////////////////// Chapter Fourteen ///////////////// They sat in their dark car outside Sandi Plecker's place, both of them frozen from the shock rather than the cold. Scully looked at Mulder and saw the hot puffs of his breath misting in front him, saw the sheen of wild adrenaline in his eyes. She had the wheel, her leather-covered hands resting on either side, while Mulder gripped the side passenger's armrest. "Mulder..." she said, not really sure where she was going with the statement, but he cut her off. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" He turned his head slowly, without moving any other part of his body, like something out of a fun house horror show. His eyes were black in the night. "Chief Windsor is in charge of the whole investigation." "Makes you wonder how much of the evidence we can trust." "I did the autopsies," she said. "I sent the results to the lab for analysis." "And who's to say he didn't go in there and alter them?" Forget altering evidence, Scully thought as she looked at her lap. The Chief was possibly their killer. "Give me your phone." Mulder held out his gloved hand. She fumbled around in her pocket with cold-numbed fingers until she fished it out for him. "What are you going to do?" "I want to call Manny Ahuja and have him meet us at the evidence locker again." "Mulder, he works for the Chief. If we let him in on this..." Mulder put the phone to his ear. "He's the one that started us down this path to begin with. Do you think he would've tracked down Annette Crenshaw if he knew he'd find a dirty Chief of Police on the other end?" "I hope so." He looked at her quizzically. "If he's afraid of outing the Chief, Mulder, there's no way he's going to meet us." "I don't plan on telling him," Mulder replied before Manny picked up the phone. "Hey, Ahuja, it's Mulder and I've got Scully with me. I need you to do us a little favor." /////////// Jane reached the quiet street before Chief Windsor did. The address Mrs. Winthrop had given her turned out to be a two- story flat with aging wooden shingles and a rickety fire escape winding like ivy down the back side. A person could jump down from there into the alley and easily disappear into the night. She rubbed her hands together to warm them and cast a look down the street for any sign of the Chief, but she appeared to be the only soul alive. Most of the other houses were dark, the parked cars silent, and the too-white street lamps cast an eerie glow over everything. On the second floor of the Winthrop home, a curtain moved and Jane caught a glimpse of a shadowed figure watching her. She blew on her fingers and hunched her shoulders as the wind picked up. Can't put this off forever, she thought. Her boots crunched through the snow and ice as she walked up the front walk and onto the porch. Mary Winthrop yanked open the heavy door before she had a chance to knock. Her pale blue eyes were stricken, the tender skin beneath them wet and swollen. She clutched a ravaged tissue in one hand and held her heavy sweater closed with the other. "Thank you for coming so quickly," she said to Jane as she backed up to let her into the house. "I didn't know who else to call." Jane kicked the loose snow from her boots before stepping up into the entryway. The hall was dark but light shone from a room behind them. She touched her weapon to make sure it was on her hip as she peered around Mary Winthrop in search of her son. "You did the right thing, ma'am," she said. "We want to make this as easy as possible for Jake." Jake. Jane's family had owned a dog named Jake when she was small, a great big goofball retriever who had chased her and her brothers around the yard during the day and made a perfect floor pillow for watching TV at night. "Jake's a good boy," his mother said, an echo of words Jane had used years ago as she'd frolicked with her dog. She gave the woman a queer look and tried to nod in agreement as she wondered just what the hell Jake had told his mom about his sins. Have you read the papers, she wondered? Do you know the evil your son has done? "He's been mixed up," Mary said as she led Jane deeper into the house, "after his dad left and his sister got sick. I think maybe this was just his way of acting out -- you know, to get some attention." "Uh-huh." Jane looked around the shabby living room. The gray-green sofa might have been fashionable in the 70s, but the cushions had worn flat and the stitching had come loose at one arm. The coffee table was clean but nicked; a well- thumbed TV Guide lay next to the remote. Maybe if you had given some of that attention to Jake instead of the TV, Jane thought. "Is Jake here now?" she asked pointedly. "He's upstairs. I'll get him." Jane wandered the room, peering at old family pictures as Mary went to summon her son. She picked up a portrait photo of two kids, a boy and a girl who appeared to be close in age -- about seven or eight, Jane guessed -- both of them apple- cheeked and smiling for the camera. In the back, Mary called up the stairs, "Jake, Jake! Can you come down here, please?" She might well have been calling him for supper. She walked to the edge of the room, and through the open archway to the small dining room, she could just make out the staircase in the dim light. Jake emerged from the shadows, the wooden stairs creaking with each step. Mary put an arm around him and shepherded him forward into the light. "Jake, this is Detective Dunbar." He had longish, dark hair that hung down over one eye. