///////////////

Chapter Four

//////////////


Scully shifted her tailbone away from the hard-backed plastic 
chair.  The dull, heavy ache had started in her abdomen 
again, and she waited with some impatience for Mulder to 
return with the soda.  Already she had palmed several Extra-
Strength Tylenol in anticipation of sweet relief; they 
nestled in her fist, resting atop the throbbing scar hidden 
beneath her tailored suit, as if the medication could seep 
like magic through the dark gray silk.

But instead of Mulder, Agent Fowley walked through the door 
and into the conference room.  Though she had no doubt come 
straight from a two-hour plane flight and taxi ride through 
the slush, her ankle-length raincoat bore not one wrinkle or 
stain.

Scully blinked, trying to make the image disappear like a 
hallucination, but Diana placed her briefcase on the 
conference table.

"Agent Scully," she said, nodding to her.  "I take it I've 
found the right place then."

"The right place for what?" Scully asked.

O'Hara twisted his thick neck to look at Scully.  "You know 
this woman?"

"Agent Diana Fowley," Diana said, extending her hand to 
O'Hara.  "Your chief called this morning for reinforcements.  
Since I'm between official assignments at the moment, I 
volunteered to help."

"To help the investigation?" Scully asked.  "Or to help 
Mulder?"

"Oh, is he here?" Diana cast her gaze around.  "I didn't 
know."

Scully narrowed her eyes.

"As far as the Bureau is concerned," Diana said, "Agent 
Mulder is AWOL.  No one had any idea where he's been or what 
he's been doing."

"Fetching soda," Mulder said from behind her.  He squeezed 
through the doorway without touching her and handed an icy 
can of Diet Coke to Scully.

Diana touched her fingers to her throat.  "Soda sounds 
wonderful -- flying really dehydrates a person."

Mulder stretched out and handed her his Coke, which Diana 
accepted with a wide smile.  

"Cheers," she said to Scully, lifting her can in Scully's 
direction. Scully barely suppressed an eye roll as she turned 
to slip the Tylenol into her mouth.  

"What are you doing here, Diana?" Mulder asked.

"The same thing you are, of course.  The Chief wanted all 
hands on deck.  My hands happened to be free, so..."

Scully remembered something about idle hands and the devil's 
work.  She set her can down with a little more force than 
necessary.  "Mulder, can I see you a minute?"

"Hmm?" He shifted to look at her, as if giving her a better 
view.  "What is it, Scully?"

She jerked her head at the door.  "Outside in the hall?  
Please?"

Mulder sighed and shoved his hand in his pocket.  "I need 
another trip to the machine anyway."

Scully followed him through the maze of desks to the back of 
the station where the soda machine glowed and hummed.  He did 
not look at her as he fed coins into its narrow metal mouth.

"Tell me you didn't call her," she said steadily.

"I didn't call her."

"Then how did she know you were here?"

"Who's to say she did?"  His can dropped into the chute with 
a thunk, and Mulder bent down to retrieve it.  Ordinarily she 
might have paused to appreciate the view, but at that moment, 
she was more apt to kick his posterior than ogle it.

"Oh, come on, Mulder.  You don't find it a little bit strange 
that she just happens to show up every place we are?"

"Okay, you've got me," he said as he popped the top on his 
Coke.  "I passed her a note in study hall."

Scully flushed, rebuked, and folded her arms over her chest.  
He thought she was being childish; she thought he was being 
myopic.  "Well, if coincidences are just coincidences, how 
come they feel so contrived?"

"Does it really matter so much why she's here?  We need all 
the people we can get on this case."

"You're the one who's always going on about motive."

Mulder swallowed hard and glared at her.  "Right, I forgot.  
Diana Fowley is a grand conspirator out to bring down the 
free world.  Surely you're not going to accuse her of also 
engineering a serial murder case."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"That's good advice," he replied, stalking past her.

Scully remained behind for a moment and traced the outline of 
a black square on the linoleum floor with her foot.  She had 
signed up for outside work to get away from the whole Mulder-
Diana fiasco and the two of them had followed right behind.  
From the minute she had arrived back in the States, Diana had 
managed to insert herself firmly between Mulder and Scully, 
and Scully had a feeling that was just how she liked it.

