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

Chapter Six

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


Jane got up extra early because she knew if she was going to 
get to Chief Windsor she would have to do it before the task 
force had its morning meeting.  She dressed with special 
care, choosing her favorite navy pantsuit with the matching 
pinstripe blouse.  She curled her hair into a bun at her nape 
and put on her lucky silver necklace with the dolphin charm.

"Mom's got to run in early, boys," she said as she filled the 
cats' bowl full of Kibble.  She scratched first Caleb and 
then Ralph behind the ears.  "You be good."

She glanced outside at the pouring snow and thanked God again 
for her landlord, who always plowed the driveway several 
times per storm.  Traffic was slow but crowded as she headed 
downtown.  Everyone, it appeared, considered their jobs 
essential.

If you don't think you're essential then maybe your boss 
doesn't either, Jane thought as she fiddled with the car 
radio to try to get an updated report.  Snow through the 
morning, it said, ending around noon.

She reached the station and took the elevator up to Windsor's 
office.  Checking her look in the reflective doors, she 
fluffed her bangs and undid another button on her blouse.  
She had rehearsed her speech all night; now all she needed 
was an opportunity to deliver it.

"He's not seeing anyone right now," the secretary told her 
when she reached the outside office.

Jane glanced at the nameplate on her desk that read "Esther 
Quimby."  The woman couldn't have been more than forty-five 
years old.  Esther?  Really?

"I just need a minute," Jane said.  "It's about the task 
force.  Could you just tell him I'm here?"

"I don't care if you're here to tell him he just won the 
Publisher's Clearing House," Esther replied.  "He left strict 
instructions that he's not to be interrupted this morning."

Jane resisted the temptation to stomp her foot.  "He knows 
me, truly."

"Chief knows everybody.  That's his job.  My job is to make 
sure everybody doesn't come knocking on his door when he 
asked them not to."  She looked pointedly at Jane.  "You can 
have a seat and wait if you like, but you're not going in 
there."

"Fine, I'll wait."

Jane sat in one of the chairs against the wall, next to the 
potted plant and the water cooler.  Esther went back to 
sipping from her giant cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee and 
reading her email.  Jane crossed her legs and bounced one 
foot as she tried to think of a plan.

Esther's slurping finally gave her an idea.  She got up and 
wandered over to the desk again.  "That's a nice picture 
you've got there," she said, pointing to the calendar hanging 
behind Esther on the wall.

Esther turned and looked at the image, which depicted a photo 
of a giant waterfall.  "Oh, it's all right, I guess.  I got 
it for free."

"Is that Niagara Falls?"

"No, it's in South America some place."

"I went to Niagara Falls with my parents when I was a kid," 
Jane said.  "It was pretty fun, but we went on one of those 
boat rides, down real close, you know?  And I had to pee so 
bad I could hardly stand it.  All that rushing water just 
made it worse.  It was like torture!"

Esther smiled faintly and looked at her monitor.  "It sounds 
rough."

"Don't you hate it when you have to go and there's no place 
around?  That's the worst."

Esther didn't answer this time, so Jane went to the water 
cooler and pulled a cup free.  She filled it slowly, letting 
the sound of the running water linger in the room.  Then she 
drank it down in a few quick gulps and refilled the cup.  
Esther did not appear to be paying any attention.

Jane gave up and returned to her seat.  She had just picked 
up a newspaper to read when Esther rose from behind the desk.  
"I'll be back in two minutes," she said.  "If the phone 
rings, don't answer it."

"I won't touch a thing," Jane said with a smile.  She waited 
until Esther was out of sight before hurrying to Windsor's 
office door.  

She knocked and entered at the same time.  "Sir?"

He adjusted his glasses up his nose and looked at her.  
"Jane," he said.  "Now is not the best time."

"I realize that, sir.  If I could just have a minute."

He sighed and swiveled his chair away from his desk.  "I'd 
spend a minute just arguing with you, I know.  Come in and 
have a seat."

