
Jackson's hands, stuffed deep inside his denim jacket.  "You 
brought the stuff?"

He sniffed and rubbed his nose.  "Yeah, I brought it.  You 
got the cash?"

"Don't I always?"

"Then let's get on with it.  It's fucking freezing out here."

She withdrew the envelope from her pocket, tilting it so it 
was visible in the white beam of the streetlight.  "Now you."

He hesitated, glancing around them, then sniffed again.  "Ten 
Gs?"

"You want to count it now? Out here?"  Vee was getting 
irritated.

"No, no.  It's fine.  Here's the stuff."  He handed her a 
plastic bag filled with powder, and she gave him the money.  
They had barely completed the exchange when bright light 
flooded the bushes.  A siren blared briefly.

"This is the police," said a voice through a bullhorn.  
"Please come out slowly, keeping your hands where we can see 
them at all times."

Vee felt her knees go weak, but she glared at Jackson.  "You 
bastard."

"Little girl, this was an easy choice.  There was no fucking 
way I was going back to jail."  He flashed a mirthless smile 
that showed off his chipped front tooth.  "Give Jimmy my 
love, eh?"

"Come out from there.  Now."  A man with a flashlight and a 
nine mm revolver appeared at the edge of the bushes.  With a 
last withering look at Jackson, Vee went.

Four patrol cars had materialized from nowhere, and uniformed 
cops walked up and down the sloping paths, searching for what 
Vee could not guess.  A small crowd gathered near the gate to 
watch them pat her down and stuff her in the back of a 
cruiser.  

The noise was shut outside.  She sat on the cold leather 
seat, staring at the metal grid, and thought of her bed at 
home.  It was a Tuesday, and her mother made latkes on 
Tuesday.  But wait, no, she remembered.  First one of the 
month Mom worked late in the ER.  She wouldn't be home yet.  
She wouldn't know.

Vee slouched down and closed her eyes.  Her head was 
beginning to throb at the temples.  She rested it against the 
cool glass and watched the men in black congratulate 
themselves on nailing a hardened criminal.  When her gaze 
shifted again to the onlookers at the gate, she sat up a bit.

There was a man at the back of the crowd.  His hair stood on 
end and the slope of his shoulders was familiar.  He caught 
her staring and disappeared in the space of one blink.

Maybe it was just the way the shadows fell.  Maybe it was the 
way he seemed to be staring right at her.

She shuddered inside her thin coat and pulled away from the 
window, back into the dark of the patrol car.  Maybe it was 
just her imagination.

But she was suddenly not so upset to be locked in the back of 
a cop car.

XxXxX

The rubber mask squeaked as he stuffed his fists deep into 
his pockets.  He was cold, he was angry, but he knew he still 
had the upper hand.  The cops wouldn't know the right 
questions to ask, and what was this girl going to tell them, 
exactly -- go arrest a dead president?

He considered forgetting the whole damn thing.  Then he 
remembered her look of recognition in squad car.  "Shit," he 
muttered, and kicked the front tire on his car.  

At least he knew where the little bitch was now.  And cop 
shops were his specialty.  He smiled a little, thinking of 
how soon they would release her.  A bit more patience, he 
thought, and this whole thing would be finished at last.

XxXxX

Scully staggered into the basement office, trying to make it 
to the desk before the two-foot stack of folders and the 
cardboard coffee cup slipped from her arms to the ground.  
She muffled a curse as hot coffee sloshed over her fingers 
but managed to set everything down with no major disaster.

"Good morning to you, too."

She jumped and turned.  "Mulder," she said when she saw him 
standing in the fuzzy early morning light.  "What are you 
doing here?"

He waved a brown paper bag at her.  "Blueberry muffins," he 
said, and looked pointedly at her coffee cup.  "I'll share if 
you will."

"From La Parisienne?" she asked, trying to decide whether it 
was worth halving her morning caffeine.  He nodded, and she 
slid over to give him a corner of the desk, taking a few 
careful sips before handing him the cup.  Their fingers 
brushed.

"Mulder, you're freezing," she said, covering his hand with 
hers.