She stroked the cold front of the Coke machine and sighed.  
Mulder was right; the whole scenario reeked of junior high.  

Determined to rise above it, she squared her shoulders and 
returned to the conference room, where she found Ray Peterkin 
had joined the others.  "Dana, hey, come on in," he said, 
pulling out the seat next to him.

Since it was the one she had originally occupied, Scully 
accepted.

"I was just telling everyone that the house painting lead 
looks like a dead end.  The DuPonts did have their place done 
about four years ago, but it was a different company."

"And no other success linking the victims?"

He pushed his glasses up on his nose with one finger.  "Not 
yet.  Different churches, different grocers, different hair 
salons -- the list goes on like that.  We're still looking, 
though.  Agent Fowley is going to assist me in the search."

"Really?" Scully said, eyeing Diana on the other side of the 
room.  She had assumed the woman would have plastered herself 
to Mulder and stuck there for good.

"It's Mulder's idea," Ray replied, "and I readily agreed.  I 
could certainly use the help."

Mulder drank his Coke and would not meet her gaze.

At that moment, a uniformed officer poked his head in the 
room.  "Detective O'Hara?  I dunno who exactly to talk to 
about this.  A man just come in here claiming he's your 
killer."

"Cranks, the lot of them," O'Hara muttered, shoving back from 
the table.  "They'll confess to any damn thing just to get 
attention, but I'll check it out."

"I'll come too," Manny replied as he crushed his empty can.

Mulder got up as well, so naturally Diana followed.  Scully 
rose but ended up doubled over as a sharp pain hit her in the 
gut.  She sucked in a breath and braced herself on the table.

Ray touched her shoulder.  "Dana, are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah."  She put her hand to her abdomen, testing.  "I 
just stood up too fast, that's all."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine.  I just need to eat something."

"We could all use a bite.  After this, we'll grab some 
dinner."  He squeezed her arm with affection.  "Take it easy, 
okay?  We need you healthy and whole."

Her newly healed wound throbbed from front to back.  Scully 
envisioned an orange forensic laser passing through her to 
show the bullet's path in her body.  It was a wonder she 
didn't spout like a fountain when she drank.

She still had at least one round of plastic surgery ahead of 
her to minimize the scarring.

Healthy and whole, she thought.  Right.

/////

Jimmy had been past Mallory's bar but had never been inside. 
Hanging out in a cop joint was generally not his notion of a 
good time, but now he had a mission.

The place wasn't fancy, he saw.  There was a large U-shaped 
wooden bar with a couple of guys in pressed shirts working 
behind it.  The waitresses were middle-aged women with 
middle-aged waistlines, but they were about the only females 
in the joint.  

Jimmy spotted one young Asian woman near the back and there 
was a red head at a table in the middle.  He bellied up to 
the bar and pulled out his smokes.  They were threatening to 
make smoking illegal in all business places, even bars.  If 
the governor passed that law, Jimmy was getting the hell out 
of the state.

"Crazy-assed liberals," he muttered around his cigarette.  
"Country's going to hell and they're worried about indoor 
pollution."

The barkeep with the nametag "Dave" set a green cocktail 
napkin in front of you.  "What can I get for you today?"

"Sam Adams would be great."

Dave returned with the beer and Jimmy slid a ten across to 
him.  "Keep the change," he said.

"Hey, thanks."

Jimmy nodded, puffing on his cigarette.  "Looks like you 
don't have to worry about this place getting held up, huh?"

Dave grinned as he wiped down the bar.  "Oh, you mean all the 
cops?  Yeah, they like it in here for some reason.  Even the 
Chief comes by from time to time."

"Really?  You must have the liquor running for him pretty 
good right now, huh?  What with this killer on the loose."

"You see that table over there?" Dave nodded at the place 
where the redhead sat.  "Half of them are FBI."

"No shit.  I saw on the news that they're in town.  You ever 
hear them talking about the case?"

An odd expression flickered over Dave's face.  "You hear 
stuff," he acknowledged at length.  

"Anything good?"

Dave looked over his shoulder to make sure the other 
bartender wasn't watching them.  "I heard them talking about 
the bodies the other day.  Apparently the guy threatened to 
cut the man's dick off.  They found knife wounds... you know, 
down there."

"What a sick fuck."

