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Dreamcatcher

by dtg

Title: Dreamcatcher
Author: dtg
Rating: R
Category: case file, sequel to Tabula Rasa Keywords: xfile, msr, amnesia fic, MT, ST Archive: Just let me know so I can visit Author's Notes: at the end
Disclaimer: The characters you recognize belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. The rest are mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

---

Dreamcatcher by dtg

Prologue

Cold moonlight turned the snow to diamonds and the shadows to midnight blue velvet. It squeaked under the tires, and then beneath two pairs of feet; the first pair stumbling before the second, driven by the threat of what would happen when they stopped. Across a frozen lake, into the woods beyond, wrists bound behind her back, no longer pleading for a life that was already lost.

One mind paralyzed with terror, but clinging to faces and voices that were fading too soon; the other, filled with images of what was to come: of things planned and hoped for and sometimes obtained, but always at a terrible price.

Justice, exacted without mercy or hesitation. Pain drawn out for the pleasure of it. Tears that would never be enough.

A few more steps.

Stop.

Here.

Now.

Chapter 1

November 3rd, 3:30 pm

Their tiny 50-seat jet had lifted off from Dulles into a china blue sky, and landed in the middle of a Pittsburgh ice storm that closed the airport for three hours. The final leg of the flight was an even tinier turboprop that lurched through thirty minutes of rough air to Bradford Regional Airport where it deposited its passengers, sans jetway, into a mini blizzard.

Inside the compact terminal building, there were four boarding gates, a snack bar and a single car rental counter tended by a woman in a bright yellow uniform.

Scully tried with limited success to revive her frozen fingers as she watched Mulder charm the rental agent out of a car they hadn't reserved and a map with door-to-door directions that she drew for him,heedless of the line forming behind him. It was a talent that Scully had always suspected came with the long-lashed hazel eyes, as natural as breathing. The woman was still smiling when he walked away.

Mulder reached for Scully's bag. "I'll go get the car and warm it up." He looked pointedly at her bluish fingertips.

She was too damn cold to take offense. "I'll find some coffee."

She had her hands wrapped around a pair of steaming plastic mugs when he reappeared, dusted with snow, ruddy cheeked as a child. He took one from her, and she felt half of her fingers chill immediately.

"They let me park right out front," he informed her with a touch of wonder.

When they stepped outside, the wind stung her eyes and whipped icy flakes against her cheeks. By the time she settled inside the warm car, her nose was running and the heated air blowing in her face felt like fire. She turned it down a bit and unfolded the annotated map. "Turn left onto the highway."

Mulder started the car moving cautiously, testing the brakes on the snowy surface before heading out onto the main road. He nodded at the map in her hands. "She was very obliging."

Scully gave him an arch look over the map. "I kept expecting her glasses to steam up. You might want to dial it back a few notches if you don't want them following you home."

He looked pleased. "You think?"

This was the way it had been between them since the meeting this morning, determinedly casual and focused on the moment. Mulder had already been in Skinner's office when she'd arrived, just in time to catch the last few words of a conversation that had immediately changed gears. Mulder's smile had said he welcomed her company on this case. He wanted her to feel at ease.

She was doing her best. It would be easier if she weren't so acutely aware of all that was missing.

The rear tires slipped a bit on a patch of ice, and Scully's left foot reached reflexively for an imaginary brake pedal on her side of the car. Mulder noticed, and dropped his speed another five miles an hour.

"It's not as slippery as it looks." He gave her knee a reassuring pat.

She reached over and flipped on the radio, a little irked at being patronized, however kindly. Fiddling with the tuner, she slid through the stations in search of something soothing. When she paused too long on a country western tune, Mulder made a face.

"No Patsy Cline, please."

Something evil made her ask, "What makes you think you aren't a huge Patsy Cline fan?"

"Call it a feeling."

He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she bit back a gasp. It happened all the time now, these flashes of the past that he evoked with a gesture or a phrase. She was getting quite good at hiding her reactions.

She moved the dial again and stopped on a weather report. More snow was predicted for the next twenty-four hours. "How do you feel about getting snowed in?" A neutral topic, if ever there was one.

"We should have rented a Jeep." He leaned forward to peer up at the steel gray sky. "Or a dog sled."

There was so much about him that was achingly familiar, and so much that still surprised her. He was Mulder, but not. The razor sharp mind was there, and the lethal wit, but he seemed to wield both with a different hand. She felt off balance. Unsettled. Unreal. He used to tell her that she was his link to reality. His human credential, in his more philosophic moments.

Somehow, she had never considered that he might be hers.

When they reached the outskirts of Warren a short time later, it was like driving into a Norman Rockwell painting. The main road into town was lined with huge Victorian homes on spacious lots. Soft, fat snowflakes drifted down onto gingerbread roofs and dusted manicured shrubs. Everything was pristine white and postcard pretty.

"What are we looking for?" Mulder prompted, eyes on the passing street signs.

She read the rental agent's note. "The corner of Market and Main."

"There's Market Street." Mulder waved at the sign as they sailed right past. He glanced quickly over his shoulder to check the sparse traffic and swung the Taurus into a 180 degree turn. "You don't suppose there's a law against U-turns in this--Shit."

Scully glanced at the side mirror in time to see the police car pull in behind them. Mulder pulled to the curb and stopped, eyes on the rearview mirror. Scully turned in her seat to watch the officer get out of his car and stroll toward them.

"Afternoon, folks." He leaned down to peer into the car. "May I see your license and
registration, please?" He touched two fingers to the brim of his trooper hat and smiled at them.

Scully opened the glove box and fished out the rental agreement while Mulder dug for his wallet. The officer glanced at the documents and handed them back. "You folks lost?"

"We missed a turn," Mulder laid his wallet on the seat between them and pulled out his badge. "We have an appointment with Sheriff Kessler." He showed the badge, and Scully followed suit.

The officer nodded, still smiling. "Thought so. You can follow me. I'll show you the way." He tapped his brim again and headed back to his patrol car at the same leisurely pace.

Mulder tucked his badge and wallet in their respective pockets, waiting for the patrol car to pull out. "I think we could have found it from here." He pointed to the left, just past the corner, and Scully saw the sign. Warren County Sheriff.

Aside from the commercial-type glass double doors, the building's exterior blended
perfectly with its residential neighbors. The gold-lettered white sign out front was all that set it apart. Even the parking lot out back was tastefully situated behind a six-foot hedge.

Mulder followed her gaze as they walked onto the wide front porch. "Sorta like walking into a Christmas card."

"Except for the bodies they keep stumbling across." It was Mulder's brand of humor, but instead of chuckling, he looked mildly shocked. Scully ducked past him and nearly bumped into a uniformed man standing just inside the door.

"I'm Sheriff Kessler. You must be Agents Mulder and Scully." The sheriff was as tall as Mulder but probably outweighed him by fifty pounds. His demeanor, unlike the cheery deputy, was all business.

Mulder introduced himself and Scully, and they shook hands all around. She was pleased to note that the sheriff didn't seem to gentle his grip for her smaller hand.

"I've got everything set up in the conference room, if you'll come with me." Mulder answered with a 'lead the way' gesture, and the sheriff headed off down the hall. "I'm afraid there's no spare office for you to use, so I had a phone set up in here." He stopped in front of a door and pushed it open, then stepped back to wait for them.

The room was empty but for couple of long oak tables pushed together and a 4x6 foot freestanding whiteboard covered with notes and
photographs. An old-style black desk phone and a stack of legal pads sat side-by-side in the middle of the makeshift conference table.

Scully crossed to the whiteboard and began looking over the collected documents. "Is this everything?"

"I have some files on my desk. Be right back." He left.

Mulder shrugged out of his coat and dropped it on the table. "Anything there that wasn't in the case file?" He walked over to join her at the board.

"I don't remember this one." She tapped a glossy eight by ten image and Mulder leaned in to study it.

"That's Marcy Brackston." The sheriff was back with an armful of files. "Ranger found her body this morning, less than a mile from where the last two were found."

He dropped the stack on the table and pulled up a chair. "Have a seat," he waved at the two remaining chairs, heavy library-style and functional. "I'll run through what we've got so far." He started dividing the stack into three piles.

It took him a moment to realize no one was joining him at the table. "Or, would you rather do this alone."   He stopped dealing out folders.

Mulder's expression morphed into a professional smile. He sat down in the chair opposite the sheriff.  "Not at all. Please," he gestured for the man to continue.

Kessler dealt out the rest of the files. "It's only been a week since the previous murder, so we're thinking that this guy is escalating." He shot a glance in Mulder's direction and received an approving nod. "Marcy was
number seven. Same M.O."

"She was from the same graduating class as the others?" Scully asked, leafing through the file on Jameson, Sara L. Victim number four. The case file she'd read on the plane had mentioned the high school link.

"Yes, but we're wondering if that's not a red herring. We've only got the one high school, so pretty much everyone who grew up here attended it. There's a Catholic school in Bradford. None of these women went there. They have other factors in common that could also be just a matter of geography.  They lived in the same part of town, all had children and husbands, and none of them worked outside the home. And they all knew each other. Saw each other pretty regularly. At church. Shopping. Socially. And they knew their killer."

Scully looked up. "What makes you say that?" She had seen nothing in the file to indicate a personal connection. The women were taken from different locations: three from home, one from a shopping mall, and the others most likely pulled over in their cars on the way to somewhere. "It could have been someone with a weapon."

"Strangers stick out in this town. People remember them." He nodded at the two of them. "You folks haven't been here more than a few minutes, but I'm betting there are at least a dozen people who already know about it."

Scully could think of several arguments against that line of reasoning, but let it pass for the moment. "Then any strangers in the area have been interviewed?"

"We've got the National Forest, brings in a lot of tourists in the summer. And the hunting's a big draw in the fall. This time of year, it's pretty much just permanent residents. So yeah, it didn't take long to check out all the transients."

"And you have a prison nearby," Mulder
commented.

"Maximum security, over in Bradford. No escapees in twenty years."

"What about group homes in the area? For parolees?" Scully asked.

The sheriff gave her a patient look. "Maximum security as in, anyone who makes it to the end of their sentence is too old for this
particular kind of crime."

"Which part, Sheriff? The rape or the murder?" She leveled her gaze and her voice.

The sheriff appeared to receive the message loud and clear. He flushed slightly and squared his shoulders. "Both."

Mulder cleared his throat and they both turned to look at him. "Did you write the profile?"

"We've got a psychologist on the payroll part time, but mostly for evaluating employees. Up 'til recently, our homicide rate was less than two a year, and those were bar fights and domestic situations."

"Michael Hobart," Mulder took a stab at deciphering the signature on the profile. "I'd like to speak with him."

"Right. I'll have Linda put in a call." He stood up and headed for the door. "You folks want some coffee? Heat's been on in here all morning. It's not gonna get any warmer." He glanced at Scully who was blowing on her fingers.

She dropped her hands, and Mulder smiled. "That would be great. Thanks."

Scully noticed that Mulder had at some point shed his coat and suit jacket, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. She was still freezing in her coat. "You think the profile has merit?"

He shrugged. "There's a local flavor to it, now that I've talked to the sheriff. I wondered." He shrugged again. "It's worth a closer look, but I need to hear from the profiler." He started a new stack with the file in his hands and picked up the next. "I don't see the autopsy reports."

"You're sure they've been done?" She didn't realize until the words were out that the sheriff was standing in the door.

"He's part time, too, but we do have a
pathologist," Kessler commented dryly as he came into the room. "We kept them separate because of the video recordings. You'll have to watch them in the media room upstairs. It's even colder up there."

Scully stood up, removed her coat and folded it neatly over the back of her chair. "I'd like to see them now, if that's all right."

Mulder ducked his head, but not before Scully caught the beginning of a smile. The sheriff's expression was impassive. "Of course. I'll set it up, if you'll come with me?" He turned and left.

Scully glanced back at the top of Mulder's head, and followed.

---

Some minutes later, Mulder was reading the high school transcript of victim number five when footsteps in the doorway made him glance up. A woman of about thirty, medium height, slender build, short brown hair, came toward him with a steaming coffee mug. Mulder reached for it gratefully.

"Thanks. Agent Scully's gone to the media room, and I know she would be very happy to see you, if you don't mind making the trip."

The woman stopped in her tracks, eyebrows rising until they disappeared under her thick bangs. "Well, that's nice to hear, but I'm not giving you my coffee."

He dropped his hand and stood up so quickly that the chair tipped over. The noise it made brought the sheriff back into the room with his hand on his holster. "Everything okay in here?"

Mulder could feel the heat in his face. The woman was chuckling merrily. "It's okay, Will. Agent Mulder here was just introducing
himself." She put down the coffee mug and extended her hand to Mulder. "I'm Michael Hobart. You asked to see me?"