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans, and the plaid shirt he wore gaped open to reveal a faded T- shirt with Oscar the Grouch on the front. He looked like all the boys Jane had pined for in high school and not much like a murderer. Still, she minded her training. "May I see your hands, please?" Jake gave his mother a worried look, but she nodded. He withdrew large, pale hands and showed them to Jane with the palms facing up. His fingers had a fine tremor to them. "Turn your pockets inside out for me, please." Jake did as she asked, sending a stick of bubble gum, a polished rock and a mini deck of cards to the floor. He had yet to say a word. "Why don't we sit here at the table?" Jane suggested as she pulled out a heavy oak chair. "You can tell me what you told your mother." Jake didn't move. He returned his hands to his pockets and looked at Jane with dull eyes. "I took the hats," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm the guy you've been looking for." Jane recalled the sneaker print at Annette Crenshaw's home and dropped her gaze to check out Jake's footwear -- Converse hi-tops, the same brand as the print. She cautioned herself to move slowly so as not to frighten him off. "Why don't we sit down?" she said again, turning her back to him. "I could show them to you." His soft words vibrated through her, making her heart quiver, and she froze momentarily. "They're upstairs in my room," he said. "It's true," Mary said as Jane turned around. Her eyes were dark, their pupils dilated. She spoke in hushed tones. "That's where I found them." "Then let's go," Jane said. She followed them up the creaking stairs into the dark upper floor. The hall smelled like dust and old wood. Jane reached out her hand to the banister to steady herself through the unfamiliar terrain. Jake led them to his room, where he pushed the door open with the flat of his hand. He flipped the switch to reveal two naked light bulbs at the center of the ceiling. The bed was unmade, blankets slipping to the floor, and clothes and crusted dishes littered every possible surface. Jake walked a few steps to the right and then moved so she had a clear line of sight. "Here they are." It was like finding a buried treasure; the bounty spilled out from the closet to the floor. She had seen pictures of the stolen hats, had imagined them a hundred times over as she had worked the case, but now here they were in front of her, a mishmash of colored felt, knit yarn, and tough, baseball- cap wool. Part of her wanted to drop to her knees and throw them in the air with joy. It had seemed impossible that she would ever find them again. "They're all here?" she asked. "Not all." He backed up until he sat on his bed. "Some of them are with my sister in the hospital." "Kayla," his mother supplied. "She has leukemia." Jane recalled all the jokes from her early days on the hat case. *Start rounding up bald guys, Dunbar. They're your best suspects!* I'm going to need separate evidence bags for every one of these, she thought as she studied the mess. Downstairs, the doorbell sounded, followed by someone pounding on the front door. Jake and his mother both jumped at the noise. "I thought you were going to come alone," Mary said to Jane. "That's probably my boss," Jane replied. "I need him to help negotiate a surren- an interview of this magnitude." The Chief banged again as Mary still didn't move. "He's a good guy," Jane told them both. "He can help you." Mary hesitated a beat longer and then moved for the door. "I'll be right back," she whispered, leaving Jane alone with her son. "These hats," she said to him, "they aren't the whole story, are they?" "I don't know what you mean." "I'm talking about the other night, about Annette Crenshaw." From the way the color drained from his face, she knew he understood. "I know you were there," Jane said. "Your shoes put you in her kitchen." He stuck his feet under the dirty sheet, but Jane had already spotted a second pair of sneakers in among the hats. She fished out the nearest one and held it up with two fingers, studying it under the light. "Looks like blood on this one." "I didn't kill anyone." "Who said anything about killing?" she shot back, and he hunched his shoulders. "I saw the news. I know that lady is dead." "I'd say you knew about it long before the news." She heard the tread of feet on the stairs and the low rumble of the Chief's voice. Damn, and I was just getting somewhere, she thought as Jake looked expectantly at the door. "He's really never been in any trouble before," Mary was saying as they entered. Windsor had on a Russian fur hat, perhaps the only thing missing from Jake's collection, and a navy scarf wound around his neck. Jake leapt off the other side of the bed and pressed himself against the windows. For a moment, Jane feared he would flee. "Jake, wait a second," she said. "He's not going to hurt you." "I know you. I know you!" Jake was trembling as he looked at Windsor. "You were there the night she died." Jane looked from the teenager to her boss, whose mouth was set in a grim line. "Son," he said, "we're going to take you some place where we can talk." "I saw you," he said. "You were there." He turned wild eyes to Jane. "He was there. I found her and she was dead, but he was there!" Jane felt each single hair stand up on the back of her neck. "Sir?" "He doesn't know what the hell he's talking about," Windsor said. "And we're taking him downtown now." "I'm not going anywhere with you!" Jake was still shaking, and there were tears in his eyes. His mother ran to him and threw her arms around him. "I won't let you take him." "Look, you have no choice -- I have a warrant," Windsor said, and Jane looked at him in surprise. So that was why he was late. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. "Don't make this difficult for your son." "Please, don't do this," Mary begged. The Chief started forward, but Jane stepped between them. "The boy can ride with me," she said. Windsor towered over her, his lip curled back over yellowed teeth. "You're dangerously close to insubordination here, Dunbar." Blood pounded in her ears but she stood her ground. "Charge me as you see fit," she said. "The boy is riding with me." She held out an arm to Jake and motioned him to her. "Let's go, Jake." Her knees managed to hold her up all the way downstairs and back to the car. She put Jake and his mother in the rear and climbed behind the ice-cold leather steering wheel. When she started the engine, a great cloud of white steam billowed out from under the car, obscuring the arriving cruisers' lights into a bleary red haze. Jakes eyes, little more than a pair of white rims, met hers in the rearview mirror. He said nothing as