"Yeah, well, they never did a stellar job with the heat down 
here."

She met his eyes.  "How long have you been waiting here?"

"Not that long," he answered, shrugging off her concern.  
When she did not back down in her gaze, he slipped one hand 
free and touched her knee.  "It's okay, Scully, really.  I'm 
all right."

She hesitated and then nodded.  "Okay."

He tapped her knee lightly.  "What about you?  How are you 
doing?"

"What do you mean?"

He inclined his head in the direction of the folders.  "I see 
you've been doing a little light reading." 

"Oh, that."  She took a deep breath.  "I was up half the 
night and barely made a dent.  This man certainly didn't 
escape capture due to a lax investigation.  Mulder, is it 
really true that over half of the law enforcement personnel 
in DC were involved with this case at one time or another?"

He rubbed his face with his hands.  "Yeah, that sounds right.  
At one point, the task force was logging over a hundred phone 
calls a day from people who had supposed leads on the case."

"Hard to follow every single one," she replied, eyeing the 
teetering stack of folders between them.  She paused.  "Do 
you think he might be in there someplace, just overlooked?"

"It's possible."  He pushed away from the desk, crossing the 
room to stand by the bookshelves.  "But that's not where I 
would start."

She watched him trace the edges of one shelf for a few 
moments.  "Mulder, I thought you said you didn't want to get 
involved with this case again."

"Yeah, I did," he answered without turning around.  "But I 
realized something last night."

"What's that?"

He faced her.  "This guy can be caught, Scully.  He *was* 
caught.  That's why we haven't heard from him in eleven 
years.  It's the only explanation that makes sense."

"Possible," she agreed.  "But what if he simply moved 
somewhere else?"

"No," he said, shaking his head.  "No, he did time, I'd bet 
on it.  He was escalating at the time of the last murders -- 
Michelle Palevski and Jessica Gellar were killed less than 
one month apart.  If he had moved and started killing 
somewhere else, the bodies would have been piling up fast 
enough for any local PD to take notice."

"Okay, so he was in prison for the last eleven years.  What 
for?"

Mulder paced the office with slow, deliberate steps.  "Eleven 
years is a long time.  Assault, maybe, given his history.  
Kidnapping.  Conceivably some combination of breaking and 
entering, robbery and drugs, especially if they related to 
his foot fetish."

"My thinking exactly," said a voice from the doorway.  They 
both turned to see Amelia Russell standing on the threshold.  
"I knew you still had your edge," she said to Mulder as she 
entered.  "Patterson always said he didn't really train you, 
just pointed you at a case like a loaded weapon.  And 
then...bang, it was solved."

"I don't remember it quite like that," Mulder replied.

"See, that's the remarkable thing about memory," Russell said 
to Scully.  "Even the eidetic ones are selective."

Mulder move to stand at Scully's side, the case folders piled 
high in front them.  "Is there a reason that you came down 
here, Russell?" he asked.

"I came to see if Agent Scully would be willing to talk to 
you about helping with the investigation.  It seems I need 
not have bothered."

"I had a couple of ideas last night," he said.  "But Scully 
is still the one you want to talk to.  She may have a 
witness."

Russell looked sharply at her.  "What?"

"I live about three blocks from where Elizabeth Kinney's body 
was found," Scully said.  "Two nights ago, at approximately 
the time of the murder, I met a young woman who claims to 
have been chased by a man with a knife.  She was running from 
the direction of Montrose Park.  I looked around the area for 
the man in question but couldn't find any trace of him.  The 
girl then told me she thought it might have been a homeless 
person, and claimed she overreacted."

"My God," Russell murmured.  "This could be the just the 
thing we need to crack this thing wide open.  Grenier is out 
there now, coordinating a team of black and whites to canvass 
the neighborhood for possible witnesses.  Do you know 
anything else about this girl?  How can we find her again?"

"She said her name was Vee, and she had a male companion 
called Jimmy.  They headed off in the direction of downtown."