"Thank you, sir."  She perched on the very edge.  "The other 
night when we were having drinks you said I could come to you 
if I ever needed help on a case..."

"I've got my hands full right now."

"I realize that.  That's why I'm here.  I want to join the 
task force."

His eyebrows rose.  "In what capacity, exactly?"

"As you know, I've been tracking the hat thief for some time.  
I think there may be some possibility that he's the man the 
task force is seeking."

"You think he's our killer?"  The Chief looked unconvinced.  
"That's quite a big leap from hats to homicide."

"Whoever is taking the hats has one big thing in common with 
the killer -- they both can get in and out of people's houses 
at will and leave essentially no evidence behind."

"That's it?  That's your big connection?  That isn't enough 
of a link to hang your hat on, detective, if you'll pardon my 
pun."

"I think it makes sense to join the investigations.  I can 
still work the hat end of things, but this way if there are 
any other connections between the cases, it will be easier to 
find them because I will be up-to-date on the homicides as 
well."

He looked her over, a glint in his eye.  "You've got nerve.  
I like that.  I bet you can be a real ball-buster when you 
want to be."

"If the balls need busting, sir, then yes, I won't hesitate."

He licked his already-wet lips and gave her a speculative 
look.  "These cases couldn't be more different if one was 
named Jack and the other Jill.  You're smart enough to know 
that.  But you're in here angling for any entry into the task 
force because you think it's your ticket to the fast track.  
You did your hair up all fancy and put on that low-cut blouse 
and came in here to hustle an old man."

"Not so old," Jane replied, trying to stay strong.

He laughed and leaned forward.  "Give me one honest-to-God 
reason why I should put you on this case, Dunbar."

Jane didn't blink. "Because I can help you catch him."

"Okay, consider it done, then." He put his glasses back on 
and returned his attention to his desk.  "And if the hat 
thief does turn out to be our killer, I'll buy you a drink."

Jane paused on her way out the door.  "And if he isn't?"

"Well, then you'll buy me one."


////

Mulder woke up to gray light slanting in between the 
curtains.  The air outside his bedcovers was cool, making him 
shiver as he approached the window.  He tugged aside the 
curtain and found his window covered in tiny snowflakes.  At 
the top, where the windowpane was still clear, he could see 
the snow continuing to trickle from the sky.

He dropped the curtain with a sigh and went to take a quick 
shower.  On his way down, he stopped on the fifth floor to 
see Scully.  He knocked on her door but there was no answer.  
Bending back to see the tag on the wall, he double-checked 
that he had the correct room number. Then he rapped a second 
time and called her name, but there was still no reply from 
the other side of the door.  Mulder went back to the elevator 
and considered his options.  He could grab breakfast in the 
hotel restaurant, but that would take at least fifteen 
minutes and Scully was apparently ahead of him.   He decided 
to use a drive-thru on his way to the station.

Outside, wind made the snow dance, sending frosty curls of 
ice into his face and around his legs.  Mulder kept his head 
down and muttered something about how people in D.C. had the 
sense to stay home in weather like this.  The hotel had 
plowed the parking lot, creating great mountains of snow by 
the corners, but the concrete was still icy and slick beneath 
his feet.

"Oh, shit," he said when he saw his car, which was buried 
under at least eight inches of snow.  Did the rental even 
have a scraper?  He grimaced at the thought of clearing the 
snow with his hands.

As he circled, wondering how best to attack, his ass hit the 
car behind him, sending an avalanche of snow down his 
backside that took his breath away.  "God damn it," he said 
though clenched teeth and used both hands to brush the wet 
mess from the back of his coat and legs.  He turned to glare 
at the offending car and saw that it was Scully's.  "Huh," he 
said, and checked his watch.  It was nearly nine.  

He started gingerly back across the parking lot, his shoes 
slipping with each step.  Maybe she had taken a taxicab to 
avoid driving in the mess, he thought.  Or maybe someone had 
picked her up.  He had a flash of Ray Peterkin dropping by 
for breakfast.

