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Chapter Two

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James Dean Trumbull had, at age thirty-nine, outlasted his 
namesake by a good fifteen years.  His mother had fallen in 
love with the fifties film idol's tragic, romantic saga, 
and since Jimmy's father was not around to dispute her name 
choice, James Dean had been reborn in a Hoboken hospital in 
1960.  His mother was a great believer in karma, and she 
had felt the previous James Dean was cut down before he 
could achieve the successes due him.  By christening her 
son in the dead man's name, she truly believed that fate 
would pick off where it had left off, and Jimmy would enjoy 
a magic carpet ride into history.

Forty years later, she was still waiting.

Jimmy sat at his cramped kitchen table, surrounded by 
avocado-colored appliances, and leaned closer to the 
scanner.  He had a cigarette in one hand and a pen in the 
other, just in case he heard something worth writing down 
on his brand-new tablet of paper.

Amy entered the room just as he was blowing out a smoke 
ring.  "If you must do that, at least go out to the stoop," 
she said, waving her hand in front of her face.  She had 
her night watchman's uniform on -- sensible black shoes, 
blue polyester pants, and a shiny metal gun hooked to her 
hip.

"Can't," he told her.  "Got to be here to listen."

"You listen to that damn box more than you do me.  Sitting 
here all the time with that radio playing constantly.  What 
if one of the kids had a nightmare or something?"

"I'd hear 'em."  He blew out another long train of smoke.  
The police scanner crackled as the dispatcher radioed an 
armed robbery in progress.

Fuck that, he thought.  Get to the good stuff.

Amy's keys clattered onto the counter as she fished around 
in her purse for something.  "Well at least do the dishes 
if you're going to be sitting here in the kitchen all 
night."

"Something big is going down," he said.  "You can tell.  No 
one's saying anything yet, but you can hear it anyway.  
They're all on edge."

She picked her heavy winter coat up from the back of a 
chair.  "You think you're the only one with this toy?  You 
think there aren't a hundred reporters out there listening 
to the exact same thing you are?  And they've got jobs, 
Jimmy.  The papers are going to take their stories over 
anything you might come up with."
 
"That's why I've got to stay on top of this.  I have to 
find an angle no one else has."

Amy shook her head as if she had heard this story before.

"You wait," he said.  "You'll see.  I'll get my headline 
and then everyone will want a piece of me.  I'm going to 
be an overnight sensation."  He grinned and reached for her 
ass.  "You can say you knew me when."

"I know you, all right," she replied, ducking him.  She 
shrugged into her coat and picked up her old leather purse.  
"I've got to run or McCracken will have my ass."

"He can't have it.  Your ass is mine."

She made a face, but he could see the smile in her eyes.  
"There's leftover cupcakes in the fridge," she said, 
leaning down to kiss him.

Right next to the beer, he knew.  Chocolate frosted 
cupcakes with little hearts on them for Valentine's Day.  
Amy talked tough, but she was such a goddamned sap.

"I'll see you at six," she said.

"Drive safe." 

She left out the back way, into the alley, and cold air 
blew in through the kitchen, stirring the curtains and 
lifting the pages of his writing tablet.

"Five-six, be advised, suspect has previous warrant for 
attempted homicide."

Jimmy leaned back with his smoke, and listened.

/////

Ray Peterkin led Mulder and Scully six blocks across town 
to a tiny silver diner, which sat squeezed between hulking 
concrete buildings.  "The ambiance isn't the best, but I 
can vouch for the pot roast," he said as he held the door 
open for them.  "Besides, it's the best we can do tonight, 
with Valentine's Day and all."

The large windows inside had steamed over, and people sat 
packed close in the narrow booths.  Ray grabbed the one 
farthest at the end as an elderly couple stood to leave.  
Their half-empty cups of coffee and two scraggly dollar 
bills still lay on the table.

Mulder slid in first, and Scully took the seat next to him.  
He supposed he was lucky she hadn't opted to sit with Ray.  

"You didn't tell me you were bringing Agent Mulder with 
you," Ray said as they waited for the table to be cleared.

"That's because I didn't bring him," Scully said.

"Separate flights.  I couldn't get away as quickly, you 
know how it is."