"Description?" Russell asked, pulling out a notepad and pen.  
Scully gave her the basic details.  "Jesus, I can't believe 
it," Russell said when she had finished.  "Maybe he finally 
fucked one up.  I'm going to run across town with this.  You 
two want to come along?"

"No, I want to visit GW and talk to some of Beth Kinney's 
friends," Mulder said.

Scully glanced over at him.  "If you give me a few minutes, I 
can go with you.  I'd like to give out a description of Vee 
to local high schools.  She couldn't have been older than 
sixteen, so it's possible someone there might know who she 
is."

"Good idea," he agreed.  He looked at Russell.  "What's Arkin 
doing now?  I could grab him instead and let Scully track 
down Vee."

Russell raised her eyebrows.  "You need a car?  I can get one 
if you're not supposed to be working on the books."

Mulder slowly flexed his hands in front of him.  "Not allowed 
to drive yet."

"If I remember correctly, that's a probably a good thing." 
Russell said.

"Well, Amelia, you know the amazing thing about memory," he 
answered.  "It's selective."

She laughed.  "Touché.  And sure, you can have Arkin.  He's 
upstairs running through recent prison release records.  I 
had the same thought, that this creep has been behind bars 
somewhere for the last eleven years.  If we can find this Vee 
person, maybe she can ID him from the books." She looked at 
Mulder.  "I'll find Arkin and meet you upstairs in five 
minutes, okay?"

"Fine," Mulder said as she left.  He picked up his coat and 
slid one palm across the desk toward Scully.  "I'll see you 
later, maybe over at Grenier's check-point.  Let me know if 
you find anything on Vee."

"Sure," she replied, and tilted her head at him.  "Go easy on 
the co-eds."

He smiled.  "Scully, I've got a chaperone."

"Yes, I know.  Go easy on him, too."

His smile widened to a grin.  "Now there I make no promises."

XxXxX

"So explain to me what we're doing here?" Arkin asked as they 
sat in his idling car, waiting for foot traffic to clear from 
in front of the main George Washington University parking 
lot.  "Are you not convinced it's the same killer?"

"No, I think it's him."

"Then I don't understand.  What is there to gain from talking 
to Beth Kinney's friends?  This guy isn't someone she knew.  
He's a stranger who grabbed her off the streets."

"All the more reason to find out what kind of person Beth 
was.  We don't know where he grabbed her or why.  Maybe 
there's something in her last days that could give us some 
insight into why she died."

Arkin slid the car into a spot and cut the engine.  "I 
thought the best way to learn about the killer's mindset was 
to study his crimes -- the timing, the method, the 
commonalities among the victims..."

"And that's what we're doing," Mulder said as he got out of 
the car.   He squinted at the surrounding buildings.  "We 
want New Hall, right?

Arkin nodded, and they began walking.  "So what you're 
suggesting is that the victims might have more in common than 
long legs and fancy shoes."

"I'm saying we won't know unless we ask."

They reached the tan brick building and followed a young man 
with a backpack in through the front door.   A slender 
brunette answered their knock at the third-floor apartment.   
Her eyes were red-rimmed and her voice was hoarse as she 
asked how she could help them.

"Are you a roommate of Elizabeth Kinney's?" Mulder said 
softly.  The girl clasped a hand to her mouth and nodded.

"Yeah, I am.  Was."

"My name is Fox Mulder, and I work at the FBI.  This is Agent 
Arkin."

At the second name, the girl looked up.  "Richard?  I didn't 
recognize you."

Arkin flushed and cleared his throat.  "Hi, Sarah.  I'm sorry 
about Beth."

"Wait a second," Mulder said, turning to Akrin.  "You knew 
Beth Kinney?"

The younger agent shifted uncomfortably.  "Uh, yeah, a little 
bit.  My kid sister Danielle is a junior here.  She lives on 
the second floor."

"Beth interviewed him last year for the Hatchet," Sarah 
supplied helpfully.  "About being a profiler."

"Excuse us a moment," Mulder said, and walked Arkin down the 
hall by the arm.  "You knew the victim and you didn't say 
anything?"