Back at her room, Mulder knocked loudly.  "Scully, it's me," 
he said.  "Are you in there?"

He got no response, so he started digging around in his 
pocket for her room key.  They habitually swapped extra key 
cards for safety and convenience, but he'd rarely had to use 
his.  

As the lock clicked open, Mulder suddenly considered that 
maybe she wasn't alone.  Perhaps Ray had dropped by the 
evening before.  Perhaps Ray was still here.

The room was dark with the curtains still drawn and he 
couldn't hear any noise coming from the bedroom.  What the 
hell, he thought, and took a peek.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her alone, sound 
asleep under the covers.  The bedside clock read nine-oh-two, 
and Mulder considered waking her.  Her travel alarm sat on 
the nightstand near her head, along with a half-full cup of 
water and her glasses.  Mulder moved closer and glimpsed a 
prescription pill bottle hidden behind the water.

He picked it up and squinted at it.  Painkillers.

He shook the bottle lightly and heard the sound of perhaps 
five or six pills inside; the label said there had initially 
been thirty.

Replacing the bottle on the nightstand, he knelt by the side 
of the bed and leaned close to Scully.  Her breathing was 
shallow and even, but he was still concerned that she might 
have taken too much.  It wasn't like her to oversleep in the 
middle of a murder investigation.

"Scully," he said softly, touching her shoulder.  "Scully, 
wake up."

Her eyelids fluttered and he drew back his hand.  She inhaled 
sharply as recognition dawned.  "Mulder," she said, sitting 
up.  "Jesus, you scared me."

"Sorry about that."

"What are you doing here?  What's wrong?"

"You didn't answer your door," he said as she reached to turn 
on the bedside lamp.  "I got worried."

"My alarm didn't go off."

He plucked it from her nightstand and studied the buttons.  
"You've got it set for 7PM instead of 7AM."

"Sorry," she said, snatching it back.  "You go on without me, 
okay?  I'll catch up."

"I'll wait," he said as he rose from his crouch.  "I need 
someone to help me dig out the car."

"Excuse me?"  She tossed aside the covers and slid out of 
bed.  He watched her for any sign of pain but she completed 
the motion without wincing.

"We got about a foot of snow overnight.  Our cars are now 
each buried inside an igloo.  I figured it would be easier 
for us to take one car today rather than try to find parking 
for two amid the snow banks." 

He heard the toilet flush and the water run.  A moment later 
she emerged to select a suit from the wardrobe.  "You're 
really going to hang around here and watch me dress?" she 
asked.

He flopped onto the chair.  "If you make it good, I'll slip 
some cash in your belt."

She did not dignify him with an answer as she took a blouse 
from its hanger.  The wind outside intensified, howling 
against the windows.  

"Hey, you didn't happen to pack a shovel, did you?" he asked.

"Sorry, no."

"Guess you wouldn't have had room for it with all that 
Vicodin."

Her shoulders squared but she didn't turn to look at him.  
"That's not your business."

"It is if my partner is hurt, if she's got the beginnings of 
a kick-ass drug habit."

"I'm not," she said, pinning him with her gaze from across 
the room.

"Not hurt?  Not a drug addict?"

"Not your partner."

She turned to go back to the bathroom, but he was up and out 
of his chair in a flash.  She beat him to the door, but 
followed so quickly that she didn't have time to close it in 
his face.  "Get out," she said flatly as he entered the 
bathroom behind her.

"What was that supposed to mean?" he demanded.  "That we're 
not partners?"

"It's a statement of fact," she said, her arms folded across 
her chest.  She wouldn't look at him.  "As of this moment, we 
have no official connection to each other.  We haven't had 
for nearly a year now.  Until the X-files are reopened, we 
are two people who happen to work at the FBI."

God damn, he wanted to grab her and shake her sometimes.  "I 
can't believe you would even say that," he said.