she started the car forward. They drove to the station in silence with the high glare of the Chief's headlights bearing down on them from behind the entire way. //////////////////////////////////////// The door flew open with a gust of wind and Manny stood on the other side with stray flakes of snow in his hair. He entered, shoulders hunched against the cold, and held his hands to his mouth to blow on them. "This better be good," he told Mulder and Scully. "I left a nice warm bed with a nice warm woman in it." "We need you to get us into the locker again," Mulder said. "Now?" Mulder stood aside and motioned for Manny to approach the officer behind the desk. The man was entering something into a computer spreadsheet and listening to oldies on the radio. "Is your party finally complete now?" he asked them in a bored voice. "Detective Ahuja," Manny said, hauling out his shield for display. "I need to pull the Crenshaw box." "You know the drill. Fill out this form and I'll bring it to you around the side here." Manny scrawled his information on the form and led Mulder and Scully to the small, windowless room, where they waited for the evidence box to arrive. Scully pulled out a chair while Mulder hobbled to the far end of the table and sat on the edge. Manny took off his gloves. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?" Scully looked at Mulder, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. The silence stretched out and Manny tried again. "Look, something must have happened for you guys to pull me out of bed and drag me down here to look at this stuff again." The officer brought the box labeled "Crenshaw -- 03921" into the room and set it on the table. "Here it is. Have a blast," he said as he exited again. Manny reached for the box but Mulder stopped him. "We're going to need to take this with us," he said, and Manny folded his arms across his chest. "Not until you tell me what we're looking for." "Nothing we can see here. I want to take it to the lab and have Scully run some tests on it." "This stuff has been through every test there is. The blood, the semen stains -- they've all been analyzed." "I'm not after the contents," Mulder said, and Scully got his meaning immediately. If Windsor had been down to tamper with the evidence, he might have left his fingerprints on the Crenshaw evidence box. Manny had caught on too, and he narrowed his eyes at them. "You're thinking I'm right about a dirty cop," he said. "You think someone was down here messing with this box." "Someone with the power to sign it out, no questions asked." Manny sighed and wiped his hands on his jeans. "My prints are already all over it, but every cop is in the system. Should be easy enough to eliminate." Scully already had her reference sample in mind. Chief Windsor's prints would also be on file and easy enough to check. "What do I tell the desk sergeant?" Manny asked. "The truth," Scully answered. "That we're taking the evidence to the lab for more testing." "You have a suspect yet, or is this just a fishing expedition?" Manny asked. "Call it fishing," Mulder said, sliding off the table. At that moment, Manny's cell phone gave a muffled ring from inside his coat pocket. "Busy night," he commented as he took it out. He glanced at the ID, and his face registered surprise. "It's O'Hara. I thought he went home hours ago." Manny answered the call as Scully put on gloves to pick up the box. "Hey, man, I thought you were taking it easy tonight. What gives? You're shitting me. And they brought the kid in now? I'll be right down." He snapped off the phone and looked at them. "Dunbar caught her hat thief, and he may just be our killer too. She's got him in the box downtown. I've got to get over there fast." "I'll go with you," Mulder said, limping after him as quickly as he could. He turned back over his shoulder to look at her as she followed them down the hall to the door. "I'd make sure to do those tests yourself," he advised. "Let me know what you find out ASAP." "I'm on it." Outside, the parking lot was dark and the wind howled in her ears. She kept her head down and held the box protectively against her chest. When she reached the car, she went to the passenger side to tuck the evidence safely on the seat. She stood as Manny's car peeled past at great speed, the flashing light lit up like a pinball machine. For her part, Scully walked cautiously over the ice-crusted parking lot as she rounded her car to get behind the wheel. He may be our killer, Manny had said. But she had evidence that might prove otherwise. She nudged the car out of the lot and headed straight for the lab, the balance of two lives resting on the seat beside her. ////////////////////////// Jake hunched down in the hard chair they had provided for him in the interrogation room. His mom sat to his left, gripping the edge of the table to still the trembling he knew she was feeling. Can't very well pop the pills here in front of everyone, now can you, Mom. "Some great idea you had," he said to her, "going to the cops like this." "You think they weren't going to catch up with you?" she whispered back. "You were at a murder scene!" He remembered the yowling cat and the dead woman's expression. He had crept into the dark room and found the closet door. He had it open and was shining his flashlight in for hats when the smell hit him. Without thinking, he had trained the light in the direction of the foul odor, and that was when he saw her. The sheets were bloody and she was tied to her bed. He'd thought she might still be alive because her eyes were open, but a few steps closer and he discovered the truth. "I didn't kill her," he told his mother for the hundredth time. "You have to believe me." "It doesn't matter what I believe," she said, rubbing her forehead with one hand. "What matters is what they can prove." "They can't prove I did it," he said, but the words lacked conviction. "That Chief guy was there. I saw him sitting in his car when I went by the place the first time. Maybe he did it." "Don't be ridiculous," his mother snapped. "He was probably there to interview her or something." "What