"I didn't think it was relevant.  And I didn't *know* her -- 
I just spent an hour in the campus coffee house answering a 
few questions about profiling."

Mulder shook his head.  "Not cool, Arkin.  This is not the 
kind of information you keep to yourself."

"I know, I know."  He sighed.  "I'm sorry.  It's just...ever 
since we found Beth, all I've been able to think about is 
Danielle.  What if it had been her?  She's scared out of her 
mind and I'm supposed to tell her everything is going to be 
all right.  I just didn't want to drag these kids into it.  
I'm sorry, my mistake, okay?  It won't happen again."

Mulder held his gaze for a few seconds.  "You met her," he 
said at last.  "What was she like?"

"Smart.  Pretty.  Confident.  Just a real nice kid." He 
swallowed with difficulty.  "I couldn't believe it when they 
told me she was the girl in the park.  I wish to hell I could 
say I'd known her better -- then I might have some insight 
into why this bastard grabbed her."

"Well, you know her friends," Mulder said.  "That's a start."

Arkin drew a shaky breath, and they both looked back at Sarah 
standing in the doorway with her tissues in hand.  "Let's get 
going then," he said.
 
XxXxX

Scully sat at Mulder's desk, the folders pushed aside to make 
room for her laptop as she compiled names of the local high 
schools.  When the phone rang, she reached blindly to answer 
it.  "Scully."

"Agent Dana Scully?" said an unfamiliar voice.

Scully leaned her head in one hand and closed her eyes, 
suppressing a yawn.  "Yes, this is she.  Who is speaking?"

"This is Detective Pearson down at the oh six.  We arrested a 
girl last night who says she knows you."

Scully sat up, her heart beginning to quicken.  "A teenager?"

"Yeah, she won't give us her name.  We picked her up at 
Montrose Park on drug possession.  Word on the street is 
she's one of Jimmy Cho's girls."

"I'll be right there," Scully said, already gathering her 
coat.  "Whatever you do, do not let her leave."

"Oh, don't worry.  She's keeping us company for quite a while 
yet."  He paused.  "You guys looking at her for drug 
charges?"

Scully stretched backwards, speaking even as she hung up the 
phone.  "No," she said, "serial murder." 

XxXxX

In the subway car, Carl watched a woman in a business suit as 
she held the rail and swayed with the motion of the car.  She 
had narrow and glorious navy blue pumps; he imagined the feel 
of the leather on his skin.  It wasn't until after she had 
left, her heels clicking on the platform, that he noticed the 
newspaper she had been reading.

POLICE WON'T CONFIRM CONNECTION IN KILLINGS

He snatched up the section and devoured the tiny article on 
page four.  "Idiots," he breathed.  "What the fuck are they 
talking about, a possible connection?"  He scanned the three 
paragraphs again.

It had to be a press mistake, he thought.  The cops knew his 
work by now.  Jesus, who was running the FBI these days?

*Maybe you're the only one left.*

He wondered if it were true.  Grenier, Russell, Mulder... 
maybe they were all gone now.  Maybe they had forgotten who 
he was and what he could do.  Eleven years was a long time to 
be away.

He got off at Federal Triangle and went to stand outside the 
Hoover building, across the street amid the dozens of people 
hurrying along the sidewalk.  The wind came screaming down 
the rows of buildings, and most folks seemed to want to get 
back inside quickly.  Their rapid footsteps blended with the 
sound of the blood pounding in his ears.

You'll just have to remind them, he told himself.  They'll 
come back and set everything straight.

A woman came out of the front entrance.  She was rather far 
away, but he noticed her immediately.  Four inch heels.  Long 
skirt with a slit that showed off her strong calves.  Such 
tiny little feet.   He thought of her ten pink toes lined up 
in a perfect row.   

The image stayed with him as he followed her to her car and 
watched her drive away.

XxXxX

End Chapter Two.  Continued in Chapter Three.

Many thanks as always to Alicia, Alanna and Jerry for terrific 
beta.  Special thanks to luperkal for some GW insight.

I'd love to hear if you're following along.  Questions, 
comments and shoe facts are all welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com