Mulder shook the woman's hand. "It's a
pleasure, Ms. Hobart. You wrote the profile."

"Just Michael is fine. And I'm anxious to hear what you think. Your reputation precedes you."

Sheriff Kessler chuckled. "The name fools everyone. Sorry, I should have said something." He turned back to the door. "I'll just leave you two to get acquainted." He gave Mulder a vaguely disturbing wink and left.

Mulder reached down and picked up his chair. It gave him something to do with his hands, but bending over renewed the flush in his cheeks.

Michael Hobart pulled out Scully's chair and sat down. "I'm used to it, Agent Mulder. Please don't be embarrassed."

He sat down and looked at her. "And you enjoy it just a bit, don't you?"

She smiled, and they sized each other up for a moment. Mulder picked up the profile. "You've made some interesting assumptions about this man. I'd like to hear your reasoning." Back to comfortable ground.

Michael Hobart's wide brown eyes regarded him levelly. "Defend it, you mean."

"No, I mean I'd like to hear your reasoning." He settled back in his chair and folded his hands on his stomach.

She gave him a long look. "Where would you like me to start?"

"Start with why you think the victims knew their killer."

"Because no one who grew up in this town would let a stranger get close enough to do what this guy did. After the first murder, it would have been even more unlikely that an unfamiliar face could go unnoticed in any public place."

"People make mistakes. Maybe this is a very charming stranger."

Michael shook her head. "I might accept that with the first victim, but not the rest. Not after word got out."

Mulder nodded. "The sheriff agrees with you."

"Will is a very perceptive man." There was a genuine fondness in her tone. "He's half the reason I got into this profiling business. Gave me my first consulting job, too."

"He must have been pleased with the outcome."

She looked surprised. "I caught the killer. Why wouldn't he be?"

The woman had gone from earnest to arrogant in the space of a heartbeat. Mulder was familiar with both attitudes, but not in such quick succession. "Overconfidence can be a handicap, or so I've been told."

She laughed out loud. "Not if you can back it up."

---

Upstairs, Scully had heard a noise that sounded like furniture getting knocked over, and she'd gotten halfway to the stairs before she heard the laughter. Whatever Mulder was doing down there, he had a friendly audience. She returned to her seat and hit the rewind button for a few seconds.

The sheriff was right. It was so cold in here that her fingers were going numb, and she was only halfway through the first autopsy video. It was an amazingly good quality tape. Coupled with the extensive typewritten notes, it was as good as attending in person. Well, almost. She had always been a tactile person, and getting her hands into things got her mind in gear.

At the moment, however, the thought of sinking her hands into a cold corpse made her shiver. When this tape was finished, she would ask the sheriff if she could take the rest to the hotel.

A little less than ten minutes later, she set out to find the sheriff. He was in his office, on the telephone. She caught his eye, then waited in the hall for him to complete his call. It sounded personal, so she took a few steps away. Laughter drifted down the hall from the conference room. Mulder and a woman. Eyebrows rising, she took a few steps in toward the sound.

"Agent Scully? You wanted to see me?" The sheriff poked his head out of his office, eyebrows raised in question.

She told him what she needed, and he was very accommodating, even to having one of his deputies take the box of tapes and a video player out to the rental car. Scully thanked him and went to find Mulder.

She obviously walked in on the end of a very amusing story. A young woman was sitting with her back to the door. Mulder was looking at her wearing a very appreciative grin. It took him a few seconds to notice that Scully had come into the room. When he saw her, he stood up and his chair fell backward with a familiar clatter.

"Hey, Scully. This is Michael Hobart. She wrote the profile."

The woman stood and turned to face Scully. "It's a pleasure, Agent Scully."

"We've been discussing her conclusions, and I think we've got a lead. She grew up with the victims." He was giving the woman a look that said she'd impressed him, which impressed Scully even more.

She shook the woman's hand and gave her a speculative look. Attractive, in an outdoorsy way. Short thick hair. No make-up, or very little. Intelligent brown eyes that seemed to gravitate to Mulder.

She smiled at Scully. "I just told Agent Mulder that I'd like to take you both to dinner. We don't have a lot of choices in town, but there's a great place about an hour from here that will give you a little local flavor."

Mulder quickly added, "It's on the other side of the Allegheny Forest, and we could take a side trip to the crime scene."

Scully turned her speculative look on him. "It's a little dark to see much."

"I thought it would be helpful to see it the way the killer did. The bodies were dumped at night," Michael Hobart offered.

Scully's hot bath receded into the distance. "That could be worth the trip," she agreed.

"Great!" The woman clapped her hands together. "I'll go call for reservations."

Mulder rolled down his sleeves and grabbed his jacket. "You must be starved, too. I called to make sure our rooms are being held." He pulled on his coat. "You don't mind going to dinner, do you?"

It was a little late to ask that question. "I did want to review the rest of the tapes tonight, but it can wait."

He looked relieved. "Good, good. Well, let's get going." And he was out the door.

He was holding the door for Michael Hobart when Scully walked into the lobby. He let it close behind him without a backward glance.

Scully paused for just a beat, then gave it a brisk shove and followed them out into the gathering dusk.

---

Chapter 2

Chapman State Park
Clarendon, PA
8:40 pm

Marcy Brackston's last moments on earth had not been spent where her body was found. The huge quantity of blood that must have resulted from her wounds was shed elsewhere. Someone who didn't want his vehicle sullied with gore had wrapped her in a black plastic tarp and driven past scores of anonymous dump sites to leave her here, just inside the park's main entrance.

Shivering in the icy wind, Mulder and Michael Hobart continued the debate that had begun over dinner. Scully made a quick, but thorough, tour of the site and retreated to the warmth of Ms. Hobart's Jeep Cherokee to wait them out. The most recent victim's autopsy had yet to be performed, and Scully intended to handle it herself. Until then, there was little she could contribute to the discussion, especially when they seemed intent on holding it in the teeth of a thirty-knot gale.

She had actually considered joining them, if only to prove she wasn't sulking, but it made no sense to risk frostbite proving a point to someone who had no idea he'd done anything wrong.

Closing the door in her face at the sheriff's office had not been deliberate. He wasn't even aware she was behind him, just as he had no clue that Michael Hobart found more than his profile intriguing. Mulder's intensity could be blinding, and Scully almost felt sorry for the woman , knowing that she would soon discover its focus was the case rather than her.

Almost.

The not-so-subtle difference this time was that his single-mindedness seemed to have rendered Scully invisible as well, and that had never happened before.

She watched them through the windshield, the woman talking with her hands even more than Mulder. After a particularly animated exchange, he turned and walked back to the Jeep. The woman stood there for a moment, hands now stilled and planted on her hips, before she followed him.

Mulder hopped into the backseat and rolled his eyes. "And they call me obsessive."

Scully pressed her lips together around a smile. "You are. Having a difference of opinion with your consultant?"

"You could say that."

The driver's door opened, letting in a blast of cold air. Michael smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean to keep you two out so late. I lose all track of time when I'm involved in a case like this." She glanced at Mulder in the rear view mirror, adding a conspiratorial wink. "We'll be back at the office in twenty minutes. I know a short cut." She began to back out, then paused. "Or I could just drive you to the hotel. It would save some time, and I could pick you up in the morning."

"I have some tapes in the trunk that I need to look over tonight," Scully answered, "but thanks."

The woman glanced again in the mirror, perhaps expecting a different answer from the backseat. When none was forthcoming, she shrugged. "Sure. No problem."

Scully didn't know how 'short' it was, but the route they took back to the sheriff's office was certainly off the beaten path. Instead of leaving by the front entrance, the way they'd come, she took them deeper into the park, and out the other side.

"One of the few advantages of growing up out here. Plenty of experience with back roads." That prompted another exchange in the rear view mirror, but Michael seemed disappointed by the response. She spent the rest of the drive with her eyes exclusively on the road.

---

Holiday Inn
Warren, PA
9:48 pm

Their rental was icy cold, and the ten-minute drive to the hotel wasn't nearly enough to warm it up. It seemed that the environment was bent on keeping Scully on the brink of hypothermia with a permanently dripping nose. She didn't even bat an eye when Mulder volunteered to haul in their bags, the carton of videotapes and the VCR.

The first order of business was to turn up the heat in her room. The second was to call room service for a pot of coffee, timed to arrive at the door when she was finished with a long, hot shower.

Scully stood under the steaming but too-gentle spray until the shivers stopped and the mirror was dripping condensation, then dried off with a rough towel and climbed into flannel pajamas. When she came out of the bathroom, she found that Mulder had set up the VCR for her and cued up the first tape. He'd also let in the room service person and arranged her coffee and mug on the nightstand next to the VCR remote. She smiled at the connecting door and sat down on the bed.

It felt like the first time she'd been warm since they left D.C., and the sheer sleepy pleasure made the thought of viewing autopsy tapes a lot less appealing than curling up with a good book. A cup of coffee would help. She poured one, spiked it with sugar and took it out onto the small balcony overlooking the atrium pool. The scent of heated, overchlorinated water drifted up to her second
floor perch, strong enough to sting her nose, and she quickly retreated inside.

Mulder was standing in the connecting doorway, looking apologetic. "Scully, I just got a call from the sheriff. They found another body."

She set her coffee down on the dresser. "Where we just were?"

"In the park, yes, but four miles into the woods. Near the southern perimeter. It looks like this victim may have been the first, just better hidden than the rest." He eyed her comfy attire. "There's no point in both of us going to the scene. You've got tapes to review for tomorrow. And I'm still dressed."

She was nodding before he finished the thought. "Make sure the sheriff knows that I'll be doing both autopsies in the morning. And find out where they'll be." She picked up her coffee and settled in on the bed, timing her parting shot to arrive when the door was nearly shut. "And tell Ms. Hobart I said hello."

---

Forestry service road #29
Clarendon, PA
10:50 pm

Michael Hobart had been waiting for him in front of the sheriff's department. "Will asked me to chauffer you up to the crime scene. It's a little remote."

Remote turned out to be an understatement. What little sense of direction Mulder possessed gave up after the third winding turn on the dirt trail that Michael referred to as Forestry Road #29.

"Who found the body, and what were they doing out here?"

Michael swerved to avoid a pothole that would have cost the Taurus an axle. "This road divides the park from private property. Mark Laskey owns it, and he was out looking for his best hunting dog. She's in heat and I guess she wandered off in search of romance."

"And he was afraid she might find it out here?"

Michael chuckled. "Wolves, Agent Mulder. Lots of them. She's a very expensive dog."

They rounded a curve and found emergency vehicles lining both sides of the road. Michael parked behind a fire department rescue squad rig with its rear door standing open.

"I'd say that's the crime scene." She indicated a cluster of flashlights off to the right, some twenty yards inside the woods. They got out and started walking. "This isn't the park side. It's Mark Laskey's property."

Mulder looked back at the dirt road, which had identical stands of trees on either side. "I don't see how the killer could have known he wasn't still in the park." He stopped and looked at Michael. "How do you?"

Michael tossed him a patient look but kept moving. "Before I switched to psychology, I was a forestry major. I worked out here. Now come on, before they remove the body. I'll tell you my life story over a drink when we're done."

Sheriff Kessler was crouching next to a covered form on the ground. He got to his feet as they approached, dusting his hands on his thighs.

"Not much left to look at." He bent down and picked up a corner of the black plastic sheet. "The local wildlife found her long before we did."

Mulder squatted next to the body and pushed the sheet back to the victim's waist, shining his flashlight on the denuded bone of the right arm and shoulder. "Gnaw marks?"

Michael crouched on the other side. "Looks like wolves." She touched the marks with gloved fingers, probing gingerly at the bits of flesh and muscle clinging to the joint. "It's been cold enough to slow decomposition, but I'd put the time of death at least a month ago."

Mulder shone his light on the victim's face. "I take it this isn't a local resident. There was no mention of a missing person."

The face had somehow avoided predation, but it definitely bore the characteristic slash at each corner of the mouth. The features would still be recognizable by anyone who knew her.

Michael shook her head. "She's not from around here. Will?"

The sheriff crouched next to Michael. "Nope. And her outfit's definitely not local. I'd say Jamestown, maybe even Pittsburgh. Looks like she was dressed up to go clubbing someplace a lot fancier than she'd find around here." He got wearily to his feet once more. "We were waiting for you, but I'd really like to get her taken care of. She's been out here long enough."

"I'll just need a few minutes," Mulder told him as he pulled the rest of the sheet away. Whatever had been feasting on the body seemed to have favored the long bones of the legs. As his stomach did a slow roll, he wished fervently that he hadn't talked Scully into staying at the hotel.

Two men with a gurney stood a few feet away looking wearily patient. Mulder gave them a thumbs-up and got to his feet. "All yours." He stepped back, directly into someone who grunted in disgust before Mulder could apologize.