She ripped open her travel case and started pulling 
toiletries out onto the counter.  "It's the truth, right?  
You're so fond of the truth."

"The truth -- we're just two people who happen to work at the 
FBI.  That's really what you think."

She shrugged and kept pulling out makeup.

He rolled his eyes and sank onto the edge of the tub.  "You 
are so full of shit."

"No, you are," she said, slamming down her hairbrush and 
turning around.  "The phone rings with an X-file lead and you 
hare off into the night without so much as a 'see you later, 
Scully,' and what am I supposed to think?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've run off to Bermuda, to California, to Chicago and God 
knows how many other places I don't even know about. Not once 
did you tell me you were going.  Not once did you even 
mention the X-Files to me." 

"All of that was extra-curricular work.  I had no idea you 
wanted to spend your free time tracking X-file leads."

"You never even asked."

He snorted.  "Oh, so you're saying you would have been 
delighted to come.  You wouldn't have frowned at me and said, 
'Mulder, there's no such thing as the Bermuda triangle' or 
'Mulder, you're crazy -- the devil is not stealing babies in 
Hollins!'"

"Of course I would have!  That's my job!"  She faltered, 
leaning back against the counter.  "Or at least I thought it 
was."

He shook his head, unable to come up with a response.  Scully 
sighed and took a step towards him.

"I'm not addicted," she said quietly. "To the Vicodin." 

"The pill bottle is almost empty."

"And did you see the date it was filled?  Nearly two months 
ago, Mulder."

Oh. Now he felt like an ass.  He rubbed his face with his 
hands, making his hair stand on end in the front.  "Okay, so 
I won't be checking you into any twelve step programs."

She gave a wry smile.  He looked at her.

"I didn't realize it still hurt so much," he said.

"It doesn't.  Not compared to before."

He nodded heavily, and looked at his shoes.  They seemed huge 
and black compared to her small bare feet.  He became aware 
that he was still wearing his overcoat -- in the bathroom, no 
less.

"Mulder..."

He looked up again.

"Are you going to move so I can shower?"

It was his turn to smile.  "And if I don't?"

She gave a casual shrug and started unbuttoning her purple 
pajama top.  "I'll have to step over you, I guess."

Their eyes met and held, but he could still see the quick, 
efficient movement of her hand as she worked the buttons free 
one by one.  At last, her hand dropped away and the material 
parted slightly at the middle.

Mulder looked and saw the shadowed curve of one breast and 
the dainty hollow of her bellybutton.  Her skin was white and 
unmarked and he felt his mouth water at the thought of 
touching it.

"Last chance," she said, her voice a bare whisper in the 
porcelain-covered room.  Her fingers played with the edge of 
the pajama top.

Mulder surprised himself by reaching up and brushing her hand 
aside.  With one finger, he nudged the bottom right side of 
the material away.  Slowly the scar came into view.

Scully held her breath but let him look.  The bright light of 
the bathroom hid nothing, revealing every jagged edge of the 
puckered scar.  It was still quite red.  Mulder thought it 
looked like a tiny mouth opened in an angry scream.

She quivered as he touched it, her belly rippling.  He traced 
the edge with one gentle finger, mapping the raised edges and 
letting the hardened tissue trail across his skin.  "Does 
this hurt?" he asked her softly.

She shook her head in slow motion.

He let his finger wander beneath her pajama top, across her 
waist and around to the back.  When he reached the matching 
scar behind her, he flattened his whole hand against her hip 
so he was holding her in place.

Her breath caught and she tensed, but she didn't move away as 
he started leaning closer.  He saw the scar getting nearer, 
saw his breath stir the fine hairs on her belly.  He could 
smell her skin and the silk of her pajamas.

Her hand came up to rest on the top of his head.  He closed 
his eyes.  In another instant, his lips would be against the 
scar.

"Mulder," she breathed, and he froze.  Her nails pricked his 
scalp and he heard only the sound of the blood rushing in his 
ears.