Scully did not look at him.  "Well, as thrilled as I am to 
have you both here, I've got to ask -- who is minding the 
X-Files?"

At that point, Scully did turn.  "Yes, Mulder, who is 
minding the X-files?"

A young man in a dirty apron came to take the dishes away.  
Mulder leaned back to give him room.  "Ah, the X-Files are 
on hold for a few days.  They're redoing the office."

"Really?  Our ceiling tiles are half gone and we can't get 
anyone to fix them.  I'd love to know your secret."

"Have someone murdered at your desk," Mulder said.

Ray blinked, and Mulder smiled his best "am I kidding or 
not?" smile.  A waitress came and placed plastic menus in 
front of them, but they all took Ray's advice and ordered 
the pot roast.

"So what's the word?" Ray asked Scully when the waitress 
had gone.  "Can you sign off on a serial yet?"

"It's the same guy," Mulder replied before Scully could 
answer.  She glared at him, and Mulder swallowed half his 
glass of water.  

"As I said earlier," Scully began, "we'll have to wait for 
lab tests to be absolutely sure, but I think it's safe to 
say it's the same killer.  I wouldn't put anything out to 
the media yet, though."

Ray gave a frustrated sigh.  "They're still processing the 
prints from the Byrdek house, but we didn't get anything 
from the first scene.  I don't expect this one will be 
different.  He wears gloves the whole time."

"Powdered latex," Scully agreed.  "I found traces on both 
victims."

"There's no way this guy is an amateur," Mulder said, 
leaning across the table.  "You don't start out with two 
healthy young victims at once.  You have to work your way 
up to that kind of kill."

"So where did he come from?" Ray asked.  "Boston PD already 
started looking at similar MOs after the first homicides 
and nothing really jumped out."

"They should look at the rapes, too, particularly the ones 
where the victim sustained extensive injury."

Ray shook his head as their dinners were placed in front of 
them.  "I've done mostly simple homicide, a couple of 
kidnappings here and there.  Nothing like this.  Nothing 
where killing was the motive in and of itself."

"There's always a motive," Mulder corrected.  "Whether it's 
a need for dominance or a bizarre kind of curiosity at 
seeing the life go out of someone, they all have a reason."

"And this guy?"

Mulder looked up, fork in hand.  "Definitely he gets off on 
the power, or he wouldn't make the husbands watch.  I'd 
need to see the crime scene to say more."

"That can be arranged."

Mulder glanced over and saw Scully picking at her food.  
She had adopted strange eating habits recently due to the 
injury to her abdomen.  He was wondering whether to offer 
her his roll -- a bland food her intestines could probably 
handle -- when a lovely young black woman approached the 
table.  She had a basket full of roses individually 
wrapped.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said, eyeing both Ray and 
Mulder from beneath thick lashes.  "A rose for the lady on 
Valentine's day?  Just one dollar."

Mulder chuckled as Scully focused on her plate.  She was 
not exactly the hearts and flowers type. "You've got the 
wrong table," he said.

But Ray was reaching for his wallet.  "I'll take one."

"Oh, how excellent," the woman replied, handing him the 
flower with a sweeping bow.  "May you always be lucky in 
love, sir."

Ray stretched the rose out to Scully.  "What the hey -- 
it's only a dollar.  That's a hell of a job, selling these 
things on a cold night like this."

Scully held the flower to her nose and inhaled.  "You 
shouldn't have," she said, but she didn't really sound like 
she meant it. 

"Maybe I can have them dig up a candle and some soft music 
too," Mulder said, craning his head around to look at the 
counter.

"Don't be ridiculous," Scully replied, all business again.  
She set the rose next to her plate. 

"Oh, hey.  I hope I wasn't stepping on anyone's toes," said 
Ray.  "I just felt sorry for the lady."

For the first time, Mulder noticed the other man was not 
wearing a wedding ring.

"How about we check out the crime scene now," Scully 
suggested.

Ray agreed quickly and pulled a pair of twenties out of his 
pocket.  He must have felt sorry for their waitress too -- 
that was a thirty percent tip.

Scully gathered her coat and her rose and slid out of the 
booth.  Mulder followed, fishing around in his pocket for a 
toothpick.  Instead he found a leftover candy heart, which 
he set on top of the money: KISS.

