XxXxX

Chapter Nine

XxXxX

There was a light snow falling by the time they reached the 
town of Bakersfield, Ohio -- population six thousand.  "And 
two," Mulder added as they crossed the border.

Scully squinted out the window as she drove, taking in the 
sparse number of buildings on the main drag. "Hopefully we 
won't be here long enough to count."

"What's the matter, Scully?  You have something against 
small-town charm?"

"I like charm just fine," she answered as she pulled into the 
driveway of the Bakersfield Inn.  The engine cut out.  "But 
let's face it, Mulder -- we're not going to catch this guy 
here.  Even if these murders were committed by the same man 
we're searching for, he's long gone from this place."

"Ah, but the clues remain."  They retrieved their overnight 
bags from the car and headed for the entrance to the Inn.  He 
held the door open for her, and they both stamped snowflakes 
from their shoes on the mat inside.

"Welcome," said a round-faced woman behind the front desk.  
She put aside an Agatha Christie novel to greet them.  "You 
all must be the FBI, right?"

"Right as rain," Mulder agreed.  He brushed off his overcoat.  
"Or snow, in this case."

"First of the season," the woman said.  "You're lucky you 
made it in before it hit."  She took out her ledger and 
consulted.  "Let's see...I can give you separate rooms on 
floors one and two, or else I've got two rooms together on 
the second floor that share a common bathroom.  Which do you 
prefer?"

Mulder glanced at Scully, who said, "The joined ones are 
fine."  She returned his look.  "I'll just make sure to lock 
the bathroom door."

"Okay, if you'll just sign here," the woman said.  "Oh, wait, 
and I forgot.  Pete Lydell dropped this off for you earlier."  
She handed then a thick manila envelope.

"Great, thanks," Mulder said.  "Is there anyplace to grab 
something to eat around here?"

"No, sir, I'm afraid everything is locked up tight as a 
drum."  She thought for a moment.  "Let me see if I can have 
Patsy rustle you up something from our kitchen.  It won't be 
much, but it'll take the edge off."

"That would be wonderful, thank you," Scully said.

His bag slung over his shoulder, Mulder had the file open 
before they reached the stairs.  "Lydell says he'll meet us 
in his office tomorrow at eight-thirty," he reported as they 
climbed.  "And these seem to be copies of the reports on two 
murders he told me about over the phone."

Scully paused outside her door.  "Anything new?"

"Susan Perry's body was found here in Bakersfield," he 
reported, scanning as he flipped through the pages.  "Dee-Ann 
Tucker was found in Kirby, where she apparently lived."  He 
glanced at her.  "I wonder how far away that is from here."

"About ten miles back on Route 80," Scully answered.  "We 
passed signs on the way into town."

"Huh," Mulder said, eyeing the folders again.  "I would have 
expected them to be closer together."

Scully smothered a yawn in the sleeve of her wool coat.  "You 
can give me the rest of the highlights in a few minutes.  
I've got dibs on the shower."

He nodded absently and let himself into the room.  Tossing 
his bag in a chair, he stretched out on the bed and turned on 
the nearby lamp.  As he held up the top folder, a series of 
photographs slid out onto his stomach.  The first one was a 
color portrait, air-brushed and matted, showing a young woman 
with a wide smile and mischievous hazel eyes.  Her pink 
blouse was open at the collar, and he could just make out a 
delicate necklace that spelled out "Susan" gold script.  A 
senior year portrait, he guessed, taken only a few months 
before she died.  Just eighteen years old.

Reluctantly, he traded the bright and happy picture for those 
that followed -- black and white crime scene photos showing 
her bruised neck, scattered clothes, and mutilated toes.  
When he held it up next to the light, he detected tooth marks 
on the side of her left foot.  Her little toe had been 
chopped off.

The photos from the second murder looked much the same.  Dee-
Ann Tucker died on or about February 3, 1982, having been 
reported missing by her mother the previous day.  The search 
team found her body propped under a tree in the local 
schoolyard -- raped, strangled and missing both little toes.

He had read both files front to back by the time Scully 
entered from the bathroom a half hour later.  Her hair was 
wet.  He gave an appreciative glance at the curved, bare legs 
that stuck out from under her robe, and an even more 
appreciative glance at the sandwich plate she held in her 
hand.

"Courtesy of Patsy downstairs," she said, joining him on the 
bed.  

"Thank God," he said as he sat up.  "Man does not live by 
peanuts alone."

She tucked her legs under her and took one of the sandwiches 
from the plate.  "Anything else of interest in the files?" 
she asked.