He never found out what she was going to say because the 
phone rang.  Startled, she stepped back.  "I, uh..."

"I'll get it," he said as he rose from the tub.  "You 
shower."

He left her standing there, unbuttoned and dazed, and went to 
answer her bedside phone.  "Hello?" he said, rubbing his eyes 
with one hand.

"Agent Mulder?"

"Peterkin?  What's up?"

"Did I misdial? I thought I had Agent Scully's room."

"She's in the shower.  What's going on?"

"You need to come right away," Peterkin said.  "There's been 
another attack last night.  He broke into a TV reporter's 
home -- Brian Harris."

"Yeah, I know him," Mulder said, recalling the guy he had 
shooed away from yesterday's crime scene.

"Everyone around here knows Harris; he's been on NBC since 
the eighties.  He was even at the meeting last night, 
remember?  Anyway, he killed Harris's wife but we may have 
caught a break -- Harris is alive.  They're taking him to 
Mass General for treatment."

"We'll be right there," Mulder said.

/////


Scully stopped with Mulder at the front desk.  "I don't 
suppose you have a shovel or an ice scraper or something?" he 
asked the concierge.  "Our car had disappeared into a snow 
bank."

"Our staff is out there shoveling now, sir," the man in the 
suit replied.  "Just indicate which car is yours and they 
will have it cleared post haste."

"Thanks," Mulder answered as he pushed back from the counter.

"Oh, Ms. Scully?" the concierge called, and Scully turned 
back.  "This was delivered for you this morning."

He handed her a long-stemmed flower.

"No card attached?" Scully asked.

"I'm sorry, no."

Scully accepted the flower and examined its blossom as she 
trailed Mulder through the lobby.  "What's with the flora?" 
he asked her.

"I don't know.  Someone left it for me."

"Someone?"

"There's no card, so I don't know who it's from."  She held 
it for his inspection.  "It's a bird of paradise.  See the 
way the pointed ends look like wings?  We used to see them a 
lot in San Diego."

"Some paradise," Mulder commented as they walked out into the 
cold.  "That bird is going to wish it had flown south for the 
winter."

Scully tucked the exotic blossom inside her coat.  The snow 
and freezing temperatures would probably kill it, but she 
didn't want to take the time to return it to her room.

Their cars had been freed from the mounds of snow, and Mulder 
climbed into the driver's seat of his.  Scully followed suit, 
pulling the flower loose as the engine turned over.  Mulder 
glanced at her.  "So you've got a secret admirer, is that 
it?"

She sniffed the bird.  It didn't carry much of a floral 
scent, but the organic smell of green leaves and tender 
petals filled her nose -- a spring breeze on a miserable 
winter's day.  The only question was who had given it to her.

She tucked it out of sight from Mulder's curious gaze.  "Did 
Peterkin say how injured Harris was?" she asked him.

"No, just that he was being taken to the hospital for 
treatment."

"If he's been shot in the head, we're not likely to get much 
out of him."

"I'm betting he wasn't shot."  He was hunched far over the 
steering wheel, leaning as close as he could to the flake-
covered windshield.  The car crept along at twenty miles per 
hour.

"Why do you say that?"

"He's alive on purpose," Mulder said without looking away.  
"The killer wants Harris to tell his story.  Why else would 
he pick a reporter?"

At the hospital, they found a uniformed officer standing 
guard outside and Peterkin and Diana inside talking to 
Harris.  Harris lay in bed with a bandage around his head.  
There were swaths around both wrists as well, and one nostril 
was rimmed with dried blood.  A large bruise swelled across 
his left cheekbone.

"You," he said when he saw Mulder and Scully.  "I remember 
you."

"Mr. Harris, we're very sorry for what's happened to you," 
Scully said.  "We heard about your wife."

His face crumpled and he clenched his fists.  "I knew when I 
woke up that she was dead.  I couldn't see anything, but I 
knew."

"Mr. Harris has sustained numerous injuries," Diana said.  
"The doctors have asked us not to stay in here too long."