"That's what I said.  And between you, me, and the lamppost -
- they ain't anywhere near to catching him."

"Oh?  How do you know?"

"They're all in here, right?"  Dave winked at him.  "Thanks 
again, buddy.  Let me know if you need anything else, okay?"

Jimmy lifted his hand from the bar as Dave went back to work.  
He took the last draw on his cigarette before crushing it out 
on the bar ashtray; it showed a buxom blonde with a comely 
smile.  Jimmy burned his ashes over her breasts.

He took his beer by the neck and wandered over near the table 
with the FBI agents.  Taking a seat behind them, he put his 
feet up on the opposite chair and pretended to watch the 
sports highlights on the big screen TV.

"...so everything was going according to the plan until this 
flare goes off behind one of the boxes, distracting the guy 
playing SAC.  We had two of the would-be suspects in cuffs 
already, but the third sees his chance to make a break for it 
and he tears ass out the back way, right past me and Scully.  
I'm still blinking as she takes off after him around to the 
back of the warehouse.  They had a twelve-foot chain link 
fence and the guy was making like Spiderman up a web when 
this one leaps up and grabs his ankles.  I rounded the corner 
and found them just like that -- him clinging for dear life 
to the top of the fence, and her dangling from his shoes with 
her feet clear off the ground."

The whole table laughed except for the woman, who just smiled 
and hung her head.

One of the men put an arm around her.  "That's nothing," he 
said.  "My first day as a detective, and you know what he did 
to me?  He sent in this little old grandmother with a made up 
story about how someone had been stealing her underwear.  I 
swear to God.  She sat at my desk and kept bringing out 
'samples.'  She even had pictures of her wearing the stuff!  
So there I am with granny thongs piling up in front of me, 
trying to take a report, and O'Hara's about pissing himself 
laughing in the background."

"It's true," the man who must have been O'Hara replied. "If 
you could have Ahuja's face.  He turned redder than a beet 
when she brought out the lace teddy."

Jimmy fingered the mini cassette recorder inside his jacket 
pocket.  There was no point in recording this junk 
conversation.  Idly, he sipped his beer and cast around for 
any sign of the Chief.

The warm breath and bodies had steamed over the bar's front 
windows.  Two more cops, these ones in uniform, let in a cold 
blast of air as they entered through the front door.  Jimmy 
was contemplating a second beer when the conversation at the 
Feds' table picked up.

"So then what are we dealing with here?" the one called 
O'Hara asked.  "How long before this guy hits again?"

"Can't tell for sure," another one replied.  Jimmy sneaked a 
look at him -- dark suit, tie, expensive hair cut.  This one 
was definitely a fibbie.  "I would guess sooner rather than 
later, though, just because of the short interval between the 
first two attacks."

"Can you tell anything about him yet?" O'Hara asked.

The other man twisted his beer bottle a few times before 
answering.  "In most cases, these men are answering a 
homicidal rage they don't even understand.  The anger is 
constant but the killing is not.  Many potential victims pass 
through their presence unharmed until the guy suddenly snaps 
and grabs the first easy target."

"Like Bundy, right?  Victims of opportunity."

Jimmy switched on his tape recorder and hid it behind his 
beer bottle.

"Exactly.  They may set out with a need to kill, but they 
select the first woman they can get into their car or the 
woman who's willing to leave the bar with them.  This guy is 
different.   He has put at least some preparation into 
selecting his victims, which makes the killing more personal.  
He is not simply murdering for murder's sake -- he is 
eliminating these particular people from the world."

"And getting off on it," said the younger cop with disgust.

"Why the DuPonts and the Byrdeks, do you think?"

The profiler shrugged.  "Don't know at this point.  He may 
have decided they were easy targets for some reason.  Maybe 
they represent something else, something he hates or resents.  
But the fact that he's carrying out these complex murders 
with such ease means he's been thinking about them for a long 
time.  He's a planner, this one."

"So then how the hell do we catch him?"

Jimmy held his breath, waiting.   His fingers tightened on 
the sweaty beer bottle.

"Well, that's the double edge of the sword.  The haphazard 
killers commit messier crimes and are more likely to leave 
behind evidence, but murders planned this carefully are in 
and of themselves clues.  Find the way he's picking them and 
you'll find him."