if he tries to frame me?" "Jake." She grabbed his head with both hands. "Just don't say anything else, okay? We're going to find you a lawyer." "How are we going to afford that?" She dropped her hands and shook her head sadly. "I wish you'd thought of that before you started breaking into people's homes and stealing from them." He wished the same. He hung his head backwards over the chair and looked at the cracked ceiling. The room had no windows, no air. The heat had been turned way down and he knew that there were men on the other side of the large mirror watching him. He sat up and looked right at it. The Chief was back there; he could feel it. The door started to open, and he held his breath to see who would come through it. It wasn't the Chief and it wasn't the Detective lady either. This guy had a cut on his cheek and walked with a limp. "Mrs. Winthrop, Jake," he said, nodding to them. "My name is Fox Mulder and I work for the FBI. Are you doing all right? Can I get you anything?" "I'd like to call a lawyer," his mother said. "Certainly, you can use the phone any time you'd like, but Jake will have to stay here with us." "You can't talk to him without me." "On the contrary," the man said. "We can talk all he wants - - his statements just can't be used against him in court." Jake started to feel ill again at the mention of court. "You want anything to eat or drink?" Agent Mulder asked them, like they were out at a restaurant and he was their waiter. Jake shook his head. "Nothing? No coffee? Soda?" "A little heat would be nice," Jake said. "Yeah, you wouldn't think the Boston PD would be behind on their oil bill." He went over and banged on the mirror with the soft side of his fist. "A little heat in here, please?" Almost instantly, the vent in the ceiling began to pump out hot air, and Agent Mulder took a seat across from Jake. "So," he said, folding his hands on the table. "Hats. Were you starting a collection, or did you just really not like that haircut?" "Don't answer that," his mother said. "He's already on record admitting to the hat thefts," Agent Mulder said in a reasonable tone. "I'm just curious as to his motivation." "They don't send the FBI in for some missing hats," his mother said. "You're here to get him to admit to murder." "Not if he didn't do it." Agent Mulder looked at Jake, his expression blank. "Did you do it, Jake?" "Don't answer that," his mother said again. "You should answer it," Mulder said. "You should answer everything because right now the cops are going through your house with a fine-tooth comb. They already have your sneaker with blood on it. That puts you in Annette's house, in her bedroom even, the night she was killed. If you've been following the media coverage of this at all, then you know the cops need someone to pin this on. They're getting desperate, and you look mighty good to them right now." Jake crossed his arms and wiped sweaty palms on the sides of his shirt. "Locking me up won't help them," he said, his voice on the edge of tremor. "Because I didn't kill anyone." "Okay, convince me." Mulder sat back in his chair as though he was settling into a Barcalounger in front of the TV. "What?" "You want to tell your side of the story, this may be your only shot to do it. The guys on the other side of that mirror there are drawing up the papers to charge you with murder." Jake eyed him. "And you want me to think you're my friend. Right, like I believe that crap. You're on their side, and you think if I start talking you can get me to say I killed that woman." "What makes you think that?" "I watch TV. I know how this works." Mulder looked at him a minute, and then stretched across the table, so close that Jake could feel his breath on his face. "Watch a lot of crime shows, do you?" he asked, and Jake turned his head away so he didn't have to see the agent's eyes. "Well, then maybe you remember this part too -- the cops always win." "You leave him alone!" his mother said, grabbing Jake's arm. Mulder sat back. "Hey, I'm the only one here willing to entertain the idea that he's not a killer. But if he doesn't want to talk..." He pushed away from the table and started to get up to leave. "Wait," Jake said. "They're really going to charge me?" Mulder shrugged as though he didn't really give a damn. Jake looked at the mirror and imagined again the faces on the other side. "That guy from before," he said in a low voice, "the Chief. Is he out there?" "Why do you ask?" Mulder replied, and Jake saw the sudden interest in his eyes. "I don't want him listening in." "I'm not sure I can stop him." "Jake, I really think we should wait for a lawyer." "It's the truth," he told her. "You always said the truth could never hurt me." She looked sad suddenly as she brushed hair from his eyes the way she had when he'd been a little boy. "I'm not sure that's the case anymore," she whispered. Jake took a shuddering breath and looked at Agent Mulder. "I was at her house that night but I didn't kill her. She was dead when I went inside. But I walked by the place earlier, around nine -- you know, to check it out and look for a way in. I saw the lights on and there was just one woman inside. That Chief guy, he was sitting in a car outside her apartment." "You're sure," Mulder said. "You're absolutely sure it was him?" "I knew him from TV. I knew he was a cop so I just kept walking. When I went back later, he was gone and that woman was dead." "Did you see him get out of the car?" "No. I just saw him sitting there looking at her front door. The lady was already dead when I went into the house. You gotta believe me." "You know what?" Mulder tapped his fingers lightly on the table. "I do." /////////////////////////////////// Mulder exited the room to find a small crowd gathered around the two-way mirror. Jane Dunbar had a front-row seat, as did Manny, O'Hara, and Ray Peterkin. Diana and Chief Windsor hung back, the Chief leaning against the wall with his hands shoved in his pants pockets. "So he's sticking to his story," Jane said. "Annette was dead when he got there." "He's pretty clear on that." Mulder looked at the