"Looks like the same guy from DC," Mulder answered with his 
mouth full.  "Both of the murdered girls had toes missing."

"Did they have any suspects back at the time of the original 
investigations?"

"Nothing that panned out.  The local boys chalked it up to a 
drifter who had moved on to another town."

Scully looked thoughtful.  "Could be possible, I suppose."

"No, our killer is a nice, corn-fed Midwestern boy, all 
right." he replied.  "From a small town where everyone knows 
everyone.  All we have to do is find out who knew this animal 
twelve years ago."

"Great," she said with a sigh.  "There are only six thousand 
people.  Should take us no time at all."

He shook his head.  "There are two people who knew him for 
sure," he said, tapping the folders next to him.  "We can 
start there."

XxXxX

Scully fell asleep halfway through "M*A*S*H," curled in her 
fuzzy robe with the blue light flickering over her face.  He 
muted the television and watched her for a few minutes, 
letting the gentle rhythm of her breathing wash over him like 
waves.  At last he rolled out of bed and padded on bare feet 
to the closet, where he found a worn cotton blanket.  He took 
it back to the bed and sat by her hip as he tucked it around 
her, stretching across and caging her body with his own.  She 
opened her eyes, and he froze in place above her.

"Mulder?"

"It's okay," he murmured, reaching up to stroke the curve of 
her face with his finger.  "Go back to sleep.  I'll take your 
room tonight."

She blinked at him a moment longer, then stretched, arching 
under the blanket and brushing his belly with her own.  He 
sucked in his breath as she released a sleepy sigh.  He 
swallowed with difficulty and leaned down to kiss her temple. 
"Night, Scully," he whispered.  As he moved to pull away, she 
stopped him with two hands on his chest.  His face hovered 
inches from hers.

"No, wait," she said.

Breathless, he waited.  "What?" 

"I think..."  She shifted under him, her hands sliding up so 
her fingers splayed across his cheek.  "I think the bed..." 
Her face tilted up to his.  "...is crashing."

Her hands fell away as their lips met, brushing first at one 
angle, then the other.  They connected only with their kiss.  
Mulder quivered just above her, his fingers digging into the 
bed sheets.  He tasted her mouth and smelled her skin and 
felt her twisting with need beneath him, her breath hot 
against his face. 

She whimpered, and he was lost, crawling over her even as she 
urged him into bed with eager, stroking hands.  The blanket 
slipped to the floor.  He panted in between frantic kisses on 
her lips, her ears, her eyes.  The ends of her hair were 
still damp, and he took the curled tips in his mouth, sucking 
off the last sweet drops.  He wanted to taste her everywhere.

His cock poked around inside his sweat pants, and when she 
parted her legs he rubbed himself between them.  "Oh, yes," 
she murmured, her eyes drifting shut.  She slipped her hands 
under his shirt and stroked the length of his back, her 
nimble fingers finding the sensitive skin on the sides of his 
ribcage.  "Scully," he whispered against her mouth, and she 
swallowed the sound as she wrapped her legs around him.

Arching away from her, he tugged open her robe, releasing her 
body heat and clean, spicy scent into the air between them. 
Her fingers curled into his tee-shirt, tugging upwards, and 
he obliged her by shrugging it off.  She returned her touch 
immediately, tracing his ribs down to his belly as she 
planted tiny kisses along his jaw.

He tried, he tried not to go from zero to fucking in sixty 
seconds.  The avalanche of need inside him almost didn't care 
that it was her hand on his cock, pumping so sweetly.  But he 
forced himself to open his eyes.  To see her.  To remember 
the shadow curve of her waist, the warm weight of her 
breasts, the feel of her pointed hot tongue on his skin.

Her breathing grew light and fast as touched between her 
legs.  He stroked her gently before trailing hot and wet 
fingers down her thigh.  Her hips jerked under his hand, and 
he returned to his purposeful rhythm at her center.

She turned her face away, her cheek pushed deep into the 
pillow as she panted in little "oh" shaped breaths and 
followed the movements of his hand. He was prepared to rub 
her this way for as long as she needed, trying to give her 
the time to let go.  But Scully clenched around him after 
only a few seconds, gasping and shaking under his fingers.

He kissed the pulse fluttering at her throat, and she twisted 
her fingers in his hair.  "Good," she said, licking her lips.   
Her eyes were still closed.

"Take your time," he said as he rolled next to her.  He 
traced a circle around the nipple closest to him and tried to 
control the spasms of his hips against her thigh.