"Hey, look, it's the Chief."  He turned and yelled at the 
bartender to up the volume.

Jimmy snapped off his recorder.  Apparently he'd missed the 
big show; Chief Windsor was under the bright lights again, 
trying not to sweat in the freezing cold night."

"We are pursuing a number of active leads at this time," 
Windsor said.  "Our task force has established multiple lines 
of investigation so that we may proceed as quickly and 
efficiently as possible.  We will get this guy."

"And what do you suggest we all do in the meantime?" yelled 
someone from the crowd.

"Buy a big gun!" someone else hollered back.

"We do not recommend people rush out and purchase firearms," 
Windsor said.  "If you're truly concerned, buy a big dog over 
a big gun -- the dog may have an accident but it won't be the 
fatal kind."

"Amen to that," said one of the cops from the table.  "This 
one time, we got called out on an accidental shooting.  Six 
year old had shot his five year old sister in the head."

Jimmy stopped listening and slipped his recorder back into 
his jacket pocket.  He had heard enough.


////


Mulder tilted his chair on two legs and stretched out both 
arms.  Over a half-dozen beer bottles littered the table, 
scattered around the remains of a plate of nachos and a 
basket of Buffalo wings.  Scully had ordered a Caesar salad, 
but he'd noticed she did not eat much of it.  

"I've got to get home before my wife changes the locks," 
O'Hara said as he tossed a twenty on the table.

"I'm out too," Manny said.  "Catch you all on the wrong side 
of eight AM." 

Ray Peterkin stood as well.  "Dana?  Can I give you a lift?"

"I have my car, thanks."

"Then I will see you both in the morning."

Scully rested her chin in her hand as Mulder turned to watch 
the men go.  As they disappeared through the door, he leaned 
his head on Scully's shoulder.  "Dana, can I carry your books 
home?  Can I?"

She snorted and shoved him away.  "He was just being nice."

"He didn't offer *me* a ride."

She looked at him, deadpan.  "Maybe he doesn't like you."

"Not in that way, no."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied as she 
pulled some cash out of her wallet.

Mulder gaped at her.  Maybe this was his problem.  Maybe 
Scully was categorically unable to detect romantic interest.  
He was beginning to suspect her former lovers had just 
clubbed her over the head and dragged her into their caves.

He tossed his money next to hers on the table.  "Come on, I 
want to show you something."

"Mulder, it's late."

"This won't take very long.  It's just a few blocks away."

Scully gave her best martyred sigh as she pulled on her heavy 
wool coat.  Mulder held the front door.  "My car is right 
here," he said.  "I'll drop you back at yours after."

"After what, exactly?" 

"You'll see."

The automatic heater blew frigid air at them as the engine 
roared from a cold stop.  Sensible Bostonians were mostly 
home in bed so traffic was light as Mulder shuttled them 
across town.  He got a parking spot right in front.

"We're here," he said as he cut the engine.

Scully looked out and up at the neighboring glass skyscraper.  
"Where is here?"

"It's the John Hancock tower."

He took her up to the enclosed observation deck at the top.  
"We're open just twenty more minutes," the guard warned.

"I've seen this place from the ground," Scully said as they 
strolled to the windows.  "It looks like a giant blue 
mirror."

"Tough to miss," Mulder agreed.  The night was clear and 
dark, without a moon, and the city lay sparkling far beneath 
them.  "That's Cambridge over there, see?  You can make out 
the colored tops on the Harvard and MIT buildings."

The river cut through the lights like a black ribbon.  At its 
end, beyond the city, lay the endless ocean.

"On a clear day you can see parts of Cape Cod," Mulder told 
her.

"What about Martha's vineyard?"

Mulder smiled as she named his hometown isle.  "It would be 
out this way," he said, guiding her to the other side.  "But 
you can't see it from here."

Scully looked out anyway, as if imagining.  "It's so 
different from D.C.," she murmured.  "The lights go in waves, 
the way the streets curve at odd angles."

"That's what happens when you have a bunch of cows lay down 
the path for you."

She turned her head to look at him.  "You're kidding."

"Okay, so the cows didn't lay *all* the roads.  Only some."  
They wandered over for a different view.  Mulder stroked the 
smooth hand railing and wondered how much he should say.  
"This place used to seem like Disneyland to me as a kid.  
Back on the island, the tallest buildings we had were the 
lighthouses.  This was a booming metropolis in comparison."