"You people done with me, too? I'd like to get home sometime before the sun comes up."

Mulder turned to find himself eye to eye with a man holding the leash of a sleek spaniel dog. "You must be Mark Laskey." Mulder held out his hand, and the man shook it briefly and without the faintest hint of warmth.

"Yeah, and you must be the guy from the FBI."

"Lighten up, Mark. You called us out here, remember?" Michael Hobart stepped between the two men and crouched down to ruffle the dog's ears. The dog obviously loved it.

"I called the sheriff to let him know about the body. I didn't invite a full scale invasion." He waved at the assemblage of vehicles and personnel tromping this section of his land to a muddy mess.

"We'll be out of here shortly, Mr. Laskey, but I'm afraid you'll have visitors in and out for a few more days, gathering evidence. If you have a few minutes, you can at least get my questions out of the way." Mulder offered.

"My dog found the body. I found the dog. I don't know the woman and I haven't been out to this part of my land since last spring. Anything else?"

Mulder eyed the man for a moment. He was roughly Mulder's height, weight and age, interestingly enough. With at attitude that could be righteous indignation, guilt-inspired bluster, or plain bad manners. "For a man whose land abuts the dumping site of a serial killer, you don't seem very concerned with seeing him caught." He was probing for a reaction, and he got one, but not from Laskey.

Michael Hobart chuckled and stood up, giving the dog a final scratch on the muzzle. "Agent Mulder, Mark Laskey is an officer of the court. He's our local prosecuting attorney."

The two men were toe to toe. "I can assure you, Agent Mulder, I'm extremely interested in seeing this man caught. My job depends on it, actually, so I wish you'd direct your focus where it belongs." He turned to Michael. "You know where to find me." He turned and walked straight into the woods with his dog at his heel.

Mulder gave Michael a narrow look. "You might have shared that bit of information a little earlier."

She was still chuckling. "You didn't warn me that you were going to accuse the county prosecutor of serial murder on his own land."

Mulder waved toward the woods where Laskey had disappeared. "Where is he going?"

"His house is about half a mile from here, on the other side of that stand of trees. I'd say he's going home."

Will Kessler came back from following the body to the van, and Mulder remembered the question Scully wanted him to ask. "Agent Scully would like to perform the autopsies on the two most recent victims. Where will they be?"

"Warren County Hospital, just across the river from downtown. You can't miss it. There's a helicopter landing pad right out front." Kessler yawned widely. "We're gonna clear out now. You two can hang here as long as you like, but the lights are going with us." He headed back to the road.

Mulder looked around and realized that most of the crowd had dissipated. And he was slowly freezing where he stood. "I'm ready any time you are," he said to Michael Hobart.

She hooked her elbow around his. "You look like a man who could use a drink, and I know just the place."

"I could use a drink, but the only place I'm going is back to the hotel." He didn't pull his arm away, though the urge to do so nearly overcame good manners.

"No problem. I understand they have a bar, too."

---

11:34 am

Scully hit the button on the final tape and finished her notes as it rewound. Overall, the medical examiner's work was impeccable, and she intended to ask him to assist with the autopsies she would be performing in the morning. He could provide valuable insight, but Scully had experience on her side, particularly with the type of mutilation the victims all exhibited.

The Mostow case had been on her mind from the first time she'd seen the facial cuts, and it was a memory she was glad Mulder didn't share. His approach to profiling was much less personal now, and it was better for her sanity as well as his.

The tapes had provided one surprise, and that was in a particular type of marking each victim had somewhere on her body. The cuts that made them were more like scratches. A spider web design, finely drawn with the tip of a thin bladed knife, or possibly a scalpel, and not deep enough to bleed for more than a moment or two. The medical examiner had mentioned them and had taken close up videos of each one, but only in passing. Scully devoted an entire page of notes to what they might signify, but she needed more information. The pattern was familiar somehow, but she couldn't place it.

The tape stopped humming and the machine shut off automatically, ejecting the tape. Scully closed her laptop and got up from the bed, feeling the fatigue in her bones. She extracted the tape and added it to the box along with the case notes, glancing at the clock as she did.

Mulder should have been back by now. She was sure she would have heard him come in, but walked over to knock on the connecting door, just in case. There was no response, and she picked up her cell phone before good sense made her put it down. Instead, she picked up the coffee carafe and jiggled it. There was enough left for a nightcap. She unscrewed the cap and poured it into her cup, then took it out onto the balcony and settled into the plastic chair.

With the lights out in the atrium, and the chlorine smell somewhat dissipated, it was actually quite restful . Water circulating in the pool pumps had an oddly familiar,
comforting sound that it took her a few moments to place.

Mulder's aquarium. That's what it reminded her of. The watery green glow from the underwater light of the atrium pool added to the pleasing illusion, and it made her smile.

---

Holiday Inn
Tootsie's Bar & Grill
12:14 am Tuesday

Tootsie's was situated just off the lobby of the Holiday Inn, behind a grandiose padded red vinyl door decorated with brass studs. Mulder decided that the door must be left over from a previous decor since the interior was pure country and western, right down to the longhorn steer head on the wall above the bar. There was a pool table at one end, wooden booths along three walls, and a small dance floor in front of the jukebox.

The bar was empty except for an older couple sitting in a corner booth. Mulder and Michael Hobart sat at the bar, sipping cinnamon brandy the bartender was pushing. It would chase the chill, he promised. It did.

At first, they talked about the case. Michael was eager to resume the debate they'd started at the first crime scene. Mulder said that the latest body found outside the park proved that they needed to look at a larger pool of potential suspects, including residents of larger towns nearby or anyone passing through on a regular basis, like truck drivers or traveling salesmen.

Michael was just as certain that they would be wasting valuable time if they didn't focus on local people. Much as it pained her, she said, all evidence pointed to someone these women trusted implicitly. That in itself presented some frightening possibilities, not the least of which was that it might be someone in law enforcement, or the clergy.

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Mulder told her. "I'm just saying that you can't safely omit strangers from the pool of potential suspects." He was frankly tired of the subject and way past ready to move on.

Michael must have heard the irritation in his voice. She offered a rueful smile. "Will tells me I've got all the subtlety of a chain saw. You have to tell me when I start to get on your nerves."

"The sheriff seems to think quite a lot of you." Mulder took another long sip of the cinnamon-y brandy and felt the warmth spread to his fingertips. He had agreed to one drink. This was number three, and he was feeling generous and sleepy.

Michael's eyes turned soft at the mention of Will Kessler. "He was my father's best friend for thirty years. I guess I'm sort of the daughter he never had." She sipped her own drink. Number four, if Mulder's count was accurate. "The feeling is mutual."

Mulder noted the past tense. "Your father has passed away?"

She nodded. "He had a stroke last spring. I moved back here to take care of him. He died June 12th, and I stayed on to handle his estate. That's when Will offered me the consulting position with the department. He also recommended me to the Jamestown Police. I'm part time there, too. The pay isn't great, but I don't really need the money."

"Was your father with the sheriff's department?"

"Thirty-two years. He was the sheriff himself for ten of them." She smiled at the memory. "I was the typical sheriff's kid in school, always the first to get in trouble, trying to prove I was like everyone else. It was usually Will who bailed me out, sometimes literally. Probably to keep my dad from skinning me alive."

Mulder could feel the buzz from his drinks. "And despite your best efforts, you wound up working for the good guys."

Michael chuckled and drained her glass. "So it would seem." She squinted at her watch. "We have an early start tomorrow. I should let you get to bed."

"One more question."

Michael turned her stool to look at him. "Fire away."

"If this last body was really the first victim, it means the other victims' connection to one another is really a matter of coincidence."

She considered that for a moment. "Or it could mean that the first victim was practice. Or she has a connection we don't know about."

Mulder gave her an appraising look, and an appreciative smile. "You sound like my partner."

Michael gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I'll take that as a compliment." She stood up and pulled on her coat. "Do you need a hand getting back to your room? I get the impression that you don't normally drink."

Mulder got to his feet and swayed a bit before he found his balance. "No on both counts, but thanks for the offer. Will you be attending the autopsies tomorrow?"

She shuddered visibly. "Poking at the bodies is one thing. Watching them dismantled is quite another. No, I'll get my information from the notes." She hooked their arms together for the second time. "Come on, I'll walk you to the elevator."

---

Scully finished her coffee, feeling relaxed and sleepy and ready for bed. She stood up and had her hand on the sliding door handle when she heard Mulder's voice. It took her a moment to place the source.

She approached the railing and looked down.

Mulder was walking toward the bank of elevators with Michael Hobart's arm hooked through his. Scully recognized the slightly loopy smile on his face and knew immediately that he'd been drinking, though he certainly didn't appear to require Ms. Hobart's steadying hand.

She watched them walk to the elevator and saw Mulder push the button, too stunned to think that they might look up and see her standing there. After a moment, the elevator dinged its arrival, and Michael Hobart resumed her walk to the exit. Mulder held the door for a moment, watching her go. Then he walked into the car and let the door close behind him.

Scully watched until the woman opened the exit and left the building before she went back into her room.

---

Chapter 3

Warren County Sheriff
Tuesday, Nov. 4th
8:10 am

Will Kessler came through the side entrance stomping snow from his shoes onto the polished hardwood floor. "Where the hell's the mat?"

Linda Mercer planted both hands on her hips and frowned darkly. "Jack has them in the basement drying in front of the furnace. He did, however, leave one outside the door you just came in."

"Yeah, I walked over it on my way in." She rolled her eyes as he took off his coat and hung it on one of the brass hooks next to the door. There were already four other jackets there, and two black trench coats. He tapped the nearer one, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Agents Mulder and Scully have been here for an hour. They asked to see you as soon as you got in... whenever that might be." She nodded toward the conference room.

"Do I have time for a cup of coffee?"

Linda held out his mug, filled and ready. "I'm way ahead of you."

"You always are." Will accepted the mug and winked at her, angling for a smile.

He got another eye roll instead, and a small snort. "By the way, Jessie won't be in. He said he's on his way to the doctor, and he'll call you in awhile."

Jessie Kendall was the most relentlessly cheerful man Will had ever known, and he was never sick. "Did he say what was wrong?"

Linda shrugged. "He just said he needed to see the doctor. I didn't ask for details."

Will nodded and headed for the conference room.

"Oh, and Michael wants you to call her. She left a message on voice mail."

"She'll just have to wait 'til I find out what the FBI wants," he told her without slowing down.

He found them faced off, arms crossed, in front of the photograph array. "Morning, agents. Linda said you wanted to see me."

They looked mildly startled, especially Agent Scully. Will had the distinct impression that he'd interrupted something. "Should I come back later?"

"Not at all," she responded quickly. She sat down at the table and gestured for the sheriff to join her.

Will took the chair across from her, and Agent Mulder sat at her side.

"Sheriff, I found something in the autopsy tapes and wondered if the coroner had mentioned it to you. There's only one photograph," she slid a 5x7 across the desk, "but the same pattern appears on all of the victims."

Will turned the photo around, glancing up at Scully. "This is a close up?" He could see nothing but skin around the mark. It was impossible to tell what part of the body he was looking at.

"Yes, of the third victim's lower back."

"Third victim found," Mulder clarified. "We won't be certain until Scully does the autopsy, but we believe the woman you found last night was the first victim. Michael thought the time of death looked to be about a month ago."

That earned him a sideways glance from his partner. Will watched the by-play, wondering if the 'discussion' he'd interrupted had been entirely congenial.

"Of course, Scully will verify that," Mulder added.

Will turned to Scully. "I sort of expected you to hop on that first thing this morning."

She returned his gaze levelly. "The coroner won't be ready for me until 9am. I thought the time would be better spent here. Do you recognize the marking?"

He looked back down at the photograph. "Like you said, it looks like a spider web. Mac did mention it-- that's Ellis McKenzie, the coroner-- but he didn't know what it was, either." He stood up. "If that's all, I've got some phone messages to return."

Agent Scully checked at her watch and stood also. "Thank you for your time, Sheriff. If you happen to remember anything about the marking, I'd appreciate a call."

"Sure thing. Will you stop back here after you're finished with the autopsies?"

Scully nodded. "It won't be until midafternoon."

Will looked at Mulder. "Find anything
interesting at the crime scene last night, Agent Mulder?"

"You mean, aside from the fact that the body was found by the prosecutor in his own front yard?"

That drew a look from Scully that told Will she was hearing this for the first time. "Yeah, Mark told me you two met. I gather you found him as annoying as we all do."

Mulder smiled slightly. "I imagine he's been run through the usual elimination process, despite his position?"

Will tamped down a flash of irritation. "He's been eliminated as a suspect."

"You've verified his whereabouts even for this last body? We don't yet know the date of her death," Mulder pointed out.