Chief. "He's pretty clear on the part where you were there too." "I can explain." Mulder braced himself against the wall to take some of the weight off his bad leg. "I think we'd all like to hear it." "When I saw on the news that Crenshaw was implicated in the serial homicide investigation, I looked her up and went over there. I wanted to find out if she knew anything." He glared at Manny. "That's when I found out I had you to blame for the whole mess. She told me you'd tracked her down and asked her questions about an old assault case. I talked with her for maybe fifteen minutes, was satisfied she didn't have any information to contribute to the task force, and I left." Manny looked from Mulder to the Chief and back again. "That's a lie." "The hell it is," Windsor said, straightening himself up. "That girl was just fine when I left her." "Maybe so, but you didn't hear about her on the news. The story broke at ten pm -- I know because Annette called me herself to chew me out when she saw the story. That kid in there says he saw you at her place around nine." "Did you see a watch on him?" Windsor said with a snarl. "Because I sure don't. He's a thief, he's got blood all over his shoe, we know he was in the house, and we confiscated a knife from his bedroom. You're going to take his word over mine? Think long and hard about your career before you answer me, Ahuja." "I believe him," Mulder said, mostly because he wanted to see how the Chief would react. His cheeks puffed out and he turned a dark red. "If you're accusing me of something, you'd damned sure better have the evidence to back it up. I've been in law enforcement since you wore short pants and tugged on your momma's apron strings." "I'm not accusing you of anything," Mulder replied as he pushed away from the wall. He nodded at Jake on the other side of the window. "He is." "Well, then he's a liar," the Chief said, his voice dangerously soft. "He's caught and he knows we've got him. He'll say anything to get a better position. If your insinuations against me rest solely on the time-telling abilities of a teenager, a common criminal, then they don't teach 'em like they used to at the FBI." He stalked off and left them standing there in silence. Jane looked at Mulder. "Do you believe his story? That he was there to ask her about the TV news report?" "I believe he's right about one thing -- no one will believe differently based on the word of that boy." He left the small room then, half dragging his wounded leg behind him as he moved toward the main bullpen of the station. Diana followed him. "You know something, don't you," she said. "Something you're not telling the rest of us." He halted, weary. "I don't want to play twenty questions with you." "Then tell me what's going on." "I can't tell you what I don't know." He had absolutely no proof that the Chief was guilty of anything more serious than an indiscretion with a call girl some years ago. Diana bent her head to him, her voice a low murmur. "If you have any indication that Windsor is dirty..." "I don't." She drew back and looked at him, as if searching for some magic indicator that he was lying to her. "Tell me then... where's Scully?" "She's not here some place?" He made a show of looking around for her. "No, but I bet you know exactly where she is." He patted himself down. "You know, she might have left a message on my cell phone -- oh wait, someone took it from me and then it ended up wrecked in the accident." "I told you I didn't take your phone. I borrowed it and then I put it back." Jane appeared before Mulder could say anything else. "The kid has lawyered up," she said. "His mother won't let him say another word for now, but it hardly matters on the hat thefts. We've got him cold on that one. I just need for people to come in and ID their hats from the ones we took from Jake Winthrop's bedroom." "Will there be a line-up?" Mulder asked with a smile. "Tell me, sir, can you pick out your Yankees cap from among these five here?" Jane smirked back. "Shows what you know. No one around here would be caught dead with a Yankees cap." A puzzled look came over her as she, too, peered around the room. "Hey, where is Agent Scully? Shouldn't she be here?" Diana crossed her arms. "I was just asking the same thing." At that moment, Mulder spotted a familiar face across the station room. "Look, it's Jimmy Trumbull. He's an investigative reporter -- maybe he knows were Scully is. I'd better go ask." He hurried away as fast as his leg could take him. Jimmy had a notepad out and an openly curious expression on his face. "Agent Mulder, I heard a pair of unis talking outside on smoke break, and they said something about you guys arresting the hat thief tonight." "That is the word on the street," Mulder agreed. "Any truth to it?" Mulder bit his lip. "Tell you what," he said. "Let's go down the street and you can buy me a drink. I want to talk to you about our joint project." "You mean the plan to lure out the killer? The guys outside said the kid you got locked up already looks pretty good for the murders." "Let's just say they don't have the full story." He grabbed Jimmy's elbow and steered him toward the door. Turning back over his shoulder, he called to Jane. "If Scully calls, tell her I'm at Mallory's bar, okay?" Jane waved to signal she'd heard, and Mulder walked Jimmy out into the cold night. The reporter shuddered against the wind and pulled his leather jacket closed. "I took the T here," he said. "My wife has the car." "Well, the whole world knows where my car is," Mulder said. "In a scrap heap somewhere. Looks like we're walking." Jimmy eyed his leg with some skepticism. "You don't look like you're making it to the corner, let alone six blocks." "We'll walk and talk," Mulder said, hobbling along. "Take my mind off it." "You mind if I record this?" "I'd prefer you didn't." Jimmy shrugged and returned his pocket recorder to his coat. "Suit yourself." "The cops are right," Mulder said as they walked. "We did arrest a teenage boy tonight who confessed to the hat thefts." "And the part about the killing?" "I don't think he did those." "Why