/////

Scully parked behind Ray, with Mulder pulling up right 
behind her.  His bright headlights lit up her car like a 
UFO beam, and Scully covered her eyes with one hand until 
he turned off the engine.  They both got out into the 
freezing, windless night as Ray approached.

"See that car parked over there?" he asked, nodding with 
his chin.  "That's the Herald's crime reporter.  We've got 
only a few short hours left before this thing goes boom."

"They must already know that two people were murdered 
here," Scully said, and Ray nodded.

"We haven't said the words murdered, only that the Brydeks 
were found dead early this morning, but you don't have a 
uniformed cop babysitting a house with CO poisoning."  With 
a last glance over his shoulder at the reporter in the car, 
Ray held out an arm towards the front door.  "Shall we?"

Mulder balked.  "Which way did the killer get in?"

"Through a kitchen window in the back.  Looks like he 
jimmied open the sash with his knife."

"Let's start there, then."

All three agents trooped around the side of the house, the 
ground hard and frozen beneath their feet.  No chance for 
footprints, Scully thought as they reached their 
destination.

The killer had picked a good spot.  Thick pine bushes hid 
the window from the side neighbors, and the trees at the 
back blocked the rear view.  

Mulder was clearly thinking along the same lines, because 
he surveyed the surrounding houses before proclaiming, "He 
didn't pick this one at random.  This is a reasonably 
pricey neighborhood, with many houses likely to have 
security systems.  Plus, he knew he would be hidden from 
view back here."

Mulder raised the broken sash partway and stood on tiptoe 
to look inside.  "You guys go around front.  I'll meet you 
in there."

"Mulder," Scully protested, but he was already wriggling 
his way through the window.

Ray watched Mulder's feet disappear into the darkness of 
the house.  "Does he always work like this?"

"You're lucky there wasn't a biohazard warning on the 
window," Scully answered as they walked back around to the 
front door.  "He would have jumped in sooner."

"They say he used to be the best."

Scully sighed.  "He still is."

Ray nodded at the uniformed cop guarding the door and 
removed the key from the lockbox.  "This seems sort of 
silly now to go through all of this if folks can just climb 
in through the back window like the killer.  I hope the 
reporter wasn't taking notes."

They entered the house and Ray felt along the wall for a 
light switch.  Scully pulled out her flashlight in the 
meantime and started for the bedroom.  She could hear 
Mulder's footsteps in the back.

She followed her own trail of light down the hall, catching 
the image of her shadow on the wall as she crept along the 
carpet.  The killer had come this way, she thought as she 
walked the same path.  

She could almost feel him, his heart accelerating as he 
neared the bedroom door, the knife in his gloved hand.   
Had he worn a mask?  Maybe not if he'd intended to kill 
them from the start.  Each step was counting down to death: 
five, four, three, two...

"Hey," Mulder said, making her jump as he flicked on the 
overhead lights.  "I think he must have subdued the husband 
first."

Scully looked at the dried bloodstains on the sheets and 
the spatter against the headboard.  The seeping stains on 
the pillows and the high velocity spatter were consistent 
with the gunshots to the head she had recorded during 
autopsy; the smears on the sheet indicated Lauren and 
Michael had struggled with their attacker, leaving marks 
from their superficial wounds.

Ray materialized behind her as Mulder walked around to 
Lauren's side of the bed.  "Anything missing from the 
house?" he asked Ray.

"Detectives are still trying to determine that, since the 
victims aren't available to clarify.  Nothing obvious was 
missing other than Lauren's purse."

"Most likely he took it as a souvenir."

"That's what we're thinking, yeah."

Mulder stuck his head into the master bathroom as Scully 
examined the armoir and the dresser.  "Has anything been 
disturbed in here?" Mulder called, his voice bouncing off 
the porcelain.

"Not to my knowledge," Ray replied.

Mulder pulled his head out of the bathroom.  "Then I think 
he may have used the toilet on his way out.  The seat's 
up."

"So?" Ray asked.

"You ever lived with a woman, Peterkin?  You live through 
one night where she goes to pee and almost falls in, and 
you never leave the seat up again if you value your life."