While Will was formulating a less hostile reply than the one that had jumped to mind, Agent Scully cut in. "I didn't see him mentioned in the case notes. Perhaps if you could let us see the transcript of his interview, it would help."

Will gripped the back of his chair with both hands and did a mental ten-count. "It wasn't a formal interview, Agents. I've known the man since he was in grade school, and he was only questioned about what he might have seen. You can't tell me that you seriously consider him a suspect."

The agents exchanged a glance. Mulder answered, "You said it yourself, Sheriff. The man is not likely to be a stranger and may well be someone in a position of trust. Everyone is a suspect at this point, including Mark Laskey."

It took effort, but Will Kessler nodded. "I'll have him stop by this afternoon."

The tension in the room eased, and Mulder started to gather up the files they'd spread over the table. "We'll stop back after the autopsies." He met Will's direct gaze. "I know this is difficult for you, Sheriff. We appreciate your cooperation."

"Since I'm probably on your interview list, too, you might as well call me 'Will'." He turned and headed for the door. "Just let me know when you want to talk with my deputies. I've got one out sick today, but the rest can be here whenever you want," he called over his shoulder, and received an acknowledging nod from Agent Mulder.

Linda held up a pink message slip when he passed her desk on his way to his office. He snagged it without comment.

"It's from Michael. She's very anxious to talk to you, from the sound of it," she volunteered.

"I'll call her after I talk to Mark Laskey. Get him on the phone for me, please." He had a pretty damn good idea what Michael wanted, and he didn't have time to indulge her right now. Besides, she wasn't going to like the answer.

Will sank into his chair and closed his eyes.

---

Warren Community Hospital
Autopsy Room #2
10:30 am

Seeing his partner with Jane Doe's body gave a whole new meaning to the words 'up to your elbows in work'. It was, quite literally, where Scully was at the moment, creating squishy wet sounds that drove his attention back to the case notes in self-defense.

This latest victim brought the toll to seven over a period of five weeks and had earned Warren top billing on the network news this morning. It was a hell of a way to get the town on the map. Along with the spotlight would come a whole lot of heat to get this guy before he killed again. It was anybody's guess just how much time he was going to give them to do it.

The graduating class of 1990 had consisted of 118 students, a little more than half of them female. Mulder's growing list of intended interviews included every woman from that class who still lived in the area. It was the most obvious link among the victims, and following it would consume time they couldn't spare.

"Did you doze off over there?" Scully's raised voice snapped his head up from the file. She was peering at him over the top of her mask.

Mulder put down the folder. "Sorry, I was thinking."

"So I gathered. I asked if you knew how Michael Hobart managed to guess the time of death so accurately."

He stood up and came over to the table. "She was right?" The surprise in his voice was genuine. He'd mentioned the woman's comment to Scully, but never considered it seriously. It was too great a reach for the perfunctory exam they'd been able to do in the field in the dark.

"Close enough to be impressive. Before the ambient temperature dropped low enough to kill them, there were insects developing in the body. About two weeks worth of activity, as a matter of fact." She pulled the body cavity flaps back and pointed with gloved fingers. "I checked on the weather when I was working through the autopsy tapes, and it's been subfreezing here for twelve days."

Mulder looked long enough to see what she was talking about, one hand over his mouth and nose, then stepped back. "Lucky guess?"

An eyebrow rose into the surgical cap above it. "A lucky guess that made no sense given the known facts at the time?"

He shrugged. "I thought she was just showing off."

"For your benefit." Quiet disapproval, clearly expressed.

"For my benefit."

Pause. "Then, I think you need to find out how she did it."

It took him a moment to pick up on her implication. "You're not suggesting that she had some inside information."

Scully regarded him levelly. "I think you need to ask her."

He was half-listening, half replaying the rest of last night's conversation in his head. Michael had said something else--

"Earth to Mulder."

"Wolves."

"Excuse me?"

"Wolves. She said that before she switched to psych, she'd majored in forestry. She worked in the park. She could have based her guess on the amount of damage done by the wolves, not the insects." He felt oddly relieved by this conclusion.

Scully, apparently, was not. "There are too many variables, Mulder, an unknown number of predators being the most obvious. You need to ask her now, before we include her in any more case discussions."

He suppressed a weary sigh. "I'll get her phone number from the sheriff." He dug his cell from his pocket as he headed for the door.

"You don't have it?"

The emphatically casual tone turned him around to find Scully focused intently on the body before her. When he didn't respond, she looked up, and he met her gaze solidly. "No. I don't."

She studied his face a moment longer, then nodded. "I'll be another few hours finishing up here. Go work."

A heaviness he hadn't realized was there seemed to lift as she turned back to her task.

"On my way." He gave her a little salute on his way out the door and saw her eyes crinkle in a smile.

---

Miller's Restaurant
Tionesta, PA
10:15 am

Ellis McKenzie took a bite of bacon and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "For the profiler, sure. Not being familiar with our little inbred circle might put him at a disadvantage. But the pathologist? I don't see it."

Michael put down her coffee. "Would she have been able to correlate the level of predation on the body to an elapsed time the way I did? I doubt you'd find an applicable study in any text or journal. You have to know the area for that."

"True, but an FBI pathologist is going to know a lot more than I do about everything else. And for the local wildlife, I've got you. That's why I asked you to join us this morning." He waved at their surroundings. "But instead, we're having breakfast in the next town."

Michael leaned forward, resting her arms alongside her untouched plate. "I had dinner with them last night, Mac. My impression is that she doesn't like me. I doubt she'd be very happy to see me in your autopsy bay."

He quirked an eyebrow at that. "Since when has anyone's opinion stopped you from doing what you wanted?"

She leaned back and picked up her fork, probing gingerly at a mound of scrambled eggs. "I have a confession."

"I'm all ears."

She looked up at him. "There's a personal side that I don't quite know how to handle. Agent Mulder and I went for drinks after we left the crime scene."

Both eyebrows went up. "I don't think I have to tell you how ill-advised this sounds."

"I know, Mac. I know. But he's a nice guy and he needed someone to talk to. I just don't want it to affect the case, and I think that means I need to avoid his partner."

He raised both hands in mock horror. "Please! No details. The last thing I need when I meet them for the first time is this soap opera running through my head." He looked at his watch. "In fact, I need to get moving if I want to attend the second autopsy." He stood and pulled on his jacket. "You're still welcome to come with me, but it's your call."

Michael smiled and shook her head. "Let me know how it goes, Mac."

"Sure thing."

She watched him go to the register and pay the bill. He said something to the cashier that made her laugh. Michael looked at her watch and sat back in the booth to finish her breakfast.

---

Warren County Sheriff
10:30 am

Mulder's call to the sheriff went unanswered.

"I haven't seen him since you left," Linda Marshall told him. "He's been in his office on the phone the whole time."

"Just tell him I'm on my way to see him."

Kessler was still on the phone when Mulder got there. From the booming tone of his voice, someone named Kendall was getting his or her ass chewed royally.

The door was jerked open a moment after the yelling stopped, and Kessler poked his head out. He nodded curtly to Mulder, then turned to Linda. "Send somebody over to talk to Jessie in person. He won't tell me what the hell's up, and I want to know. See if Lenny has time." Back to Mulder. "We're having a strange morning here, Agent. What brings you back so soon?" He stepped into his office, motioning for Mulder to follow.

Mulder took a seat in front of Kessler's desk without removing his coat. "I need to get in touch with Michael Hobart."

The sheriff stopped halfway into his chair and gave Mulder a decidedly odd look. "Well, that's an interesting coincidence. She's on her way here to see me." He settled into his chair and folded his hands on his belly. "What's on your mind?"

"Several things. I want to start interviewing this morning, and I'd like to start with the surviving members of the victims' graduating class who live in the area. Can you help me arrange that?"

"Sure. The list is already compiled. I can have Linda start calling them right away. Do you want them to come in or...?"

"I'd prefer to see them in their homes, if possible."

He picked up the phone and relayed Mulder's request to his assistant. "What else?"

"While the interviews are being set up, I'd like to see your deputies." Knowing this was a sensitive subject, Mulder kept his voice even and as non-threatening as possible.

Kessler nodded. "Already got them alerted. They'll come back whenever you say the word."

Mulder smiled his appreciation. "Now, if you don't mind. I'll need about fifteen minutes with each one."

"I can arrange that. You want to use my office?" The sheriff's expression remained cordial, but there might have been just a hint of sarcasm at the end.

"The conference room will be fine."

Kessler picked up the phone and paused with the receiver to his ear. Mulder took the cue and stood up. "I'll be in the conference room."

Kessler nodded and punched in a number. "Please close the door behind you."

Linda gave Mulder a sympathetic smile when he walked out of the sheriff's office. "He's had a lot of inquiries from the national media this morning, among other things. Will doesn't like the spotlight."

Mulder returned her smile. "That makes two of us."

"Do you want me to just start sending the guys in to see you? It shouldn't take long to round them up."

"That would be great, thanks."

Forty minutes later, Mulder looked up from the notes of his fourth interview to find a familiar face in the doorway.

"Thought you might need a caffeine break."

"You mean that cup's really for me this time?"

Michael Hobart smiled. "I'm not interrupting?"

"Not at all. A break sounds good." He waved her in and accepted the cup she offered.

She took the seat next to him. "Will said you wanted to talk to me?"

Mulder sipped carefully from the steaming mug. "I wasn't ready for you quite yet, but sure. I'll make the time if you can do it now."

Michael watched him over the rim of her cup, her eyes twinkling with some unshared joke. "No place I'd rather be."

---

Chapter 4

Warren Community Hospital
Autopsy Room #2
11:20 am

Scully sutured the incision and sent Jane Doe's body back to the morgue minus the usual tissue and fluid samples, stomach contents and fingernail scrapings. She had no expectation that any new information would be forthcoming. Serial killers usually maintained a specific pattern, but this one was obsessed with perfection, right down to the length of the facial lacerations. It told her he did not work in the dark, and that he took great pains to avoid revealing anything more about himself than that.

The only real difference among the victims had been the semen traces. Jane Doe was only the second victim to test positive. The rulings of sexual assault in the other victims had been based on physical trauma and the clothing that had been removed. This new sample would be compared to the first, but Scully expected no surprises.

No additional surprises, she corrected herself. Michael Hobart's amazing guess at the victim's time of death certainly qualified as one. If Mulder had quoted the woman correctly, she had accurately assessed-- by way of a cursory examination in the dark-- that Jane Doe was the first victim, and that her death had taken place
approximately five weeks ago. That fact alone made Scully want to know more. A lot more.

"Dr. Scully?"

She was expecting the attendant with Marcy Brackston's body, but she turned to find a middle-aged man in street clothes leaning in the door. "Yes, can I help you?"

He grinned and came toward her, hand
outstretched. "I'm Ellis McKenzie. Glad to see you started without me.

She shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I spent most of last night reading your notes. Excellent work, doctor." She meant it.

"Not what you expected from a simple country doctor, eh?" he teased. "Thanks. That's high praise, coming from the FBI."

The squeak of rubber wheels outside the door was followed by a discreet knock.

McKenzie turned back to the door and pulled it open. "Come on in, Jerry. We're ready for you."

So that was his name. He'd come and gone so quickly earlier that she hadn't had a chance to ask.

He met McKenzie's eyes with a wide smile. "I saw you come in, Doc. Did Michael ever get hold of you? She left messages all over the place." He wheeled the gurney into the room and over to the table.

McKenzie stepped to the opposite side and helped him lift the body onto the stainless steel surface. "Had breakfast with her."

"She's not coming down to assist?" Jerry's glance met Scully's finally, and the chill in his eyes surprised her.

The coroner shook his head. "Thanks, we'll take it from here."

Scully had the impression that he wanted to change the subject. Jerry evidently took the same hint.

"Sure thing. Just holler when you're done." He favored Scully with another icy glare on his way out. So, she mused, the coroner had breakfast with Hobart, and the morgue attendant thought she should be here instead of this FBI intruder. It answered some questions, and posed a few more.

"I assume you finished the Jane Doe? Anything noteworthy?" McKenzie pushed the gurney against the far wall, then crossed to the cabinet where the gowns and gloves were kept.

"She tested positive for semen. Other than that, there was nothing remarkable. Even the facial lacs are the same length."

He snapped on a pair of gloves and donned a gown. "And the predation marks?"

"Massive tissue loss. Gnaw marks on the long bones consistent with a large predator. Probably a wolf or panther. Agent Mulder told me what Michael said about wolves in the area, so I would have to agree that wolves are the likely predator. I also agree with her estimate that death occurred approximately five weeks ago." She watched for his reaction. "Given the conditions under which she did her exam, I'm impressed that she could be so precise."