"I suppose it would be."

"Now of course I know how small it is.  You can tell that 
from up here, the way you can see the end of the lights where 
you can't in a place like Washington, New York or L.A.."

"It's a different perspective," Scully agreed.  She turned 
and leaned the small of her back against the rail. "Is that 
what you wanted to show me?"

"In a way."  Tell her, he thought.  Tell her now.

Scully turned again to look out the window.  "It's so 
beautiful like this," she said.  "It's hard to imagine 
there's a killer down there, you know?"

"Yeah."  He tapped his fingers on the rail and looked at the 
floor.  "Scully, I wanted to make sure you know: I had 
nothing to do with Diana showing up here today."

"Forget about it.  You're right that we can use the help."  
She stiffened and started moving away, but he caught her arm.

"No, wait."  His heart started pounding as his secret came 
closer to escape.  "I need to talk to you about Diana."

Her eyes glinted in the low light.  "You've approved her 
assignment for the X-files."

"What?  No."

"What then?"

He ran a hand through his hair.  He considered the 
possibility that Diana had already told her, but couldn't 
decide whether that would make his confession better or 
worse.  "I haven't--I haven't been completely honest with you 
about our history together, and I thought... well, to be 
truthful, I thought it wouldn't matter.  But it doesn't look 
like she's going anywhere and it's not fair to keep asking 
you to trust her when I haven't explained why I do."

"She helped you found the X-files, Mulder," Scully said 
wearily.  "I know."

"That's not all."

She looked him up to down.  "I know you slept with her."

This made him blink.  "You do? Um..."

"The Gunmen told me."  She turned her gaze back to the night 
city below them.  "It doesn't change anything as far as I'm 
concerned."

"That's all they said?  That I slept with her?"

"Actually I believe they used the word 'chickadee,'" Scully 
replied.  "I pieced together the rest."

"Well, there's more."  God help him, he had not wanted to 
mention this part.  The first time Diana showed up, his 
history with her hadn't mattered much.  

Scully waited, looking wary.  "What is it?"

"We were married."  The words sounded as scary as they had 
felt.  He was sure he felt the building sway.

"Married?"

He gave a short nod.  "Not for very long."

"Married?  To Diana Fowley?"

"For all of nine months, yes.  It was an impulsive thing."

"What happened?"

He shrugged.  "The X-files? I wasn't really ready to be 
married, I suppose."

"Then why did you?"

"I liked the idea of marriage.  I still do."  He took a deep 
breath.  "And...I loved her."

Scully looked at the floor.  "Well, thank you for telling me.  
I think it's time we got going so they can close."

"Scully, wait.  I just wanted you to understand."

"What?"  Her arm was trembling under his touch.

"I know her.  Diana, she can be headstrong and maybe even a 
bit chilly sometimes but she was never anything but honest 
with me.  Even at the end, when honesty was hard.  I've never 
had reason to doubt her."

"I gave you reason," Scully whispered.  "At least I thought I 
did."

"I told you that I checked her out.  I went to her place."

"Was she there?"

He hesitated, remembering their kiss.  "Not at first.  But 
she showed up and we talked.  I didn't find anything in her 
apartment that suggested she was working with conspiracy."

"You talked," Scully said flatly.

"Folks?" called the guard from down the hall.  "I'm going to 
have to ask you to clear out so we can lock up."

"We're coming," Mulder called back.  "Scully, please..."

"You talked and that's all?" she asked.  

He waited just a beat.  "That's all."

Scully's eyes narrowed.  She had caught the hesitation.  
Mulder cursed inwardly and dropped his hold on her arm.  "If 
I asked Diana, what would she say?"

"You'd have to ask her," he replied, knowing she never would.

Scully shook her head.  "Forget it, it's none of my business 
anyway."  

She walked away, the sound of her heels sharp against the 
hard floor and echoing walls.  He watched the flare of her 
coat and the angry set of her shoulders and felt deflated.  
Of all the answers she could have given, this was perhaps the 
worst.

She said nothing on the short drive back to her car, and he 
had nothing more to add.  He followed her glowing taillights 
back to the hotel and trailed her into the lobby.  If she 
knew he was behind her, she did not give any indication.