Ray smirked.  "Point taken."

Scully stared across the room at Mulder, wondering how he 
had come about this personal knowledge of co-habitation.   
The thought of Diana yelping in the middle of the night as 
her ass fell in was somewhat comforting.

"Scully?" Mulder asked, and she realized she was still 
staring.

"I have a void," she said, indicating the dresser.  The men 
came over to have a look.  "Something was sitting here 
behind the perfumes, see?  You can make out the dust 
outline.  It may have been a picture frame."

"Could be another souvenir," Ray ventured.

Scully noticed an odd reflection on the wooden arm of a 
chair sitting near the dresser.  She knelt down for a 
better look and discovered a tiny blood smear.  "Did the 
crime scene unit get this?" she asked.

"Don't know," replied Ray.  "They were pretty thorough."

Scully stood up and took her flashlight out again.  "I 
don't see any other blood in the area. Everything else is 
proximal to the bed.   Maybe it's unrelated to the 
murders?"

"No," Mulder replied, sounding grim.  He took a seat in the 
chair.  "If I put my arms down like this, see where my cuff 
lands?"  He held his arm a half inch from the chair so they 
could see his cuff lined up exactly with the bloodstain.

"He was admiring the scene," Ray said.

All eyes turned toward the bed.  "They may not have been 
dead yet," Mulder said.  "He could have been getting off on 
their fear.  But one thing is clear, he spent more than a 
few minutes in the house.  This was no drive-thru murder; 
he took his time."

"Meaning he knew he wouldn't be interrupted," Scully said.

"More than that," Mulder answered as he heaved himself out 
of the chair.  "He didn't have anywhere else to be."

/////

Jane stayed late that night, poring over the reports she 
had collected on the infamous hat burglar and keeping one 
eye on the Captain's office.  Ahuja and O'Hara had 
disappeared behind the door an hour before and had yet to 
emerge.  There was no sign of the red-headed FBI woman.

Jane decided to make another pass by the coffee machine in 
the break room in hopes of overhearing some dirt from 
someone more in the know than she, but all she found was a 
dilapidated newspaper and a snoozing uniformed officer.  
The coffee got stronger as the day wore on; by the 
nightshift, it was practically sludge.  Jane drank it down 
with extra milk and told herself the caffeine would help 
her stay awake.

She returned to her pile of missing hats, sinking down in 
her rolling chair with a sigh.  So far, the thief had 
pilfered at least five baseball caps, one hand-knit maroon 
hat, a black beret, and a gray fedora.  The hat owners 
could not verify anything else was taken, though one 
baseball-cap owner -- a twelve year old boy -- suspected 
half his bubblegum was also missing. 

Jane had worn her Boston Red Sox hat every day of summer 
during middle school.  She could appreciate the value of a 
good hat, but damned if she could understand the PD's 
desire to waste a detective's time and energy on a nothing 
case.

"It's just hats," she'd told the Lou.  "Who cares?"

"He's just taking hats for now," the Lou replied.  "Who's 
to say what's next?"

That had been three months ago, and since then, it was 
still just hats.

She heard the door to the Captain's office open and men's 
voices in the hall.  She was trying to figure out a natural 
way to go bump into them, when the Chief Malcolm Windsor 
himself appeared in the break room.

He fixed her with a tilt of his head.  "You're Dunbar," he 
said at last, pointing a beefy finger at her.  

Jane felt a thrill that he recognized her.  "Yes, sir."

"Is that stuff any good?"

Jane looked down at the cup in her hand.  "Truthfully, no."

"Ah, pour me one anyway, would you?"  He hitched his belt 
down a bit, freeing his belly to sit perched on the leather 
edge.  He sported white hair shaved close to the scalp, 
broad shoulders and hands that could crack a man in two.  
Jane had no doubt he cut a dashing figure in his day, but 
that seven years behind a desk had taken their toll.
"Here you are, sir," she said as she handed him a cup.  
"Cream or sugar?"

He waved her off as he lowered himself into the nearest 
chair.  "What are you working on, Dunbar?  Anything good?"

He's going to ask me to be on the case, Jane thought.  "No, 
nothing important," she said, trying not to act too 
excited.  "Just the hat thief, sir."