He removed the sheet from the body, exposing Marcy Brackston's ghastly smile. "She's an impressive woman. One of the finest minds I've had the pleasure to encounter. Insatiably curious about everything, too." He smiled to himself. "That's a pretty potent combination. I tell her all the time she should go on that TV game show, Jeopardy. They'd be hard pressed to come up with a category she didn't know enough about to blow everyone else away."

"You've known her for a long time, then." She kept her tone casual, but Ellis McKenzie paused to give her a long look.

"She worked for me one semester as an intern."

Scully's eyebrows rose in unison. "Doing post mortems?"

He chuckled, and his guarded expression relaxed. "Assisting, yes. We don't allow college students to do autopsies, not even out here in the sticks." He selected a scalpel from the instrument tray. "Want to sit this one out? These have become pretty routine."

If he was patronizing her, she couldn't detect it. "If you're sure, I could use the time to get some interviews scheduled."

He waved expansively. "Go. Interview. I'll have the tape copied and sent to you this
afternoon."

There was no hint of an agenda in his voice or his expression, she decided, and gave him a smile. "Thanks, Ellis."

He waved absently, already immersed in his work. She closed the door quietly behind her and pulled out her cell phone.

---

Warren County Sheriff
11:20 am

"I've heard of it," Mulder agreed. "Students from a university forensics program studied pig carcasses left outdoors to document various stages of development. The evidence has been validated in a number of court cases. You've done something similar with predation marks?"

Michael smiled. "In a way, but I included more than marks. Gnaw marks can be used to identify the type and number of predators involved. Once that's established, you can extrapolate the length of time the food source was utilized."

Mulder grimaced. "'Food source' meaning the body."

"Exactly."

"And you established your benchmarks the way the students did in the insect study? Putting pig carcasses in the woods and seeing how much was eaten over a period of time?" Mulder was reasonably certain his pork-eating days were over.

"Pigs, yes. And deer. Whenever one was killed in a highway accident, the rangers always gave me first dibs."

Mulder suppressed a shudder and added venison to the list along with pork. "You should publish your findings."

Michael's smile faded. "I tried, actually. No one was buying."

Mulder saw the anger in her eyes; heard the futility in her voice. "A prophet goes unrecognized in his own land."

"Or hers? That almost sounds like the voice of experience"

He shrugged. "Yes, and no. It's a little hard to explain." A masterpiece of understatement that he was suddenly sorry he'd brought up. " I've been reading lately about someone with similar issues."

"So, we have even more in common than I thought." Her eyes warmed as they locked with his. Or tried to. She reached across the table and gently took his hand.

Though she'd been touching him all along, there was something different about this one. Dangerously different, if his instincts were finally reading the situation correctly. He cleared his throat and disengaged their hands. "Michael, I think we need to talk."

One eyebrow quirked up. "That certainly sounded dire." Her tone was teasing, her expression open and guileless.

Mulder felt slightly sick. "My, uh, personal life is a little complicated right now. What I'm trying to say is that it's not a good time to complicate it any further."

"I'm not sure I follow."

Spit it out, Mulder He took a breath. "I'm getting the sense that I may have given you the impression that I'm looking for a personal relationship." He leveled his gaze. "I don't want you to think that's the case."
For a moment, she just looked at him. Then she pressed her lips together in a thin line and looked down at her hands.

When her shoulders began to shake, he felt like an asshole. He was wracking his brain for something to say when she looked up at him again, and he realized with a jolt that it wasn't sobs she was suppressing. It was laughter.

She pressed one hand to her lips to muffle a peal of chuckles, but her eyes were alight with mirth. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mulder. Don't look so stricken. I promise you, I'm not having hysterics." After a moment, she pulled an exaggeratedly serious expression. "Or, maybe you would prefer Agent Mulder?"

Stunned silence for a moment. "Well, don't I just look like an egotistical jerk." He felt the heat in his cheeks.

"Please don't." She stopped chuckling, but the smile remained. "I lived in New York for five years where it's rude to even meet a stranger's eyes, yet I'm still riddled with small town schmooze." She stood up. "You have a couple of nervous deputies waiting to be interviewed, and I'm holding you up." Indulgent smile. "Forget the past few minutes ever happened. I already have." She breezed out the door before he could react.

His cell phone rang a moment later and he fished it out of his jacket pocket. "Mulder."

"Hey, Mulder. It's me."

Her voice made him smile. "Hey, Scully." He looked at his watch. "Finished already?"

"Yes. Would you like some help with the interviews?"

"Always. I'll come pick you up."

"No, I can walk. It's only a couple of blocks. See you in a few minutes." She hung up.

"Are you ready for me, sir?" A young deputy stood at the door, hat respectfully in hand.

Feeling inexplicably lighter, Mulder waved him in. "Have a seat, deputy. This won't take long."

---

Michael kept the smile firmly in place all the way to the front door. Linda Mercer's eyes followed her. She could feel them boring into her back.

"Michael, Will wanted to see you before you left."

Hold it together She pushed the door open but paused long enough to call over her shoulder, "Tell him I'll call him later. I'm late for an appointment." She let the door close on the woman's response and bolted for the car.

---

Strong sunlight bouncing off acres of snow cover blinded her for a moment. Scully paused in the shade of the ER entrance's canopy until her eyes adjusted, noting gratefully that the wind seemed finally to have quieted down.

The sidewalks in front of the hospital were clean and dry with a sprinkling of ice melt that crunched beneath her shoes. Boots would have been a nice, but she'd been too rushed to consult the weather channel for packing tips.

When she reached the bridge, things got a bit trickier, and she had to step carefully to keep her balance.

Rather an apt metaphor for her life these days, actually. Treacherous ground with a thin coat of safety that crumbled noisily with every step.

She wanted to go home. The autopsies were just something to keep her occupied. Whatever key the killer had left behind that would help them catch him wasn't in the bodies he'd savaged. Her real job here was to watch Mulder, and that was the last thing she wanted to be doing. It just hurt too damned much.

It wasn't that she seriously thought he was interested in Michael Hobart, though that certainly would have hurt. It was that she felt superfluous. Worse than that, conspicuously unnecessary.

Outside the Bureau, Mulder was in no danger of encountering someone he should know but didn't recognize. There was nothing wrong with his short-term memory. It was only the past that posed a threat. She'd been unable to convince Skinner of this, which was why she was here.

And now, it looked as if there would be nothing in the autopsies that any competent lab assistant couldn't handle.

He didn't even need her help with the profile, not with Michael persistently at his beck and call. Relentlessly at his beck and call.

Scully turned the corner and sighed. Speak of the devil...

Michael Hobart was coming briskly down the front steps of the Sheriff's office, head down and arms pumping. A woman in a hurry. Scully had to sidestep quickly to avoid a collision.

Michael's head came up with a surprised gasp. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't see you." She skidded to a stop inches from Scully. "I, uh, I'm late for an appointment. I can't stay."

Scully caught a whiff of expensive perfume and felt her jaw tighten. "Something to do with the case?"

The woman shook her head, eyes downcast. "No, not really. I...I'll see you later." She fled to her car and pulled away from the curb fast enough to squeal the tires.

Scully went inside, shaking her head.

She found Mulder was in the conference room talking with a uniformed man whose back was to the door. His eyes warmed when he saw her, and the man he was interviewing turned in his seat to follow his gaze.

"Deputy Kendall, this is my partner, Agent Scully." Both men stood. The deputy held out his hand.

"I'm Jessie Kendall, Ma'am. It's nice to meet you." He smiled, shook her hand, and sneezed. "Sorry," he sniffled.

"That's okay." She retrieved her and tried not to inhale.

"We'll be in touch if we have any more questions. Thank you for coming in," Mulder told him, resuming his seat.

"No problem." Deputy Kendall nodded to Scully. "Ma'am."

Scully waited until he closed the door, then took the seat he'd just vacated. "Isn't he the one who pulled us over yesterday?"

Mulder was making notes on the legal pad in front of him. He nodded absently. "Yeah. He was the last deputy on my list. I still have to talk with the sheriff." He put down the pen and looked at her. "So, how were the autopsies?"

"Autopsy. Singular. I bailed after the first one."

That raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? What happened?"

"The coroner finally showed up, and he offered to take over. There's nothing remarkable about any of the bodies, Mulder, except for the fact that they're not remarkable."

He tipped his head to the side and crossed his arms. "Meaning...?"

"Meaning that the wounds and markings are so similar that they could have been done on an assembly line."

"Yeah, Michael's profile said the same thing. I meant to ask her about it." He bent over his notepad and jotted something down.

"Did she explain how she came up with her timeof -death estimate?"

"The wolf-tooth equivalent of tool marks gave her the number of predators. She estimated how much that number of predators would consume in a given period while the flesh was still edible." He frowned. "But it occurs to me that counting tooth marks in the dark seems a little implausible."

"I was just going to say the same thing."

He made another note. "I'll ask her, if she comes back."

"If she comes back?"

He leaned back and scrubbed at his face with both hands. "Yeah, I, uh, made an ass of myself. She took it well, but I got the impression that working with the great FBI profiler has lost some of its charm."

She quirked a questioning eyebrow. Mulder sighed.

"I thought she was coming on to me, and I told her I wasn't interested. Nicely. She laughed in my face."

That hardly fit the impression she'd gotten just a few minutes earlier. "She laughed?"

He gave her a narrow look. "Sure, rub it in."

Scully shook her head. "I'm didn't mean it that way. I saw her on my way in, Mulder, and she was not amused. Actually, she looked like she was about to cry. I was going to ask you what happened."

He looked at her blankly for a moment. Then, recognition seemed to dawn. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, elbows propped on the table. "So, have I always been this dense?"

She smiled at the top of his head. "I assume that's a rhetorical question."

He peered at her over the tips of his fingers. "She faked me out, and I bought it."

"It happens to the best of us." She patted his arm, ridiculously relieved. "She'll get over it, Mulder. Just act vaguely uncomfortable when she's around. Her dignity will be safe, and so will you."

"That should be easy. I'm uncomfortable now just thinking about working with her."

"And you'll get over it, too. Do we have some interviews set up this afternoon?"

Mulder flipped back the page he'd been writing on and handed her the legal pad. A list of names and times was printed in a feminine hand. He shook his head at the question in her eyes. "Linda wrote it."

A quick rap on the door made them both turn. Sheriff Kessler strode into the room holding a sheet of paper in the air. "We got a hit on Jane Doe." He handed the paper to Scully who angled it so Mulder could see the faxed photograph. "Jacqueline Acres, age 34. A psychologist from Scarsdale, New York."

The photograph did resemble the woman Scully had worked on this morning. "Did they send you dental charts?"

Kessler smiled. "Fingerprints. She worked for the State. I sent them over to Ellis McKenzie. He'll have an answer for us within the hour."

Mulder looked up. "Your medical examiner is also a fingerprint expert?"

"We wear a lot of hats around here. It's a small town." He headed for the door. "Now, I gotta make flight reservations and go talk to her next of kin."

The multi-talented Michael Hobart was from New York, Scully recalled, and Scarsdale was a suburb of New York. She smiled. "Sheriff, I'll take care of that for you."

Mulder objected immediately. "I need you here."

The sheriff hesitated in the doorway. "I'd sure appreciate it, Agents, but not if it's going to hamper the investigation here."

Mulder opened his mouth to respond, but Scully cut him off. "Michael can help, right?" she asked brightly, noting Mulder's gloom from the corner of her eye. "And you're needed here, as is Agent Mulder. That leaves me."

Her logic was irrefutable. Mulder nodded, and the sheriff smiled broadly.

"And I may be able to shed some light on matters when I get back." That those 'matters' included Michael Hobart, she would keep to herself.

For now.

---

Chapter 5

Holiday Inn
Room 212
1:20 pm

Mulder had insisted on driving her back to the hotel to pack. Since Bradford Regional's only flight to New York would be leaving in fortyfive minutes, she didn't have time to argue.

"How long will you be gone?" He was leaning against the connecting doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

Scully breezed past him carrying her cosmetics bag and hair dryer. "It depends on how many leads develop out of the first interview. You know that." She tossed the items into her duffle, then opened the top dresser drawer and grabbed a handful of lingerie. "Two days. Three, at the most." She tucked the lingerie into a corner of the bag and headed for the closet. Living out of her suitcase was a way of life, but some nesting urge had made her unpack it all last night. It would have saved a lot of time if she'd stuck to tradition.

"There's another flight tomorrow. You could go with me on some of these interviews.

She stopped pawing through the closet and looked at him. He was focused on the carpet at his feet. "I'm sure Michael would be happy to go with you."

He looked up then. "Not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be. She knows these people. They might be more open if she were with you."

He shrugged, and she went back to her packing. When the suitcase was filled and zipped, she set it on the floor and picked up her coat. "I can still take the shuttle. You could get started on your interviews an hour sooner."