"I want to tell you what happened," said Harris.  "It's all 
just so hard to remember."

"You were saying he attacked you first in the downstairs 
hallway," Diana said.  "Did you see his face?"

"No, he wore a black ski mask."

"How tall was he?" 

"My height, a little taller, maybe.  He wore thick gloves, 
work gloves."

"What exactly did he say to you?" Mulder wanted to know.

Harris took a deep breath.  "He said he wanted to show me.  
He wanted to show me how he was doing it all by himself.  I 
told him I could make him famous but he didn't care."

"He cared," Mulder replied gently.  "That's probably why he 
let you live."

Harris buried his face in his injured hands.  "He should have 
taken me and let Stella live.  The station would have jumped 
on the story anyway.  He doesn't need me to get attention.  
Why?  Why would he do this?"

Mulder looked grim.  "Just to prove he can."

"Is there anything else you can remember about him that was 
remarkable?" Diana asked.  "An accent?  The color of his 
eyes?  Maybe he used a name?"

"Nothing like that," Harris said sadly.  "It was dark and I 
couldn't see his eyes.  He spoke in a low, rough voice the 
whole time, as if he was disguising it.  No particular 
accent."

"What about a smell?" Mulder asked.

Harris considered.  "His jacket smelled a little like 
cigarettes."

"We should check the ground outside for butts," Diana 
murmured.

"Under all this snow.  Great," Peterkin answered.

Scully looked at Mulder but his face gave away nothing.  She 
knew what he was thinking -- it was unlikely this killer 
would have been dumb enough to leave a cigarette butt right 
outside the house.

A nurse appeared to check Harris's IV line.  "How are you 
doing here?" she asked.  "Okay?"

Harris said nothing, apparently numb.

"I think you all had better let Mr. Harris get some rest 
now," the nurse told them.  "You can talk to him again later 
today."

"No, please.  I want to help."

"You've helped a lot," Mulder assured him.  "Really.  
Everything you've told us gives us new information on the 
case, and helps us get closer to catching him."

Harris sagged against the pillow.  "You must think I'm a 
fool.  He let me live to tell my story, yes, but only because 
he knows I can't give you anything of value.  I'm no help at 
all."

They left then, congregating in the hall outside his room.  
"He's right, you know," Diana said.  "So far nothing Harris 
has added gives us any new information.  We even knew about 
the ski mask."

"He followed him home to show him how he was committing the 
crimes," said Mulder.  "He wanted Harris to know there was 
only one man behind them.  He wanted Harris to know he was 
wrong."

"You're thinking we can use that to lure him out," Peterkin 
said.  "That if we say things he views as insulting that he 
will show up to correct us."

"Maybe," Mulder allowed.  "But he's already shown up and we 
missed it."

"What do you mean?"

"Harris never put his two-killer theory on the air.  That 
means his attacker was at the town meeting last night.  He 
probably followed him home."

"I guess I should get to the morgue," Scully said, "and take 
a look at the wife's body while it's still fresh."

"I want to see the house," said Mulder as the group started 
walking.  

Scully touched his arm.  "We have one car, remember?"

"I'll drop you," Diana said.

Scully turned her head and found with surprise that Diana was 
looking at her, not Mulder.

"I'm heading back to the station and it's on my way," Diana 
added.  

Mulder looked at Scully like a boy seeking permission to go 
off with his friends to the park.  "Okay?"

"Fine," she replied stiffly.  "I'll see you later."

She followed Diana out to the hospital parking garage.  
Wherever Diana had found to stash her car overnight, it was 
indoors.  She barely had any trace of snow or salt on the 
sedan.

"Thanks for the lift," Scully said once they were inside.

"Anytime."  Diana smiled at her.  "It gives us a chance to 
talk."

Ah, Scully thought, shifting in her seat.  Here we go.  
Aloud, she said, "Talk about what, exactly?"

"I feel like we may have gotten off on the wrong foot 
somehow."

