TITLE: Scandal
AUTHOR: Spooky's Girl
DATE: November 2, 2001
CATEGORY: UST, RST, MSR, casefile
RATING: R due to some violence, adult situations and language
SUMMARY: A serial killer from Mulder's past is on the loose and brings
the agents up to Canada's capital City, Ottawa, for further investigation.
DISCLAIMER: Hmm...this'll be a long one. Mulder, Scully, Skinner, they're
not mine, I wish they were but they're not, they belong to Chris Carter,
1013 and FOX. Don't sue, I'm poor, I'm barely making it through school.
Derek St. Paul, Jude Harlem, Jeremy Hunter and Katrina Menard are my own
characters and they belong to me solely.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is taking place current time, in what would be
season nine. However, forget Requiem ever happened, Doggett and Reyes
joining the X-Files, that Scully was ever pregnant and William born and
forget the Existence kiss cause in this fic, they never happened, it's
just an extension from seasons 1-7. It's just my own timeline right now,
I figure if CC can mess around with his, I can mess around with mine! I
decided I wanted to place the agents in a location I'm familiar with for
my last long piece, and I'm not familiar with much more than Canada, so
here they are, enjoying the Canadian lifestyle while they can (with a
murder in their midst). Hey, you write what you know, and I know Ottawa!
THANKS: To Nancy (Super Beta) for doing the beta, especially on a piece
this long, and to Tammy for the partial beta as well...my all-star beta team!

~*Prologue*~

August 14, 1989
3120 Plews St.
Charleston, South Carolina

He was watching, waiting. It was too soon after the last one. He should
wait, he wanted out. They were after him. Four months, three days,
twelve hours and thirty-six minutes, far too long in his mind. However,
he managed to avoid them. He's not stupid, he's planned for every
eventuality, right down to the last detail. Everything was perfect, he
was nothing if not a perfectionist, a skill he had perfected all
throughout his university career. Only now has it truly become useful to
him.

They've come too close this time now though. He wasn't done, things were
never meant to be unfinished, they won't be unfinished, he just needs
some patience.

And a way to keep them off his back.

A false trail, they may have the Bureau's finest after him, but he's
smarter than all of them. Nobody understands him but himself, so how
would it be possible for them to get fully into his head? It isn't,
he'll do something fully unexpected to throw them off their lead, then
get the last one done. Then make his escape.

The plan was sound and foolproof, he worked alone, he was in charge of
himself, he won't make a mistake. A mistake will cost him his life; he's
not finished yet though, so he won't screw up, he won't risk what's most
important to him now. They'll all pay for what they've done, each in
their own way, some of them have already, one more will later tonight,
the rest will have to wait, but they'll get their due too.

They were parked in front of the final house. The street was dark with
the exception of the odd streetlamp giving off and eerie yellow light.
The neighbourhood was empty, and so it should be for 3am, with the
exception of the four cars parked on the road, each containing two
passengers. They were only getting in his way. The house stood in front
of them, tall, white, almost Victorian style showing the true age of the
city. It was made of brick, meant to take the impact of high winds due
to tropical storms or worse, and it's probably seen its share of both.
The large bay window on the front had a pale blue shutter on either side
of it, as well as the main windows on the second floor. The third floor
contained a single window, circular and framed in white wood.

There was a porch around the back, although he couldn't see it, he just
knew. It was facing the ocean, all houses facing the ocean had a porch
in Charleston, it was part of the attraction. If the building wasn't so
surrounded he knew that would be the way to get inside, however he'd
have to take the creative approach.

He didn't know what he did to lead them to him on this night, how they
pinpointed who his next victim was, however he knew that the profiler
they had was damn good. He was sitting in the squad car two houses to
the left, waiting for him. He could sense his eyes looking at him,
trying to search him out in the darkness, he wasn't going to take the
chance and be found. He also couldn't give up his victim tonight; it was
imperative that it was done and fast.

He reached for his cell phone, it was something he never left without
despite the size of it, and dialed a familiar number. He'd dialed the
number many times in the past, but never for the reason he needed to
tonight. It was always used to receive information, to ask questions and
put it all in a logical sense. Tonight he was giving the information.
"Constable Milton Rode please."

The Constable was sitting in the car directly across the street from the
house; he knew this, however he figured he could drag him away from the
house. "Rode." He answered simply into his phone.

"You're too late." The man ran his fingers through is thick curly blond
locks before speaking again. "You've got the wrong house, you're too
late, it's done."

"Who the hell is this?" The constable's voice cackled over the weak
connection.