"Time," she answered, tugging down the waistband of his 
pants.  He slid them down and off in one motion.  They kissed 
face to face for several long moments before she rolled 
herself on top of him, the terry cloth robe slipping down to 
her elbows like a wrap.  Her breasts peeked out from between 
the folds, and he watched her eyes as he took both nipples in 
his fingers and rolled them gently back and forth. 


Her lips parted, her eyelids heavy, she reached behind her to 
stroke him from root to tip.  After another moment, she 
shifted onto her knees.  

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. "Slow," he warned through 
clenched teeth.

"Yeah, yeah," she agreed, positioning him between her legs.  
She slid downwards a couple of inches, then stopped, and he 
forced himself to hold back a groan.  

"Okay?" he asked.  He could feel himself pressing tight 
inside her.

"Mmmm."  She closed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead the 
way she did whenever she was thinking hard about something --
her lips pursed, her skin flushed. 

Thinking about fucking me, he thought, and nearly went over 
the edge right then.

"Oh," she said, a sound of surprise and delight as she opened 
up and he slid all the way inside.  She leaned down and 
kissed him softly, then drew away to look into his eyes. 
"Well?"

He kissed her back, once hard.  "Mayday," he said, and then 
gripped the bed as her laughter rippled through him.  

She reached up and matched her palms to his, folding their 
fingers together.  He bumped his hips against her, and she 
made a small, choked sound of pleasure as she bore down with 
an answering push.  They made love slowly at first, her cheek 
against shoulder, his hands caressing her smooth back under 
the robe.  Then her fingers found his nipples with a light 
scrape, and he began to sweat.  She licked the side of his 
neck.

"Can't," he said, more to himself than her, as the tempo 
started to carry him away. "Can'tcan't."  He was pumping 
himself into her with smooth, short strokes.

"You can," she whispered back, her breathing uneven.

She sat up, bringing him deeper, and he groaned.  He held her 
hips as she rose and fell, until the pulses of pleasure began 
shooting down his spine.  She swooped down and kissed him, 
and he hugged her tight as he shook and shook.

When he opened his eyes again, his heartbeat slowing, Scully 
was draped over him with a satisfying dead weight.  He mapped 
the individual ridges of her vertebrae with his fingers, 
learning every velvet ridge.  Her skin was every bit as 
peach-fuzz soft and smooth as it had been under his hands 
seven years earlier, when she had dropped her robe for him in 
the candlelight.  He felt a lump form in his throat at the 
small reminder of her innocence back then, amazed that the 
same star-bright, cocky young woman was the Scully he now 
loved.

He kissed her ear, and she tightened her arms around him.  
Her hips, he noted, were still bucking against his at odd 
intervals.  The inner clenching sent shivers though him, but 
he softened and slipped out of her all the same.  She 
twitched and murmured something into his shoulder.

"More?" he breathed, reaching down to stroke her lightly.  
She buried her hot face in his neck and nodded, already 
pushing against his fingers.  He let her set the easy pace.  
His need assuaged, this time he could pay attention -- feel 
the edges of her teeth against his shoulder, hear the hitches 
in her breathing.  He urged her on with whispered words, the 
damp threads of her hair tickling his lips.  She came with a 
quick yelp and a long, shuddering sigh.

Afterward, they drifted in a pile of heavy limbs and lazy 
kisses.  Through sleepy eyes, he noted the grainy shadows 
dancing on the ceiling, and he chuffed against the fragrant 
hollow of her throat.

"What?" she murmured.

"We left the TV on," he explained, amused.

She kissed the back of his neck.  "So turn it off," she said.

So he did.

XxXxX

Sheriff Lydell, as Mulder and Scully discovered, was actually 
the county sheriff and worked out of the neighboring town of 
Kirby.  The six inches of snow had been cleared overnight, so 
Scully had no problems on the roads.  Even the cows were out, 
twitching their tails at the side of the road as they rooted 
around under the snow for something to eat.  At the Kirby 
town border, they passed a small sign that read "Ohio Is For 
Lovers."  Scully smiled.  She kept her eyes focused straight 
ahead, but when she stretched her hand across the seat, she 
found Mulder's fingers there, waiting.

They parked outside the gray concrete building where Sheriff 
Lydell's office was located.  He greeted them inside with hot 
coffee and a pair of old leather chairs on rickety wheels.  
"Sit, sit," he insisted.  "I'm glad you were able to make it 
despite the storm."