When she stopped at the desk, he halted near a tall potted 
fern.  The last thing he wanted to do right now was ride up 
with her in the elevator.  Scully received a couple of 
written messages and something else as well.

Mulder peeked out just in time to see her holding cellophane-
wrapped rose to her face.  She smiled, he saw, and then 
walked slowly to the elevators.

It was a long time before he followed.

/////

Jane Dunbar bent over her desk, deep in thought as she 
studied the papers' accounts of the serial murders.  Despite 
her detective's shield, she did not have access to the 
official reports.  She had to make do with the civilian rags 
just like everyone else.

She had the end of her braid in her mouth, a childhood habit 
she'd mostly outgrown, and a red pencil at the ready to 
underline anything that might be important.  "Estimated time 
of death between midnight and four in each case," she 
murmured as she highlighted the passage.  "Night owl like me, 
are you?"

Her phone rang and she reached for it blindly, reluctant to 
take her eyes from the page.  "Dunbar," she said.

"Got a live one for you, Sergeant.  Man and a woman in 
Brighton just home from a concert and they found someone 
inside their apartment.  He hustled out the fire escape with 
the man's hunting cap."

"Damn, he got away?"  She was already pulling on her jacket.

"Patrol units are searching the area, but I thought you'd 
want to know ASAP."  The dispatcher gave her the exact 
location.

"Thanks.  I'm on my way."

Jane rarely got to run her siren, but she had it on as she 
raced across the city to Brighton.  GPS helped her find the 
apartment, but she wouldn't have missed it even without the 
fancy satellite assistance.  Three cruisers were parked 
outside, and a uniformed officer met her at the building's 
front door.

"Detective," he said.  "No sign of him yet."

"Did anyone get a good look at him?"

"None of us even laid an eyeball on him.  The victims are 
upstairs, but I don't think they would be able to make an 
ID."

Jane thanked him and went inside, where she rode the elevator 
up to the fourth floor.  "Mr. and Mrs. Lanford?" she said 
when she found the young couple.  "I'm Detective Jane Dunbar.  
Can you tell me what happened this evening?"

"We just got back from a concert at Symphony Hall," the woman 
explained with a sniff.  Black mascara had smudged under her 
blonde lashes.  "Beethoven piano concertos."

"About what time was this?"

"It was eleven fifteen," Mr. Lanford replied.  "At least 
that's what the clock on the dash said when we parked the 
car."

"When I saw him standing there, all I could think of was the 
news," Mrs. Lanford said.  "That serial killer who is 
murdering couples -- I thought it was him."

"Back up for me for a second," Jane said as she took careful 
notes.  "You came in through the front door here?"

"Yes," Mr. Lanford said.  "It's the only way in, save for the 
fire escape."

"What did you see when you came in?"

"The bedroom light was on," Mrs. Lanford said.  "We never 
leave the lights on.  Ever."

"Okay, and so then what happened?"

"Nick went to go check it out."

"I thought maybe I had forgotten, just this once.  But then I 
heard a thump."

"A thump?"

"Yes, Bonnie has a metal replica of the Eiffel Tower sitting 
on her dresser."

"From our honeymoon," the woman interrupted.


"I think it fell over as he went back out the window," Nick 
said.  "I found it on the floor."

"Did you touch it?"

He looked sheepish. "Yeah, I picked it up.  Sorry about 
that."

His wife gave a watery laugh.  "All those years of watching 
'Law and Order' for nothing!"

"Okay, so you heard the thump and you went to the bedroom?" 
Jane asked.  "This way?"  She walked through the carpeted 
living room towards a hallway.

"Yes, it's back on the left," Nick said.  

"Excuse the mess," Bonnie called.

Jane smiled.  "No worries.  I'm trained to see only clues."  
She found the bedroom lights on, the bed unmade, and a pile 
of unfolded laundry sitting on an armchair.  She knelt down 
to see if she could detect any footprints in the carpet.

"He was going out the window as I came in," Nick explained.  
"I could see he had my hat."

"Did you see anything else?" Jane asked from the floor.  She 
saw many impressions.  It would be difficult to sort out the 
intruder's.