not? Source I had said he was there the night of Annette Crenshaw's murder." "For one thing, these crimes are too sophisticated for someone that young, and for another, this guy is taking his cues from the newspaper, and this kid doesn't strike me as a big reader." "Do you have any other leads then?" Mulder glanced sideways at him. "Like you said, the cops think they have their man." "They'd look pretty damned stupid if there was another murder. Windsor's career would never recover." That's one way to put it, thought Mulder. Out loud, he said, "What can to you tell me about Windsor?" "Mostly has a good rep. He got the job six years ago, and right after there was some talk about a rookie woman cop that he may or may not have propositioned. She left the squad and moved away -- no charges or anything -- and Windsor made a big point after that of promoting women, giving them opportunities and stuff like that. He helped clean up the Combat Zone and has quieted some of the gang violence in Chinatown, so people are willing to look the other way on the womanizing rumors. They figure if Mrs. Chief doesn't want to complain, then neither should they." "This incident with the rookie, how far did it go?" "The way I heard it, he had a few beers in him and said something he shouldn't have. That's it. Why, you know something different?" "No. He seems inclined to believe it's the kid, that's all, and I was wondering about his background." "Windsor believes it's the kid?" Jimmy shook his head. "Did you tell him your concerns?" "He's aware." They crossed the street in front of the stopped cars, headlights shining off the wet pavement. "But I still want to take another shot at luring this guy out. If I'm right, he'll want to make a move, especially now if he thinks his reputation is being usurped by a teenager." "Usurped. I like that. You think I can write something that spurs this guy into action, huh?" "You managed it once." "That was without your help," Jimmy pointed out as they reached the bar. He held the door open for Mulder, and the smell of smoke wafted out into the night. The guy had a point, Mulder thought as he limped into the room. A surprising number of people sat scattered among the various tables. Jimmy took out his wallet as they walked up to the bar. "I'll get it," he said. "With the money I'm going to make off this exclusive, I'll even buy you two." Mulder sank down onto the stool and closed his eyes for a moment. He felt every one of his dozen bruises. "Just a beer is fine," he said. The ever-present barkeep Dave stuck a frost mug under Mulder's nose. "The place is buzzing," he said. "Something about a big arrest tonight?" "Wouldn't know," Mulder replied. "I hope you finally caught this guy. My sister wants me to put bars on her windows, she's so scared out of her mind." Mulder jerked a nod at Jimmy, indicating a booth near the back. "Let's go talk over there, okay?" Dave threw a dishtowel over his shoulder. "Was it something I said?" Jimmy brought his beer to the table Mulder had selected and took out his notepad. "Okay, so let's hear it, your big plan." "I was thinking this arrest tonight could work to our advantage. We can't come right out and say this kid did it, but if the real killer even suspects that someone else has taken credit for his crimes then he's going to want to set the record straight. Look what he did to Harris when Harris questioned whether one man could be committing these murders." "So then what do you want me to say?" "I want you to say that we have a suspect in custody and that the police have taken a confession. The details of the confession are confidential, but the implication will be that he has confessed to these murders." "Won't I get my ass sued for this?" "Not if it helps break the case." Mulder swallowed several gulps of beer and set the glass back down. The beer sloshed wildly inside, meaning he was losing some coordination. The long day and the injuries made it hard to concentrate. His head ached, his leg throbbed, and he just wanted to get this conversation over with. "Here's the key thing," he told Jimmy. "You have to say I'm leaving town." "You're leaving?" "I'm considering it. If I leave then he has to get my attention again some how. Plus, it signals my disinterest and suggest I concur with the detectives that this case is solved." "I thought you wanted to get this guy." Mulder scrubbed his face with both hands. "Ultimately, yes, but so far the usual methods aren't working. I'm trying something new and I need your help to do it." "I said I'd go along." Jimmy was quiet for a moment, thinking, and Mulder looked at him. "What?" "I was just thinking... what if he comes after me?" Mulder shook his head. "I doubt he would do that." "It's my name on the article. He went after Harris, didn't he? I've got a wife and two little kids at home. What if he thinks I'm the problem and wants to set me straight?" "You're just the messenger. You're repeating what I say, with my name attached to the quotes." "Yeah, but what if this guy doesn't see it that way?" "He needs you," Mulder said. "You're his window into our world." Jimmy sat back, looking bemused. "I hope that fancy FBI training of yours is right on this one. You sure seem pretty confident considering you haven't caught this guy yet." "We're going to catch him. And you, you can say you helped, right? That's something." "I'm glad my wife's a night watchman. She's got karate training, you know, and she carries a gun." "Never under estimate the allure of an armed female," Mulder replied, amused, and Jimmy gave a reluctant smile. "Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right that he'll want you and not me." He raised his glass. "A toast. To catching this bastard PDQ." "I'll drink to that." Mulder touched his mug to Jimmy's, but when he tried to pull away, Jimmy followed him, keeping their mugs joined. "We're going to make history," he said, "you and me." Mulder smiled. "To history." They drank together and Mulder spied Scully over the rim of his beer mug. He set it down and licked the foam from his upper lip. "Excuse me," he said, when he saw her