"I want to drive you." He came over and took her suitcase, then headed for the door in a familiar round-shouldered sulk. He really didn't want her to go.

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

"You're gonna miss your plane." And he was out the door.

She let an exasperated sigh escape, and followed him to the car.

They didn't exchange more than a dozen words on the ride to the airport. When he pulled up in front of the terminal building and left the engine running, she realized he wasn't going to come in with her. It appeared, in fact, that he wasn't even going to look at her. Scully checked her watch. She really didn't have time to indulge his mood, but he was starting to worry her.

"Mulder, I'll call you from the hotel."

He nodded, and reached for the trunk release. "I'll be out doing interviews. You can leave me a message." Eyes on the windshield.

Oh, for heaven's sake. "Don't tell me this is all about Michael."

"It's about your eagerness to ditch me at the first opportunity."

What? "Mulder, it's my job. One of us has to follow up on this, and I'm the obvious choice."

She touched his arm, and he finally met her eyes. Their gazes held for a moment. Finally, he smiled. Faintly. "I'm just feeling a little inadequate in the intuition department. Ignore me."

So, it was about Michael. "My impression is that she's a very talented actress who's used to getting what she wants. Don't beat yourself up too much."

His eyes warmed. "She didn't get past you, I notice."

Watching other women salivate over her partner was nothing new. Karen Berquist. Detective White. Phoebe Green. Diana Fowley. Marita Covarrubias. Mulder's record for misreading women was legendary, and unbroken. "It's easier to spot the subterfuge if you're not its target."

"Just hurry back." He hit the trunk release button and opened his door. "I'll get your bag."

And for once, she didn't grumble a bit.

---

Marcy Brackston's home
3:30 pm

The kitchen was exactly as she had left it two days ago, spotlessly clean and lemon-scented. Her favorite coffee mug sat next to a stack of unopened mail on the counter. A laminated card with her prized recipe for New England pot roast waited on the wrought iron stand next to the stove. Dinner would have been ready at 6:30, just like always.

Instead, the three-pound rump roast in the refrigerator had passed its prime and was headed for the trash whenever Ken Brackston got up the energy to move it there. He had gotten home from his Elks meeting Sunday night to find the house dark and the expected scent of beef and potatoes noticeably absent. Mild annoyance had rapidly become panic when he'd called his in-laws and found that his wife had failed to come pick up their two sons without calling to explain why. Frantic calls to her cell phone and various friends had yielded nothing. Eight hours later, the sheriff was at his door with the bad news.

Mulder kept his questioning as brief as possible. His instincts regarding predatory women might be lacking, but he was having no problem reading Mr. Brackston. The man was near collapse over the loss of his wife. Ruling him out as a suspect-- a necessity no matter what the apparent circumstances-- was a no-brainer.

"Just one more question, Mr. Brackston. Do you know of anyone who might want to do your wife harm?"

Hollow, red-rimmed eyes regarded him sadly. "I can't imagine anyone who knew her wanting to hurt her. Everybody loved Marcy." His voice hitched on her name as it had every time he'd said it.

The kitchen door opened, and two little boys came in on a puff of icy air, stomping snow onto pristine blue and white vinyl tile. They noticed Mulder sitting at the kitchen table and stopped in their tracks. "Daddy?"

Brackston's smile was immediate. "It's okay, guys. Agent... Mr. Mulder was just leaving." He stood up, and so did Mulder. "Go on and get changed. I'll be up in a few minutes."

The two boys gave Mulder a wary glance as they scooted past him and out into the hall. A moment later, he heard the thunder of feet running up the stairs.

"I told them we'll be going to see Mom tonight," the man said faintly. "The funeral home," he explained.

An unexpected rush of empathy for this man and his motherless son's tightened Mulder's throat. "I won't take up any more of your time, Mr. Brackston. You've been very helpful. I know how hard this had to be for you." He offered his hand, and Brackston shook it absently.

"Whatever you can do to get this animal off the streets... " Barely-controlled tears choked his voice down to a whisper.

"We're doing everything possible, I can promise you that." He took his coat from the back of the chair. "I'll just see myself out." He got a faint nod in response.

Mulder closed the front door behind himself with a guilty sigh of relief. He'd been prepared for the grieving husband, but not for the man's young sons. The bewildered loss in those wide, innocent eyes would be with him for a very long time.

---

Scarsdale, NY
3:30 pm

Jacqueline Acres' next of kin was her brother, Jeremy Grissom. Scully had arranged to meet him at his sister's apartment, so she was extremely surprised to find him waiting when she got off the plane. He'd described himself to her over the phone, but it was the "Agt. Scully" sign he was holding that clinched it. They made eye contact, and she walked over to him.

"Mr. Grissom?"

He tucked the sign under his arm and held out his right hand. "And you must be Agent Scully." His handshake was firm and brief. "I started thinking about the directions I gave you and decided this would save us both a lot of aggravation."

"I was going to take a cab, but thanks." He was reaching for her bag, and she let him take it. "Do you have a car?"

His smile was charmingly crooked. "Uh, I left it at the train station in Scarsdale. We'll take a cab to the train."

He was younger than she'd imagined from his mellow voice over the phone. Early forties, at most. Dark hair going gray at the temples. Blue eyes that crinkled ingratiatingly when he smiled. An honest face. About Mulder's height, maybe an inch or two taller. Stunningly white, even teeth. Altogether a pleasant surprise.

He was also quite a conversationalist, as it turned out. By the time they got off the train in Scarsdale, she knew more about this stranger than she did about many people she'd known for years. He made his living selling real estate, which didn't surprise her, and he was first violin with the community symphony part time, which did. His sister Jacqueline had been his only living relative, and the two of them had dinner together several times a week. It was when she failed to meet him for one of their regular dinners that he had reported her missing.

The sadness in his eyes when he talked about his sister was so much like Mulder that it startled her.

"My car's right over here." He picked up her bag once again and headed off across the parking lot toward a shiny black Lexus sedan.

They drove for twenty minutes through gently rolling blocks of luxurious homes and condos set back from the road. He turned right into a wide driveway flanked by iron gates with fancy scrollwork. At the end of the drive was an impressive Georgian brick mansion.

Scully gave him an eyebrow, and he smiled. "I found this for Jackie five years ago. The rent is a lot more reasonable than you'd think."

"Rent?" It certainly didn't look like any apartment building Scully had ever seen.

Grissom parked at the front door and popped the trunk. "Six two-bedroom apartments, two fourbeds and a penthouse." He grinned. "If the
third floor can be called a penthouse."

Inside, it still looked more like a private residence than a multi-family dwelling. There was a discreet bank of brass mailboxes along the right-hand wall, and brass-plate numbers on two doors along the left. Wide carpeted stairs rose along the right wall and curved into a balcony that ran the width of the entryway at the second floor level. It was tasteful and quite lovely.

"Jackie's apartment is this way." Grissom led her up the stairs and through a door at the left side of the balcony. He fished a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the door, then stepped back to let her go first. "Let me make some coffee, and I'll take you to her study."

Grissom put down her bag just inside the door and headed off toward the back of the
apartment. Scully looked around, trying not to stare.

The main room was huge, but nothing like the rest of the house. In fact, it reminded her so strongly of Mulder's apartment-- on a much larger scale-- that she couldn't stop staring.

Dark walls, mismatched furniture, eclectic prints on the walls and venetian blinds on the windows. Hardwood floors with throw rugs. The faintly dusty ambiance of a room that served only to hold belongings. A stopping off place, not a home.

"Not quite what you expected?" Jeremy Grissom stood in the archway to the hall, watching her with obvious amusement.

Scully realized her mouth was hanging open. "It doesn't quite fit with the rest of the house," she admitted.

"Neither did Jackie, but that was part of her charm." He turned and gestured for her to follow. "Come on, I'll show you the real Jackie."

She followed him a short distance down the hall and through an open door on the right. This room was much smaller, even darker and seemed filled floor-to-ceiling with boxes. Grissom flipped on a lamp and she could see that the boxes didn't quite take up the entire floor space. There was room for a computer desk and chair.

Grissom pulled the chair out for Scully and switched on the computer. "Whatever you want to know about my sister, you'll find either on this computer or somewhere in the contents of this room. Everyone she ever met will have an entry somewhere." He indicated the area behind Scully. "Or a picture."

Scully turned around and actually gasped. The entire wall was covered with news clippings, photographs, scribbled notes, pages out of magazines. No "I want to believe" poster, she was relieved to note. Otherwise, it was Mulder's office, to a 't'. Scully cleared her throat. "Your sister was interested in the paranormal?"

"Research, she called it. As long as I can remember, she's been collecting this stuff. About six months ago, she started corresponding with a man who claimed to be an expert. Someone in law enforcement, I think. She said he put her onto a lot of covert information. Some of it's actually valuable, but most of it is nothing but junk." His jaw tightened. "But it was her junk, and I can't imagine throwing it out now."

Scully had a sudden flash of a little girl's room on the Vineyard, preserved intact for twenty years, and of the look in Mulder's eyes when he had showed it to her.

Grissom's mood lightened quickly. "Have a seat, Agent Scully. I'll give you a quick tour, then you can wander to your heart's content. If there's anything to find, it will be here in this room."

Scully looked back at the array of boxes and files. "I have no doubt. I'm just not sure how long it's going to take to find it."

"You can take all night, if you want. I have no problem letting you stay here. I could even stay and help, if you like."

That was certainly unexpected. "It's very generous of you, Mr. Grissom, but I have a hotel reservation."

"I'll charge you the going rate, if it will make you feel better. You're right about how long it would take to go through all of this. And frankly, I'd appreciate having someone else do it." He took a slow breath. "I've known she was dead for five weeks now. I could feel it. Having it confirmed was just a formality. I've been trying to work my way up to going through her stuff for a while now. You would be helping me, too."

There was a wistfulness in his voice that was oddly touching. "Maybe just start with showing me the layout." She sat down at the computer, and he leaned over her shoulder to work the mouse.

"I was here this morning, looking for her address book, when I ran across it. I would never have given it a second glance if not for the phone call I got at the precise moment I was scrolling past the name."

That would have been the call asking him to come down and identify the photograph from Warren, Pennsylvania, Scully knew. "What did you find?"

He nodded at the monitor display, and the file that was highlighted.

"Warren PA," Scully read aloud, both eyebrows rising.

"Told you it was interesting."

"I thought you said she didn't know anyone in Warren?"

"As far as I know, she didn't. And this doesn't seem to have anything to do with the town itself anyway. I looked at some of the text files. It's all correspondence from her contact."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "His name is there?"

"He calls himself 'M'. Nothing more. And she didn't save his email address anywhere I could find."

Scully took command of the mouse and clicked the folder open. A man whose name begins with "M" who may be in law enforcement and claims to be an expert in the paranormal. It wasn't possible... A long list of files appeared, many of them jpeg images. A few were Word documents. Scully scanned the names, but most were number and letter combinations that revealed nothing of their contents.

That was, until she reached the "M's". Her gasp was audible, and Jeremy leaned almost into her lap in response.

"What? What do you see?"

"Mostow," she read aloud. "John Mostow." At his blank look, she added, "It was a case my partner and I were involved in a long time ago. The murders in Warren... the killer uses the same... technique."

Grissom's jaw dropped. "Then, you know who killed my sister?"

Both Bill Patterson and John Mostow were still in prison, and would be until they died. What else it could mean, she wasn't ready to consider. She shook her head. "It can't be the same man."

"How can you be sure?"

"It can't be the same man," she repeated. She clicked the image and held her breath while it opened. It wasn't until later that she realized how traumatic it would be for Grissom to witness.

There, in full color, was an image from a living nightmare six years in the past. The night she'd come upon Mulder holding his gun on Agent Patterson in John Mostow's studio.

Agent Nemhauser, partially encased in gray clay, his mouth split into a hideous, gaping smile.

---

Chapter 6

Warren County Sheriff Dept.
Tuesday, Nov. 5th
5:50 pm

"We were hiking all afternoon. When we got back to the car, there she was lying alongside the path at the trail head." Rob Lambert had the weary air of a man who'd told this story too many times.

"And you're certain she wasn't there when you passed the first time?"

Lambert gave him a patient look. "A naked woman lying two feet away? I would have noticed." He crossed his arms, glancing at his wristwatch in the process.

Mulder jotted a few notes on his legal pad, then put his pen down and mimicked the man's posture. "And your hiking companions...?"

"...were three ten-year-old boys who luckily saw nothing. I took them home as soon as I saw the body, then called the sheriff on my way back. There wasn't another soul around that day because of the weather. My boy and his friends were doing a hike for their Boy Scout badges, or we wouldn't have been there, either." This time, he made a point of looking at his watch, then back at Mulder with a questioning eyebrow.