"Is this the 'why can't we be friends' speech?"

"Actually, no," Diana said as she steered the car out into 
the snow.  "I figure you and I are past that point, don't 
you?  I have no particular quarrel with you but it's pretty 
clear you haven't liked me from the start."

"I don't know you."

"And you don't care to," Diana said, not sounding concerned.  
"That's fine.  I'm just curious about your intentions.  I 
know you know I've applied for the X-Files position.  I was 
just wondering whether you were considering it as well."

"Considering it?"

"Didn't Mulder tell you?  As the original agent, he's been 
officially reassigned as head of the X-files.  He gets to 
select one other agent to join him on the team."

"I thought he was considering adding a third position."

"There's no money for that.  Brass has already said no.  
Apparently they've been waiting for Mulder's answer for a 
week now, but he has yet to name a partner.  I gather you 
must be my competition."

Scully laughed softly but without humor.  "It was my job for 
five years."

"I understood you didn't particularly care for it.  That's 
why you're here in Boston, isn't it?  To pursue other 
options?"

"I wouldn't have done the job for five years if I didn't care 
for it," Scully replied.  "You were there, what?  Six months 
before you walked away?"

"I had to leave for personal reasons.  You wouldn't 
understand."  She looked sideways at Scully.  "Or maybe you 
would.  Maybe that's why you're looking at leaving too."

"I haven't gone anywhere," Scully said.  "It would be a 
mistake to think otherwise."

As they neared the morgue, Diana navigated the car to the 
side of the road and squeezed between two snow banks.  "This 
is your stop," she said.  "Careful getting out."

"I'll watch my step, thank you," Scully said.  She got out 
without putting her foot into a snowdrift and picked her way 
to clear sidewalk.  Slush kicked up in her direction as Diana 
peeled away, disappearing into the blinding white haze.

///////

At his kitchen table, Jimmy had his tape recorder and his 
notepad out as he tried to think.  Karen and Michael ran 
through the room screaming, their little sock feet skidding 
on the linoleum floor.  Jimmy swallowed a gulp of lukewarm 
coffee and hollered out to Amy, "Can't you keep them quiet 
for one goddamned minute?"

Amy appeared in the door with a hairbrush in her hand.  "I've 
got to get ready for work.  It's your job to keep them out of 
my hair right now."

"I'm working too."

"No, Jimmy, you're playing cops and robbers, the same as the 
kids."

"I'm onto something big here!" he yelled after her.  "Just 
you wait!"

When she returned, her hair was pulled back tight and she had 
her uniform on.  "There's tuna casserole in the fridge.  
Michael has to go through a magazine and cut out pictures of 
three things that start with C.  Can you help him with that?"

Jimmy looked up from his notes.  "Huh, what?"

"I said, can you help Michael with his homework?  It's due 
tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah.  Whatever he needs, I'll do it."

"Not do it yourself.  Help *him*."

"That's what I said!  I'll help him."

She grabbed her coat.  "You're staying in tonight, right?  
You're not going out to that cop bar again?  The kids need 
you."

"I'm here, ain't I?"

"Ginny Olsen is nice enough, but with everything that's going 
on, I don't feel safe with just a teenage girl looking after 
the kids, especially at night."

"The kids will be fine.  Nobody's doing anything to little 
kids."

"Just promise me you'll be here with them."

"I promise already."  He swallowed the rest of his coffee and 
made a face.

Amy kissed his cheek and yelled to the kids.  "I'm going to 
work now!  See you in the morning.  You be good for Daddy!"

"We will!" they yelled back in unison.

"Little stinking liars," Jimmy said without rancor.  Amy 
laughed and kissed him again.

"Do something useful tonight, okay?  Start the laundry."

"Get going or you'll be late," he told her.

Late that night, Jimmy clipped the magazine collage to the 
refrigerator and set the basket of clean laundry next to the 
stairs.  He checked the kids' room and found them fast 
asleep.  Retrieving Karen's stuffed cow from the floor, he 
tucked it under the covers with her and then closed the door.