Not the usual phenotype for a small-town Sheriff, Scully 
thought as they sat.  Pete Lydell was perhaps four inches 
taller than she was, with thinning hair, wire-rimmed glasses 
and a caterpillar moustache.  He chewed it for a moment 
before launching into his explanation of why he had contacted 
them.

"Susan was the first murder I investigated," he said, 
clearing his throat.  "So far, Dee-Ann has been the only 
other one.  You can see then why I remembered them.  I almost 
couldn't believe it when I read your bulletin off the wires 
yesterday."

Mulder pulled out the files he'd brought with him.  "It does 
seem like your two murders here fit the pattern we've seen in 
our case.  I think it's likely that we're looking for the 
same perpetrator."

"Sonofabitch," Lydell murmured.  "After all these years."

"What I need from you is anything not found in these files," 
Mulder said.  

Lydell gnawed his upper lip again as he thought.  "It was a 
long time ago," he said slowly.  "And I don't think there's 
too much that didn't make it into the files.  Susan was just 
eighteen years old, you know, and Dee-Ann had a three-year 
old daughter at home.  We wanted this guy bad, looked at 
every angle we could."

"I think the killer probably knew these girls," Mulder said.  
"At least casually.  And it's possible that he knew them from 
the same place.  I know they lived in different towns, but 
were you able to come up with any connection between the two 
of them?"

"See, that's the thing.  We looked at that."  Lydell shook 
his head.  "They didn't go to school together, didn't work 
together, didn't attend the same church...didn't even have 
any mutual friends that we could find."

Mulder frowned, and Scully held out her hand for the files.  
"May I see those?"  He gave them to her.

"What about the smaller things -- repairmen, hairdressers, 
that sort of thing?" Mulder asked.

"Nope."  Lydell sighed.  "We checked out those folks, too, 
and every one of them came back clean."

Scully noticed that both victims had work addresses on 
Sycamore Street, and pointed that out to Mulder.  "Are these 
two places close to one another?" she asked Lydell.

"They're about three blocks apart, yes.  Susan was a checker 
at Byron's Pharmacy, and Dee-Ann worked part-time at 
Lucille's Restaurant."

"Is that near here?" Mulder asked, already getting up from 
his chair.  Scully rose, too.

"Sure, it's our main shopping area.  Just down the street and 
around the corner."

"Then let's start there."

They side-stepped the icy patches on the sidewalk as Lydell 
led the way to Sycamore Street.  The shoppers were already 
out and about, bundled in thick winter coats with their noses 
buried in their collars while they hurried from store to 
store.  Lydell jangled a cow bell as he opened the door to 
Byron's Pharmacy.  He took off his wide-brimmed sheriff's hat 
and approached the young man behind the counter.

"Morning, Steven."

"Hey, Sheriff.  You here for more of those cold pills?"

"No, I'd like to talk to Jerry, if he's around."

Steven nodded to the rear of the store.  "Sure, he's in back 
doing the ordering."

Jerry had a large belly and an easy smile.  He pumped 
Lydell's hand several times before scraping several chairs 
across the room so Lydell, Mulder and Scully could sit, too.  
"What can I do for you folks today?" he asked, eyeing the 
strangers with curiosity.

"It's about Susan, Jerry."

The older man needed no further clarification.  "Oh," he 
said, the light dimming from his eyes a bit.  He shuffled 
some papers on his desk.  "Is there...is there some new 
information?"

"This is Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI," Lydell 
explained.  "They think the man who killed Susan may be in 
Washington, DC now."

"I see."  His mouth tightened.  "Killing more little girls, 
right?"

"Not if we can stop it," Mulder answered gently.  "That's why 
we're here."

"Jerry, we need to know who else worked here at the time 
Susan did," Lydell said.

The other man's eyes widened.  "You think it was one of my 
people?  No way anyone I knew could have hurt that sweet 
little girl."

"Probably not," Lydell soothed.  "But just for the record, 
who was working with Susan back then?"

Jerry leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin.  "Well, 
let's see now.  I don't have need for a lot of people.  Back 
then, it was Susan and Nick Greer and Martha Vilbin."  He 
frowned.  "You can't possibly think Nick had anything to do 
with this."

"Nick Greer is one of my deputies now," Lydell told Mulder 
and Scully.  "I don't think he could be involved.  For one 
thing, he still lives right here in town.  Never been to DC 
as far as I know."

"No short-term workers you might have hired around that 
time?" Mulder asked.  

Jerry shook his head.  "Sorry, no."