"That will be all, for now. If you think of anything that might be helpful, please give me a call. My cell number's on the card." Mulder handed one to him, and they both stood up.

Lambert tucked it into his shirt pocket. "I told you everything I know. Believe me, if I could find the guy myself, I'd do it. And I can tell you, there wouldn't be enough of him left to prosecute."

"I can appreciate your frustration."

The man snorted. "I don't think you have a clue, Agent Mulder. My wife knew all of the women who've been killed. She's afraid to go to the damn bathroom by herself." He closed his jacket and zipped it shut. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm sure she's chewing her nails to the quick waiting for me to get home." He gave Mulder a curt nod and walked out, closing the door firmly behind him.

Mulder sat down and let his head hang forward, rubbing gingerly at the knots in his shoulders. The man was right. He didn't have a clue. What was worse, he had no idea what to do about it. He was asking obvious questions and getting equally obvious answers. There was no technique involved; no experience to draw from. It was, for all practical purposes, his first field investigation. And it showed.

Come back, Scully. I'm in way over my head.

It was too bad he didn't have the balls to tell her that. Too bad for him. Too bad for the case. Too bad for the whole damned town.

His cell phone lay on the table to his right, obstinately silent, no matter how many vibes he sent toward New York.

After a long moment, he packed up, pulled on his coat, and headed back to the hotel.

---

Scarsdale, NY
5:50 pm

"What in God's name is that?" Jeremy Grissom took a few stumbling steps backward the moment the image became visible on the monitor.

Scully hit the off button and the screen went blank, but not soon enough. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grissom. I didn't think." She stood up and walked over to where he leaned woozily against the wall, his eyes wide with shock. "Are you all right?" When she touched his arm, he jerked it away and turned his horrified gaze on her.

"Is...is that what he did to my sister?"

The photograph Sheriff Kessler sent out had been retouched to remove the mutilating slashes on the victim's face. "Mr. Grissom, I'm not sure it's in your best interest to hear the answer to that question."

"I have to know."

He seemed to be making a concerted effort to steel himself for her answer. Unfortunately, her rash actions had erased any hope of breaking it gently. "Please, sit down."

"Just tell me the truth." His voice shook, but his gaze was rock steady.

Scully let out a slow breath that puffed her cheeks. "Yes. The killer did the same thing to your sister."

His knees abruptly unlocked and sent him sliding down the wall, but Scully was ready for it. She took him by both biceps and steered him out into the hall. There was a bench to her right, and she lowered him onto it. "Where's the kitchen?"

He waved down the hall. "Back of the apartment. That way." He was swallowing hard.

She hurried down the hall and into the spacious kitchen, snatched a glass from the drain rack and filled it with tap water. When she got back to him a moment later, he was leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed. "Here. Drink this." She put the glass in his right hand and waited until he looked at her. "Drink it, and we'll talk."

He drained it, then handed her the glass. "When was someone going to tell me about this?"

"The details of your sister's injuries will be in the autopsy report, but it's not usually given to the next of kin, for obvious reasons." She studied his face for a moment, relieved to see some color returning. "I can't tell you how sorry I am that you had to find out the way you did."

Grissom's horror was rapidly changing to outrage. "This animal is on the loose, and you're worrying about my feelings? Jackie would laugh her ass off, and then she'd kick yours."

Scully felt her throat tighten. He was trying so hard to hide how much her thoughtlessness had hurt him. "We're doing everything we can to find him, Jeremy." Her use of his first name was deliberate, and it seemed to take the edge off his anger.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "So, what happens now? When do we leave for Warren?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to Warren with you. When are you heading back?"

He stood up, towering over her in a very familiar way. She looked up into stormy blue eyes and decided against trying to reason with him right now.

"For the moment, I'm not going anywhere. If your offer to let me stay here still stands, I'd like to spend a few hours looking through the rest of your sister's files."

"Of course it still stands. You're doing me a favor, remember?" His smile was a bit shaky, but the glassy shock had left his eyes. "I'm not sure my stomach's up to it, but I could even make you something to eat, if you like." "That's really not necessary." Not to mention that having him cook for her was a bit too familiar for comfort.

"I don't mind. It'll give me something to do besides hover over your shoulder." He gave her a lopsided grin. "and you won't have to tiptoe around the files to avoid shocking my tender sensibilities."

He had a point. "Okay, then. But please don't go to any trouble. I'm really not hungry." She had gotten a good whiff of the coffee, though, on her brief trip to the kitchen. "I would like some of that coffee you made." She offered a smile that was part apology, part olive branch. They agreed that he would make dinner while she worked, and she would share with him as much information as she could without compromising the investigation. He agreed only grudgingly to the latter, and only after she insisted.

Finally alone with the computer, Scully turned the monitor on and studied the image more closely. It was Nemhauser, of that she had no doubt, but how had Jackie Acres gotten hold of it?

The most obvious answer was Mulder. But if he had been her contact, why the secrecy? It certainly wouldn't be the first time he had consulted over the Internet, and he had never-- to her knowledge-- made any effort to hide his identity. What would be the point?

And what were the odds that a woman Mulder met over the Internet would turn up as the first victim in a serial murder case he was assigned to investigate?

Grissom had said that anything she wanted to know about his sister was in this room. Scully decided to begin her search with the mysterious Mr. M.

She closed the image of Agent Nemhauser and clicked on the email icon, then waited while the program labored to populate a list of over two hundred unread messages. The oldest was dated September 29th, the day Jackie Acres had left for the conference in Pittsburgh. Scully scrolled back past the unread items until she reached the oldest saved message, dated June 6th. Nothing jumped out at her. She sorted the list by email address, looking for any of Mulder's usual aliases. Still nothing.

Finally, she searched the text of all messages for the word "Warren" and for the file name of Nemhauser's image, but got no hits.

Having spent as much time as she had watching the Gunmen work their magic, Scully had picked up a trick or two. It didn't take long to satisfy herself that there were no deleted files of interest, nor any hidden folders.

She moved back to the "Warren" folder and clicked on the date column, putting the oldest files at the top of the list. It seemed the best approach, since the file names themselves were too cryptic to be useful.

The first file was a jpeg image from May of last year. Scully scrolled down until she reached a group of images from early September with similar file names. She highlighted the group and right-clicked the thumbnail function to display previews of the images.

When they came up, she wanted to slap her forehead. It was always so obvious after you knew the answer.

Dreamcatchers. The fine, intricately patterned cuts that had seemed familiar when she found them on the victims looked exactly like the webbing on the Navajo dreamcatcher images now arrayed before her. That Jackie Acres had placed the images in this folder, and a short time later had become a victim bearing those very marks--it was beyond eerie.

Navajo dreamcatchers, a small town in northwest Pennsylvania, and Mostow-like facial mutilation produced absolutely no meaningful connection. Yet, the first victim had put them together.

The question was: how and why?

She pulled out her phone and dialed Mulder's cell.

---

Holiday Inn
Warren, PA
Tues, Nov. 4th
6:40 pm

Mulder was coming out of the bathroom when he heard someone in the hall outside his door and turned back to open it. He was expecting the pizza he'd ordered for dinner. Instead, he found Michael Hobart bent over a package on the floor. She stood up quickly and gave him an apologetic smile.

"Agent Mulder! I didn't know you were home."

So, we're back to Agent Mulder. "I just got here." He jerked his chin at the package that was still on the floor. "Is that for me?"

She bent quickly and picked it up. "I made some changes to the profile after we talked."

He accepted an envelope that looked large enough to contain a manila folder. "Thanks, I'll take a look at it." He did not want to invite her in, but she showed no sign of being ready to leave.

Michael cleared her throat. "Look, I know this is awkward for you, but we still have to work together. I'd really appreciate a chance to clear the air."

She was doing it again. Putting him on the defensive when there was nothing to defend. He tucked the envelope under his arm and closed the door another inch to signal his intentions. "There's nothing to clear, Michael. I'll see you tomorrow."

She reached out and pressed her palm against the door. "If that's true, then you won't have any problem letting me come in to show you the changes I made to the profile."

It was rapidly getting to the point where standing his ground would make matters worse. He stepped back and opened the door wide. "I've got a pizza coming. We can talk until it gets here."

She stepped past him with a wry grin. "Not what I'd call a warm welcome, but I'll take it."

Mulder followed her to the little table under the windows and they sat down. She took the envelope back and opened it, fanning the typewritten sheets out before them. "I marked the sections with yellow highlighter, so finding them isn't the problem. I really wanted to hear your take on what I've done." She selected one of the pages and handed it to him with a shy smile. "I'm coming around to your side on the question of whether this guy is a stranger or not. I think he might be."

Mulder skimmed the highlighted paragraph, once again impressed with the lucid flow of the thoughts expressed. Oddly out of character, though, now that he knew the author a bit better. "What changed your mind?"

"Well, the first victim being from out of the area, for one. Maybe he followed her here, or brought her here. The area may appeal to him because it's remote and unsophisticated. Less chance that he'll be caught before he decides to move on." She leaned closer, pointing to her comments on the paper as she spoke.

"Warren is certainly less threatening than New York, if he followed her from there," Mulder agreed.

Michael's head came up so abruptly that he had to jerk back to keep their heads from
colliding. Her eyes were wide. "She's been identified?"

"Well, yeah. You haven't talked to the sheriff?"

"No. I've been home since this morning, working on my profile. She's from New York City?"

There was something decidedly odd in her reaction. "Scarsdale. It bears out your theory about her clothing, doesn't it?" She had said 'Pittsburgh,' but the sentiment was the same. A large town rather than one like Warren. "You don't look very pleased about being proven right."

His cell phone started to ring, and Michael's relief was unmistakable. Mulder got up and grabbed the phone out of its charger on the dresser. The display said it was Scully.

"Hey, Scully. How was your flight?" He turned away from Michael and took a few steps across the room.

"Fine. Mulder, I'm not going to the hotel, and I probably won't be coming back until Thursday, at the earliest."

All business. Okay, then. "What changed your plans?"

"I'm staying the night at the victim's apartment in Scarsdale. Her computer is here, and a room full of notes that I have to review."

"Anything promising?"

Pause. Long pause.

"Scully?"

"I don't know how much to tell you over the phone." Her voice was tentative.

It occurred to him that she might not be alone. "Is someone there with you?"

"Jacqueline Acres' brother, Jeremy Grissom is here, yes. He's the one who showed me the files."

"Is everything okay?" She sounded odd. Not in danger. Just odd.

"Everything's fine, Mulder. I'll bring you up to date when I call tomorrow afternoon."

Two sharp raps on Mulder's door signaled the arrival of his dinner. Michael jumped up from the table. "I'll get it for you."

"Mulder, who was that?" Her tone said she already knew.

"Michael's here. We're going over some changes she made to the profile."

"In your room?"

He could lie, but decided against it. "Yes."

"I see. I'll talk to you later tomorrow. Have a good night, Mulder." The line went dead.

Mulder clicked off his phone just as Michael came back with the pizza.

"I gave him a buck." She balanced the box on one palm and gathered the papers up with the other.

Mulder took the box from her hand. "I'll take care of that. We can talk more tomorrow."

She stopped picking up papers and looked at him. "You want me to go."

He hefted the box. "I didn't really get enough for company. Sorry." And he wanted to call Scully back and talk to her, preferably without an audience.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but did your partner go home?"

He heard hope in the question. "She went to New York this afternoon to talk with Jacqueline Acres' family."

Her expression flashed something that could have been alarm, but it was gone almost immediately. "Then, she'll be back."

"With some answers, I hope." He put the pizza box down on the cleared table and looked at his watch.

Michael not only took the hint, she seemed eager to leave. "I'll let you get to your dinner." She went to the door and let herself out without a backward glance.

Mulder picked up his cell phone as soon as she was gone and punched in Scully's number. The call went immediately to voice mail. He tried again with the same results. She had shut off her phone.

---

Scarsdale, NY
6:50 pm

Scully closed the cell phone and placed it on the desk with exaggerated care. It was her way of suppressing an urge to throw it across the room. A moment later, she picked it up, but just long enough to shut it off completely.

Several deep breaths later, she got up and headed for the kitchen. The absence of any aromas other than stale coffee told her that dinner was either something uncooked or totally nonexistent. The latter would be fine, because her appetite had vanished with the sound of Michael Hobart's voice.

She found Jeremy Grissom seated at the square oak table with his elbows propped and his head in his hands. There were two opened wine bottles in front of him, one empty and one only three-quarters full. "Jeremy?"

He looked up at her, and his bleary, red-rimmed eyes told her where the wine had gone. He tried for a smile and failed miserably. "I thought I was prepared for the truth, but--" He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I should go." He pushed the chair back and stood up, swayed a moment and sat back down just as Scully reached his side.