He grabbed his coat, his tape recorder and his keys.  With a 
last check of the locks, he headed out into the night.  

I'll be gone two hours, tops, he thought.  No one will even 
know the difference.

He took the T across town to Mallory's bar.  The barkeep, 
Dave, seemed to recognize him now.  "What'll it be?" he 
asked.  "A Heineken?"

"Yeah, thanks."  Jimmy looked around for a familiar face and 
thought he spotted one of the task force detectives in a 
corner booth.

"You a reporter?" Dave asked him.

"What?" Jimmy laughed. "No, I'm not a reporter.  Why would 
you ask that?"
 
"Well, I haven't seen you in here much before these killings 
started, and now you come around pretty regular.  I know 
you're not a cop 'cause none of the cops seem to recognize 
you."

"I'm just a guy looking for a cold beer."

Dave hesitated a minute and then smiled.  "We got plenty of 
that.  But you'd best stick to the beer.  The boys in blue 
get an inkling you might be in here spying on 'em, and 
they'll liable to whoop your ass."

"Who's spying?  Not me."  Jimmy sipped his beer.  "You must 
get an earful, though, huh?  All these cops in here all the 
time talking about their cases.  I bet you could write a 
book."

"Maybe I will someday.  You enjoy that beer, okay?"  Dave 
moved on and Jimmy took his beer down to the other end of the 
bar, where he could see the two cops in the corner better.  
They were definitely on the task force.  He remembered the 
young Hispanic one clear as day.

Jimmy shifted to a table, where he pretended to be 
contemplating the plastic menu of appetizers.  The cops were 
so engrossed in their conversation that they didn't seem to 
notice him.  He switched on his recorder and set it on the 
table between the salt and pepper.

"You don't have any idea what you're getting into here," the 
old cop was saying.

"You don't think this stinks like three-day-old fish?" the 
Hispanic one said.  "Annette Crenshaw comes to report a rape 
and only part of her statement goes missing?"

"Yeah, I think it stinks.  But Leblanc was telling you 
straight, Manny -- let sleeping dogs lie on this one.  It's 
not related to our case."

"Everyone keeps telling me that.  I keep wondering how they 
can all be so sure if they haven't seen the missing pages.  
What about you, O'Hara?  You seen 'em?"

"Of course not.  Don't be a jackass.  I'm just trying to keep 
you from stepping in it."

"You've got an idea what's in that statement, don't you?"

Jimmy risked a look at them again.  The old balding cop 
seemed like he wanted to get the hell out of there.

"All I know is, nothing good," the old cop said.  "You play 
with fire, you're going to get burned."

"So you're not going to help me find her then?"

"We've got a case already.  And the bodies are piling up like 
old newspapers if you hadn't noticed.  What do you want to be 
chasing down some cold rape case from two years ago for?  
Maybe some rookies took the statement to jack off with -- you 
don't know."

"This statement disappeared in triplicate.  Someone wanted it 
gone."

The old cop shook his head.  "You go ahead and turn over that 
rock, and you don't have any idea what'll crawl out at you."

"Her parents live in Woburn.  I'm going out there to visit 
them tomorrow and see if I can find the girl.  Are you going 
to come with me, or are you just going to give me some other 
clichéd crap about fire and rocks?"

"I've got my pension to think about."

"Fine.  I'll go alone then."

"I'll go, okay?  Someone has to watch your ass."

"You think the parents will be packing heat?"  The Hispanic 
cop sounded amused now.

"I think if someone wanted that girl gone, she may be harder 
to find than you think."

Jimmy switched off his recorder and smiled.  Pay day, he 
thought, and headed home to his kids.

//////

End chapter six.  Continued in chapter seven.

Many thanks to Amanda for her attempts to save me from 
myself! Any remaining mistakes are mine alone.

Feed a hungry author?  Syn_tax6@yahoo.com