"The hat thief."  He snorted.  "You know I've gotten more 
than twenty calls a day about those damned missing hats.  
Tell me you're getting somewhere, Dunbar."

"I'm following a number of leads, sir."

He arched his back until it cracked and then winked at her.  
"I've told that one a time or two in my day -- means you 
don't have a damn clue who this punk is or why he's 
snitching the hats."

"I think it's probably just for kicks.  I mean, who needs a 
bunch of old hats?"

The Chief ran a hand over his own head.  "Someone without 
any hair."  He peered into the depths of his coffee cup and 
sighed.  "You were right.  This stuff is vile.  I'll know 
to take your word next time, Dunbar."

She accepted the cup back from him and their fingers 
touched.  He had the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

"You still on the job?" he asked.  "Or would you care to 
join an old man in a beer down around the corner?"

She had heard rumors that the Chief was a man of large 
appetites.  "Right now, sir?"

"If you've got work to do..."

"No," she said quickly.  "I was just thinking it was 
quitting time.  Let me get my things."  Through the window, 
she could see O'Hara and Ahuja at their desks.  "Are the 
guys joining us?" she asked.

"Those two old lugs?  I've seen enough of them for one day.  
Of course, if you want to invite them..."

"No, no."  He followed her out of the break room and to her 
desk, where she picked up her coat and her briefcase full 
of files.  

"Night, gentlemen," the Chief said, touching one of his 
strong hands to her back.  "Keep the city safe until 
tomorrow, eh?"

They said nothing, but Jane could feel the men's eyes on 
her as she walked out of the station.

////

Mulder followed Scully to the Marriott hotel where she was 
staying.  The clock on his dash read just after nine, but 
to him it felt like the middle of the night.  You profile 
one sick sonofabitch, you've profiled them all, he thought, 
even though he knew it wasn't true.

This guy kills because he likes it.  He probably doesn't 
even understand why, but he's obsessed and he's not going 
to stop until someone makes him stop.

That pretty much covered them all.

Scully parked before him but waited by her car until he got 
out of his.  She had the flower pressed against her nose 
again.  He looked down at her and said, "I never guessed 
you were the kind of woman who needed that stuff, Scully."

She took a last sniff before lowering the rose to look at 
him.  "No one ever needs a flower, Mulder.  That's rather 
the point of them, I think."

They walked to the front lobby, where the doors slid open 
to reveal blasting heaters overhead.  It stirred Scully's 
hair as she passed under them and tickled the back of 
Mulder's neck.

As he handed over his credit card to the desk clerk, Mulder 
thought, I'd better solve this case because that's the only 
way I get this money back.  

He wondered idly if Kersh had realized his absence yet, and 
if he would even care.  A few more days and Mulder became 
Skinner's problem again.

Scully entered the elevator with him but leaned against the 
opposite side.  "I think you should know," he said as the 
doors slid closed.  "I checked Diana out.  I took what you 
said seriously."

She dragged her eyes open to regard him with an unreadable 
gaze.  "And just how did you check her out?"

"I went to her place and looked around."

"And what, no membership card to 'Conspiracies R Us'?"

"Nothing suspicious whatsoever.  The worst thing I found 
was a pack of cigarettes."

"Let me guess.  Morleys."  At least she didn't roll her 
eyes.

"I would think you'd be happy that she's interested in 
continuing work on the X-files.  Think of how many times we 
could have used an extra pair of hands in the past six 
years, how much more we could have accomplished with three 
instead of two.  Okay, so Diana might not be the warmest 
person in the world, but she really knows her stuff.  She's 
the one who helped me amass the files in the first place."

"So you've mentioned," Scully replied, sounding irritated 
again.

The elevator car was slowing.  "Look, Scully, I just don't 
think you're being fair here.  You don't even know Diana."

"Funny," Scully said as the doors opened.  "I was thinking 
the same thing about you.  This is where I get off.  Good 
night, Mulder."

The shiny panels closed again, leaving Mulder alone with 
his shimmering reflection.

/////

End chapter two.  Continued in chapter three.

Many thanks to Amanda for eagle-eyed beta.

Feedback? Yes, please. Syn_tax6@yahoo.com