"You can't prepare for something like this. No one can." The coffee pot held a sludgy residue that looked totally undrinkable. "I'll make us some coffee, if you'll tell me where to find it."

"I should go," he said again.

"You're in no condition to drive. Besides, you shouldn't be alone."

He gave her a loopy grin. "Don't have to drive. I own this building. My apartment's the penthouse." He employed the overly precise enunciation of the thoroughly inebriated.

"Okay, then you're in no condition to walk. And I could use some coffee myself. Where is it?"

He waved at the cabinets to his left. "Right there, next to the pot."

She kept an eye on him while she started a fresh pot, realizing too late that she should have moved the wine out of reach first. He was halfway through another glass of it before she rejoined him at the table. "That isn't going to help, you know."

He lowered the glass and studied her face for a moment. "You look like you could use this even more than me. I. Whatever." He nudged the bottle her way. "Glasses are over there." He waved at a wrought iron wine rack that held a dozen or so bottles and a collection of glasses suspended upside down.

Suddenly, the thought of a gentle buzz was very appealing. She got up and fetched herself a glass. When she came back to the table, he picked up the bottle and filled her glass.

He raised his glass. "To justice."

Scully took a long swallow and let the loose warmth flow from her throat to her fingertips.

"To justice."

---

Chapter 7

Scarsdale, NY
Tuesday, Nov 4th
8:00 pm

"She had a car reserved at the Pittsburgh airport, but she never picked it up." Jeremy Grissom took a sip from his recently refilled glass, made a face, and set it back down on the table. "This tasted a lot better an hour ago." He eyed Scully's empty glass. "You didn't like it, either," he pronounced sadly.

"It was fine, Jeremy. One is my limit." It was one more than her limit, actually. "Did the police check with the cab companies?"

"No record of anyone picking her up." His eyes widened. "The killer took her from the airport?"

"Or she went with him willingly. It seems unlikely that she could have been forcibly taken from such a public place."

"Then, you think she knew him?"

This was sensitive ground. The list of suspects would naturally include Jeremy himself. "Yes."

He studied her face for a moment. "You'll need to eliminate everyone she knew, then. Including me."

"Yes," she said again. "Can you account for your whereabouts on the day she disappeared?" Scully had to work to find her interrogator's voice. The guilt from having brutalized his emotions with that photograph was still fresh.

"She flew into Pittsburgh on Labor Day weekend. I was here working on a plumbing leak that had everyone's water shut off for two days. My tenants will remember it, I'm certain of that."

Scully smiled. "I'm sure they will. You know I will have to verify that."

"I understand." He was silent for a moment. "I don't want you to waste any time chasing the wrong suspects. Anything I can do to help you find everyone you need to eliminate, just let me know."

The subject matter seemed to have sobered him up considerably. He took a deep breath. "Guess it's time to put away the alcohol and make some coffee." The illusion of sobriety lasted until he stood up-- too quickly, as it turned out.

Scully was on her feet and around the table in time to avert disaster. She held onto him while he found his balance, her right arm around his waist and her left hand gripping his forearm. It wasn't until she looked up into surprised blue eyes that she realized how intimate the contact must have seemed to him. She released him immediately. "I'll make that coffee for you."

While she was measuring and pouring, she could feel his gaze on her back.

"That looked like a reflex, Agent Scully." There was a teasing lilt in his voice, but with something beneath it that felt warm and dangerous. "You've had a lot of practice saving somebody's ass, I'd say. Your partner?"

Scully spent an inordinate amount of time wiping the counter before she turned around. He was watching her with a smile that matched the honey in his voice. Mulder was the last topic on earth she wanted to be discussing with this man. "I have to get back to work. And you need to get some sleep."

Jeremy's sigh was resigned and slightly amused. "I heard that. Loud and clear." He took an experimental step with his hands held out for balance. "I don't suppose you'd like to walk me to my door."

She smiled and shook her head.

"Well, good night, then. Thanks for the sympathetic shoulder. I mean that."

She smiled, nodding her thanks. "I'll have to speak with your tenants in the morning."

He shrugged. "They'll all be home. Retirees, except for Jackie and me." He said her name this time without the tremor in his voice. "If you want copies of anything from her computer, there are plenty of diskettes in the bottom right drawer."

"Thank you, Jeremy. I'll take a cab to the train station when I'm finished. I appreciate your cooperation." She waited for him to renew his insistence that he'd accompany her back to Warren, but it never came. She walked with him to the front door, then went back to the computer room.

Her cell phone's blank display stared up at her from the desk like a silent rebuke. She turned it back on, and felt disappointment edge out relief when the 'message waiting' icon failed to appear. If she called him now and got his voice mail, her imagination would take over, she knew. No, she would just leave the phone on. If he needed her, he would call.

She signed onto the Internet and typed in the Bureau's search engine URL. When the site came up, she entered Michael Hobart's name and waited.

---

Warren, PA
Wednesday, Nov. 5th.
11:00 am

Mulder tripped over his own feet getting to the phone and still caught it on the first ring. But it wasn't Scully's voice on the other end of the line.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." Michael chirped in his ear. "You keep banker's hours, I see."

"I'm setting up interviews for this afternoon. It's quieter here. And warmer." And he wanted privacy when Scully called. "What's up?"

"If I said 'a suspect', would it take the gloom out of your voice?"

Evidently, a smile wasn't the only expression that could be heard in one's voice. "You're saying you have a suspect?"

"I'm saying I might. I'd like you to interview him with me, if you have time."

His first interview wasn't until 2:00. "Here in town?"

"I'm afraid not. He lives in Jamestown, not far from my office. It's about twenty miles, so maybe an hour there and back."

Plus whatever time it took them to find and talk to the suspect, Mulder thought darkly. All of it the company of the wrong woman. "How did you come up with this guy?"

"I'll tell you on the way. I promise, you won't be disappointed."

He was already disappointed. And skeptical. It would be an amazing coincidence if Michael had managed to turn up a viable suspect, mere hours after Mulder had all but thrown her out of his room. It felt too much like a counterstrike for comfort. On the other hand, he couldn't afford to ignore a potential break in the case, given his dismal lack of success.

"Where should I meet you?"

She chuckled. "I'm pulling up next to your car as we speak. And I've got some hot coffee for you, too."

"I'll be right out." He shut down his laptop, ran careless fingers through his hair, and grabbed his coat. He was pulling the door shut when he remembered his cell phone and had to go back for it. Michael was walking toward the building when he came out the back door.

"I thought maybe you changed your mind and decided to duck out the front." She said it teasingly, but her expression was pure relief as she turned and headed back to her car.

When he got in, she was holding a travel mug out to him. "Fresh and hot. Drink up and I'll tell you all about my hunch."

Mulder accepted the mug and took a careful sip. It was definitely hot, but tasted burned. Bitter. "You wouldn't happen to have cream, by any chance?"

She reached across his knees and popped the glove box latch. "Never leave home without it."

Juggling the open mug and the little travel packets of nondairy creamer took all of his concentration. When he looked up again, they were on the main road, heading north. His first sip of the lightened coffee was only slightly better than the original. "Who is your suspect?"

"I don't know why I didn't think to do it before, but last night, I went through my patient files looking for anyone who matched the killer's profile. I found Harold Coster, age 35, referred to me by the Jamestown Sheriff's department last January. I only saw him one time, and I'd forgotten all about him... until I read my case notes. He fits the profile so well, I might as well have written it with him in mind."

"Did you?" He asked because she seemed to be expecting a response. "Subconsciously, I mean."

Michael shrugged. "I guess it's possible. Either way, he fits both your profile and mine in several important areas." She looked over at him and smiled. "And the really interesting part is, he's both the stranger you suggested, and the local that I did."

Cryptic. Deliberately so, if he could count on his faltering intuition at all anymore. He took another distinctly unsatisfying sip of coffee and vowed silently not to rise to the bait. His phone chose that moment to ring, and he dug it out of his breast pocket with a grateful sigh.

"Mulder."

Silence for a moment. "Mulder, it's me."

A surprising pang of loneliness spread through his chest. "Hey, Scully. How's it going?"

"Better than I expected. I have a few leads to follow up, but I should make the 4:20 flight back to Pittsburgh. That would put me in Bradford around six o'clock tonight."

Just the thought of having her back made him smile. "I'll pick you up at six, then."

"Wait until I call. If something comes of the leads, I might still stay another night. I just wanted to give you a heads up." Pause. "How did you do with the interviews yesterday. I forgot to ask last night."

Yeah, because you hung up on me before I could say anything. Out loud, he said, "I'll tell you when you get here." Pause. Deep breath. "Hurry back, okay?"

He winced in the few seconds of silence that followed. Then her voice drifted across the miles, all the stiff formality melted away.

"I'll see you soon." There was another second or two of comfortable silence before she clicked off the call.

"So, she must be on her way back?"

Michael's voice disintegrated the mood and left him abruptly, unaccountably irritated. Mulder closed the phone and put it back in his pocket before he looked at her. "Yes, she thinks so."

Michael nodded at the windshield. "Is she having any luck, then?"

He took a long sip from his coffee, then addressed his response to the side window. "I won't know that until she gets back."

The scenery whizzing by outside his window was making him dizzy, so he shifted his gaze to the windshield. "How long until we get there?"

"About twenty minutes." She gave him a sidelong look. "You could catch a few winks, if you're sleepy. You look like you had a long night."

That was an understatement. "Too much
caffeine." He gave the coffee mug a baleful look and closed the lid. "I think I've had enough."

Michael shrugged. "You should drink the stuff during the day, not at night."

Yeah, whatever. He set the mug on the floor and went back to watching the scenery. "If I nod off, just nudge me when we get there."

She gave him a fond look that made his skin crawl. "You know I will."

---

Upper East Side
Manhattan, New York City
Wednesday, Nov. 5th
11:20 am

Scully had spent most of the morning reviewing files on Jacqueline Acres' computer before finally deciding to take a copy of the whole hard drive back to Warren with her. There was just too much information for the time she had.

Talking with Jeremy Grissom's tenants had told her exactly what she'd expected. He was a nice guy who kept the property in wonderful shape, and he had spent Labor Day weekend working on the plumbing. And of course, his rent was too high.

Jeremy did ask again if he could come back to Warren with her, but he'd seemed to know the answer before she gave it to him. She asked him to go through Jackie's papers over the next few days and contact her if he found anything at all unusual. He agreed, and then drove her to the train station.

She debated the wisdom of her next move all the way to Grand Central Station. Even now, standing in front of Michael Hobart's last known address, she was warring with herself.

Mulder would understand this investigation even less than he had her probe into Diana Fowley's checkered past, and that was saying a lot. And it wasn't as if she even knew what she expected to find. There was just something about the woman that invited suspicion, and not all of it had to do with Mulder.

She would talk to a few neighbors, purely as a background investigator. If nothing turned up, that would be the end of it.

She started with the doorman who had been watching her pace back and forth in front of the building. When she approached him
displaying her badge, he raised an eyebrow.

"I might have pegged you as a stalker, but not a member of law enforcement. Appearances can be deceiving, can't they?" He had the bearing and tone of a snooty maitre d'.

"Do you remember a tenant by the name of Michael Hobart?"

The man's superior expression changed to mild concern. "Of course. Is she in any trouble?"

"That's an odd question, Mister...?"

"Masterson. John Masterson."

"Mr. Masterson, why would you think Michael is in trouble?"

He shrugged, the supercilious eyebrow back in place. "You're with law enforcement. What else could it be?"

"Just a simple background check, Mr. Masterson. Nothing sinister. What can you tell me about Ms. Hobart?"

Masterson shifted his attention to a smartly dressed woman approaching the door. Smiling, he touched two gloved fingers to the brim of his hat and opened the door with a flourish. "Good morning, Mrs. Templeton."

"Good morning, John." She cast a suspicious eye at Scully and entered the lobby.

The man's smile vanished instantly. "Do you have a warrant?"

Scully smiled thinly. "This is not a criminal investigation, Mr. Masterson. I'm just asking if you can tell me anything about a former tenant."

"Then, I'd prefer not to answer."

Knowing the likely response, she asked, "Would you allow me into the building so I can speak with her neighbors?"

He snorted. "Hardly."

The door opened behind them and a tall man exited the lobby. He stopped in front of the doorman. "I just saw Maggie Templeton in the elevator. She says there's a woman out here asking about Michael Hobart." He turned to Scully. "Would that be you, by any chance?"

Scully held up her badge and introduced herself. "And you are...?"

"Mike Castle."

"Did you know Michael Hobart?"

The tall man chuckled. "You could say that. We lived together for four years. How does that concern the F.B.I.?"

"It's just a background check. May I speak with you for a few minutes?"

"I was just on my way out. You can walk with me, if you like." He gla