beckon him. Jimmy turned to see what had caught his attention. "Hey, take your time." Mulder limped over to the door to meet Scully. Her expression was grim. "What did you find out?" he asked her in a low voice. All the eyes in the room were upon them. Scully turned her back to the room, and Mulder moved with her. "You were right, Mulder -- Windsor's prints were on the box, inside and out, and on the leather skirt too." "You're going to love this. He was at Annette Crenshaw's place the night she died." Scully's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding me." "No, the kid they arrested tonight, he was there. He says he didn't kill Crenshaw and I believe him. He saw the Chief outside the house at about nine at night." "That would have been several hours before her death." "I know. If he killed her, the timeline doesn't quite fit. He would have to have spent a great deal of time in the house, and I don't think he did." "Why not?" "Because Manny Ahuja says Annette called him during the ten p.m. news broadcast when she saw her story being aired. Why would she call one cop if she had another standing in front of her? And why would she even be watching the news if she was entertaining Windsor?" "Did Windsor say what he was doing there?" "He said he saw the news and went to go talk to her." "But if the news was at ten and he was there at nine..." "Exactly. It doesn't add up. But he swears she was alive when he left, and he was there around nine, she had to be alive to make that phone call to Ahuja after ten." "So he's telling the truth about leaving her alive." She took a breath. "That's a relief." "Unless he went back later." He leaned against the wall and sighed. "We're not going to sort this out now." "He's guilty of tampering with evidence at the very least," Scully reminded him. "We can't keep quiet about this." "And we won't. But showing our hand now doesn't strengthen our position; it weakens it. We need to find out more about the Chief's history with Annette before we do anything further. It's also worth checking if Windsor did sign into the evidence locker back around the time of Annette's attack." "You think he would risk putting his name down for her case?" "Not for hers. For some other prostitute's case, most likely. That's where he got the clothes to make the switch. We find her case and it's possible we find the evidence from the night of Annette's assault." Scully checked her watch. "It's after one a.m.. You want to go over there now?" "No." His face cracked with a yawn. "Please tell me you have a car." "I have a car." "Then Agent Scully, I suggest you take this tired old man home and put him to bed." She looked to the back booth, and he turned in time to see Jimmy wave at them. "What about your date?" Scully asked, deadpan. "You can put him to bed too if you want, but his wife might object." He took his coat from the rack where it hung next to Jimmy's, and Scully helped him put it on. He tingled when her fingers brushed the back of his neck while straightening his collar. "He should be happy," he said to Scully as they walked to the door. "I've given him his exclusive." "You told him about Windsor?" "No, nothing like that. This is a special piece, Scully, designed for wide circulation but only one reader." ////////////////////// Scully drove them back to the hotel and helped Mulder up to his room. At the door, he leaned his back against the wall and patted his pockets. "I've got the key in here somewhere," he said, his eyes closed. "I've got it," she told him, and dug out his spare key card from her coat. The heater inside the room was clicking and blowing, and the place smelled like Mulder's apartment despite the few hours he had spent there. She flipped on one of the lamps and took a seat in the short armchair as Mulder flopped on the bed with his coat still on. "I may just sleep like this," he said. Scully gave a tired smile that he couldn't see. "I'd recommend removing your shoes at least." He grunted something unintelligible in reply, so Scully got up, undid the laces and slipped each shoe to the floor. He wiggled his toes inside his sock and muttered, "You're right, that's much better." She sat on the bed by his hip and smoothed his tie from where it had flipped over during his collapse onto the bed. "Mulder," she said, "while we're here like this, I just wanted to thank you." He opened one eye and peered at her. "For the cupcake? It was nothing." "For the flowers." He opened both eyes then and sat up. She smiled a bit, looking at her lap because she couldn't take the sudden intensity of his gaze. The heater ticked off the passing seconds and Scully finally spoke again. "You seemed so supremely uninterested in who might be sending them," she said, "and I guess that should have been a larger clue." He still was looking at her and not saying anything. She felt herself flush, which might have been because she had yet to remove her coat. "But I was thinking about why there was no card," she said, her fingers edging closer to his good knee. "Because what would be the purpose of sending all these flowers to signal interest if no name was included with them? I figured then that perhaps the sender considered his sentiments were already understood. There was only one person that could be." She looked up at him, and a slow smile spread across his face, but he still didn't say anything. She took an uneven breath and rested her hand on his knee. "I understand you've been offering exclusives this evening," she said, her voice low and gravelly. "That's true," he murmured. "Interested?" "You said I had to defend my territory," she said, and he leaned his forehead against hers. "Scully, I meant--" She shushed him by touching her fingers to his lips. They felt so soft and wonderful that she left her hand there, just the barest fingertips grazing his bottom lip. "Scully," he whispered, and his mouth moved under her hand. "My understanding, Mulder," she replied, "is that to defend one's territory, one first has to mark it." To drive home the point, she scored her nails lightly on his thigh. He actually shivered, and when he