"Thanks, Jer," Lydell said as they rose. "You've been a big 
help."

"Sure thing."  Jerry glanced from Mulder and Scully to the 
Sheriff.  "You'll let me know if..."

"I promise," Lydell assured him.  "Anything I hear, you'll be 
the first to know."

They left the shop, and as they walked down the blocks to 
Lucille's restaurant, Lydell said, "Susan was Jerry's niece.  
Her death about ripped him apart."

At Lucille's Restaurant, the owner, a man named Bud Lovett, 
also vouched for every single one of his employees.  Most 
still lived right in the area, and he couldn't imagine any of 
them hurting poor Dee-Ann Tucker.

Outside on the street, Lydell sighed.  "I was afraid it would 
turn out this way.  We interviewed most of these folks at the 
time of the murders, and nothing popped out even then."

"Maybe he didn't work with the women," Mulder replied, 
scanning the storefronts.  "Maybe he worked near them."

Before Scully could reply, Mulder was stalking across the 
street, his open coat flaring in the wind.  She followed with 
Lydell close on her heels.  

"You going to go store by store?" he called, sounding 
confused.

"Not necessary," Mulder answered without looking back.  "Tell 
me -- what kind of shoes were Susan and Dee-Ann wearing when 
they disappeared."  He came to a sudden stop on the sidewalk.

"Susan had been dressed up for a holiday party," Lydell 
answered.  "And Dee-Ann was a bridesmaid in her sister's 
wedding the day she was killed.  So they were both wearing 
fancy-type shoes, I would say."

"Exactly," Mulder murmured, tipping his head back to look at 
the store sign hanging over their heads.  Scully followed his 
gaze.

SILLIMAN'S SHOE SHOP

Scully turned around and faced the street.  With a chill, she 
realized she could see both the pharmacy and the restaurant 
from where she was standing.  

"You won't have too much luck asking in there now," Lydell 
said.  "Silliman's changed ownership about six years ago, 
when Norma Burnheardt retired."

"Does she still live nearby?" Mulder asked.

"I think she moved to Indiana to be with her kids.  But we 
can try to get her on the telephone."

The wind blew then, swinging the wooden sign above their 
heads.  "The sooner, the better," Mulder said grimly, and 
they began the walk back to the office.

It took them a half an hour to track down Norma Burnheardt in 
Indiana, but she was friendly and eager to help.  They put 
her on the Sheriff's speaker phone.

"I'm especially interested in any young men you might have 
had working with you in late 1985 or early 1986," Mulder 
said.  "Perhaps someone who left the area soon after that."

"Oh, sure," she said immediately.  "That would be Carl 
Quinten.  But you can't be looking for Carl. He used to give 
lollipops to the kids and spent hours with the ladies, 
helping them pick out shoes.  He was a quiet boy, a nice 
boy."

Scully felt her heart begin to pound.  She picked up the 
nearest pen and wrote on a piece of paper, "Carl Quinten is 
on our list -- paroled recently in DC."

Mulder glanced at the paper and nodded.  "Do you know where 
Carl went when he moved, Mrs. Burnheardt?"

"He had a cousin in Maryland, I believe."

Just then, Mulder's cell phone rang, and he excused himself  
to the other side of the room.  Scully kept one eye on his 
back as she thanked Norma for her time and hung up the call.  
A minute later, Mulder returned.

"Vee lied to you," he said.  

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that this guy sure seems to think she can ID him.  
That was Grenier on the phone.  The D.C. cops responded to a 
nine-one-one call at the apartment of Jimmy Cho yesterday 
night and found him unconscious with the place a mess.  This 
morning he told them a guy in a Richard Nixon mask did it, 
and awfully concerned about Vee."

"Where is she now?"

"No one knows.  Her mother put her on a train yesterday 
afternoon, but Vee never got off on the other end."

"Jesus," Scully breathed.  "Did you tell him what we found 
out here?"

"Yeah, but we're a little too late."  His hands fisted, and 
he looked away.  "They found another body this morning."

XxXxX

End Chapter Nine.  Continued in Chapter Ten.

I don't know if y'all want warm holiday wishes from a woman 
who writes about serial killers, but I offer them all the 
same. ;-) 

Joanne, if you can answer your own question, then you'll have 
the whole thing figured out!

Feedback would be lovely.  Comments, questions, concerns and 
chocolate to syn_tax6@yahoo.com

Holiday wreaths with pine cones and ribbons to my three beta 
readers, Alanna, Alicia and Jerry!  Thanks for all your help.