"He was tall, like me.  Thin.  Dressed all in black.  He had 
a hooded sweatshirt on, and the hood was pulled up."

"Did you see his face?"

"No."

"Wait here, if you would, please."  Jane crossed carefully to 
the window.  "Do you usually keep this locked?"

"We do, but it's a weak lock.  This is an old building with 
old windows."

"The landlord will be replacing them now," Bonnie said in a 
tone that did not suggest any argument.  "All of them.  And I 
am not sleeping here tonight."

"That's a good idea," Jane said.  She could see the marks 
where the suspect had jimmied the lock open.

"You think he'll come back?" Bonnie asked fearfully.

"No, but CSU is going to want to go over your apartment for 
evidence."  She turned and faced them again.  "Where was the 
hat?"

"In that closet over there," Nick told her.  "On the shelf 
with the others."

Jane crossed again and opened the sliding doors with her 
foot.  Sure enough, there was a mish-mash pile of hats 
sitting on the shelf.  She spied several Boston Red Sox hats, 
a bowler, a blue knit beret and a white tennis visor.  "Just 
the hunting hat is missing?"

"As far as we know."

"Huh."  She wondered why he didn't take the others.  She 
turned to the Lanfords with what she hoped was a reassuring 
smile.  "You don't happen to have a picture of the hat?  A 
photo with you wearing it, perhaps?"

Nick frowned.  "Can't I just give a description?  I mean, 
it's a camouflage hunting hat."

"Just give her the picture," Bonnie said.  "It's not like 
they're going to print it in the paper."

"They did with the last guy!"

Bonnie marched into the room and pulled open a bedside table.  
"Here," she said, handing a photo to Jane.  "Please take it."

Jane looked down at the picture, which showed Nick Lanford 
wearing his hunting cap and a Winnie-the-Pooh bathrobe.  Jane 
cleared her throat.  "Thanks," she said.  "This will be 
extremely helpful."

////

Hannah McKillop woke up already afraid.  She didn't know 
exactly what had awakened her, or what the source of her fear 
was.  She sat up in bed, searching herself and the room.  
Could it have been a dream?

She heard the dog's toenails downstairs on the kitchen floor 
and then a whimper.  After that, silence.  "Tom," she said, 
shaking her husband.  "Tom!"

"What is it?" he asked, rolling over.

"I heard Duke downstairs.  I think something's wrong."

"Probably chasing a raccoon outside," mumbled Tom.  "You know 
how he gets."

"It's February.  There are no raccoons."

"Squirrel then."  He settled back down on the pillow.

Her heart wouldn't stop racing.  She didn't know of any 
squirrel that were active at three in the morning. "Please, 
could you just go and check?"

Tom sat up with her.  "If I go down to the kitchen, will you 
go back to sleep?"

"Yes, I promise."  

He swung his feet to the floor and cursed.  Her pulse spiked.

"What is it?"

"This floor is fucking cold."

"Take the bat with you."

"Hannah..."

"Just take it, okay?"

"I feel like a god damn idiot," he muttered as he went to the 
closet.

Hannah listened but she did not hear anything else from 
downstairs.  You're being ridiculous, she told herself.  
Everything is just fine.

Then she saw the flashlight beam in the hallway.  She barely 
had time to squeak before the light was in her eyes, blinding 
her.

Tom crashed against the closet door as the lights came up.  A 
large man stood there with a knife in hand.  She could see 
blood on it and knew her dog was dead.

"Please," she whispered.

"Get out," Tom yelled.

The man set the knife on the lace doily atop her dresser and 
withdrew a gun from his back pocket.  "Nobody scream," he 
said, pointing it at them.  "I can't fucking stand the 
screaming."

"Take whatever you want," Tom said, his hands up.  "My wallet 
is on the nightstand."

"Get back in the bed," the man said.

"We have cash in the safe," Tom replied.

"Get in the fucking bed now!"

Hannah clutched the sheets over her naked chest.  She could 
see his eyes looking at her through the thick ski mask. His 
breath was ragged. "What do you want with us?" she choked 
out.

"I'm going to kill you," he said, matter of fact, and Hannah 
began to pray.

////

End chapter four.  Continued in chapter five.

Many thanks to Amanda for proofing!

Will write for chocolate: syn_tax6@yahoo.com