spoke his voice came out as a low growl. "Hurt me, beast woman." She laughed because it was so unexpected, but then she held his head in her hands and kissed him soundly. He wound his arms around her back, gathering her close as she wooed him with her kiss. She ran her fingers over his warm scalp until his hair stood on end. When she pulled away, Mulder was dark-eyed and breathless, and that glorious mouth had become tender and wet. She touched her thumb to the edge of it, satisfied. "A good first effort," she said. "I would like nothing more to continue the mauling, but I'm afraid if you got me horizontal I would just fall asleep. I was just going to shower to try to loosen up these sore muscles and then hit the hay." This sounded glorious. She stood up and shed her overcoat. "I'll join you," she said, and Mulder's mouth fell open in shocked delight. "Agent Scully. Are you asking me to play naked movie star games?" "What you wear in the shower is your own business," she replied, taking off her suit jacket and undoing the cuffs on her blouse. She slipped off her shoes and headed for the bathroom with Mulder's uneven footsteps following right behind her. When she turned around, she saw he had managed to rid himself of his wool coat and suit jacket. His tie hung loose at his neck and his feet were bare. Scully undid each button on her blouse with military efficiency while he stopped undressing to watch. She took the tie from his neck and then leaned into the tub to start the shower. Feeling a bit shy after her unprecedented boldness, she divested herself quickly of the rest of her clothing and hopped behind the curtain without looking at him. A moment later, he poked his head in. "Okay?" he asked, and she nodded. She held out her arms to him so he would have something to brace himself on as he tried to get his bad leg over the high rim of the tub. She dug her toes into the bathmat so she didn't collapse under their combined weight. At last, he was in safely. "Hi," he said, his hair becoming plastered to his head as the water fell over them both. He was suddenly modest now too, his gaze not dipping below her shoulders. She made herself look. He had broad, slippery shoulders with a tiny mole above his right clavicle. A seatbelt-shaped bruise stretched across his chest like a Miss America banner. She touched it lightly and then pressed her lips to the center of his chest. His hand cupped the back of her head and squeezed. "It's okay, Scully." "You could have been killed," she said against his wet skin. In answer, his hand trailed down her spine and then to the side, where his nimble fingers found the rough exit wound on her back. He kissed the top of her head and she held him tighter. They stood like that for a long time, and the water started to lose some of its heat. Scully shuddered and drew away. "We'd better get down to business here." He smiled. "Usually when you say that to me in the shower, it has a whole different meaning. Of course, usually it's also in my head." "Speaking of your head." She poured out a small amount of shampoo into her hand and stood on tiptoe. Mulder bent forward to give her better access, and she lathered him up, enjoying the feel of her hands sliding behind his ears and back. "My turn," Mulder said when she had rinsed him clean. She eyed the miniature hotel shampoo bottle and hesitated just a fraction of a second. That stuff was liable to kill her hair, which seemed to require a special color-treated formula to prevent it from looking faded and blotchy. But she turned her back to him and closed her eyes, and the result was pure heaven. He took more time working in the shampoo than she ever did, his strong fingers massaging every inch of her scalp. She was pretty sure that if the shower water hadn't provided some cover noise, he could have heard her humming with pleasure. When they were both clean, she stepped out first and grabbed the nearest fluffy towel. She wrapped herself and then helped Mulder back over the tub; this time, she got a look at the bruise on his knee and she winced in sympathy. "Ouch," she said. "Yeah. You don't have any of those magic pills on you, do you, Scully?" "They're in my purse, actually," she replied from under a towel as he dried her hair. "I think this makes you my pusher," he said when she gave him two tablets. "Allow me to push you closer to the bed, then." It was nearing three in the morning now. They crawled under the covers and turned out the lights. Mulder scooted across the bed until he could wrap his arms around her, and she burrowed closer to his warmth. Yes, she believed she could get used to this. "Happy birthday," he said through a yawn. "Mmm." It wasn't her birthday any longer, but she was, for the moment at least, happy. ///////////////////// Jimmy Trumbull waited outside in the freezing cold for the papers to be arrive on the corner. At five a.m., the delivery guy showed up and loaded them into the machine, but he wouldn't give Jimmy a free copy. Punk ass, Jimmy thought as he slipped in his quarters. I'm only on the freakin' front page. Sure enough, there was his exclusive: SUSPECT NABBED IN HAT THEFTS, SLAYINGS He tucked the copy under his arm and walked the block to Mulder's hotel. The lobby was dead. There wasn't even anyone behind the desk. Jimmy took the elevator up, whistling tunelessly. He paused to check his teeth for food in the golden reflection of the shining doors. It left him off on Mulder's floor with a soft "ding," and he walked down the empty hall until he reached Mulder's room. For the hell of it, he dropped his copy of the Herald in front of Mulder's neighbor's door. They could read all about it when they got up in the morning. Then he checked the silent hall again. No one was there. Jimmy pulled out his ski mask, took out his knife, and used the keycard he had taken from Mulder to let himself inside. //////////////////// End chapter fourteen. Continued in chapter fifteen. Thanks as ever to Amanda for help with this story! So did you guess right??? We're in the home stretch now. Feedback always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com