"It doesn't matter anymore, it's done, I'm done." The man hung up; happy
with the distraction he created as all squad cars left the road heading
west. He knew they had a back up location in mind, working so closely
with the officers in the past it wasn't hard to find out their secrets,
especially through many of the contacts inside the building.

The man made his way across the darkened street and snuck around to the
back of the house, oblivious to the dark-haired man trailing him. The
backdoor was unlocked, they were expecting him, however he knew nobody
was inside, well no one but Greta Harlem. The stairs were silent as he
climbed to the second floor, slipping on a pair of black leather gloves,
taking care not to touch anything in the house. From one pocket he
pulled out a cord, maybe an eighth of an inch thick, but strong enough
to do some damage.

The woman lay sleeping on the bed, unaware of his presence, and it took
no effort to slip the cord around her neck. With a quick flick of his
wrists, a minor struggle, it was done; Greta lay lifeless in her bed,
her thick chestnut brown hair covering her paling face.

The cord fell back into his pocket, and this time he pulled out a small
blade, a surgical scalpel. The first part was over with, one more piece
to go. The gloved hand reached out and pulled her hair back, revealing a
creamy expanse of her neck. It was smooth and soft, too bad he had to
mar it this way, but she deserved it, it was her punishment, she needed
to pay for what she had done.

A creak from the hall halted his hand; the scalpel fell to bed silently
as the blond man bolted from his spot by the bed, and into the closet.
He reached for the closest object, an old vase she kept around and held
it high above his head.

He could see in the dimness of the light a second man moving around the
room. The woman was dead, he was too late, however he had found the
scalpel, evidence. He had no time to lose and rushed behind him, the
glass vase shattering upon impact.

He'd have to take an extra life now, it wasn't planned but there was
nothing he could do. The cord slipped easily from his pocket and found
its way around the second person's neck. In two minutes he'd be gone,
just like the woman.

A familiar voice called out through the house, "Agent Mulder?" Constable
Rode.

He thought he had set the man on the false lead, obviously he was wrong.

The man fled, there was no time to kill the unconscious man and the
blond man jumped through the balcony window and off into the night. He
was gone, he was safe, they'd never find him now.


~*Chapter One*~
October 19, 2001

She was going to kill him; this was the final straw. Special Agent Dana
Scully stared at the growing pile of papers sitting on her desk. Her
partner had chosen to take this week off to settle the affairs of his
deceased mother once and for all. She had offered to go with him, help
him, if only to just be there for him when he needed her, however he had
politely declined and she stayed behind. She could understand why he
left, and she knew her anger was unjustified, but she couldn't help but
think that he had left her alone just when all the paperwork was due.
Sure she wasn't going anywhere, very rarely did she work a case with him
out of town, hell very rarely did he ever leave town on his own, however
if she was looking for an easy week, this wasn't going to be the one.

The office seemed very quiet without him, dark, even though the lighting
hadn't changed. Mulder had always enjoyed dim lighting while the doctor
in her preferred bright spotlights. They compromised and used low
wattage fluorescent lights. It was still too dark for her liking. The
room was cramped and small, although without him inside there seemed to
be more space. There was only one desk, despite her protests, however
she really didn't mind. She knew that she could very easily go over his
head and order one for herself and set up a corner of the office just
for her, but she liked the idea of sharing with him. It made things more
partner-like to be able to sit across from him and share the same space.

Except today that space was filled with papers, field reports, expense
reports, autopsy notes and case notes. There were audit reports and
meeting minutes and agendas that Mulder had collected over time and had
yet to dispose of. There was a good month of work in the pile on his
desk and she had a week to do them in, provided she remained
interruption free. She doubted this would be the case, Assistant
Director Skinner always seemed to have something extra for her to do
while Mulder was off jaunting off elsewhere. Chances were likely that
she'd end up bringing home a good few hours of work with her each night
and she did not want that to happen this time.

She had made plans with her mother this week, taking the opportunity to
visit her and catch up while she knew she wouldn't be pulled out on a
case suddenly. She wanted to take long baths at night just relaxing. She
wanted to rent a couple movies and just sit on the couch all night
watching them, not worrying whether she fell asleep on the couch or not.
It looked as if she was going to scrap all those plans now; her
weeknights would be spent in front of her laptop.

She puffed out a short breath, trying to blow away an errant coppery
strand that had fallen in front of her eyes *snap out of Dana, there's
work to be done, no time for daydreaming* she mentally reminded herself
and sat down in Mulder's large leather chair. First thing was sorting,
figuring out what was what and which form to use. There was a box of
receipts in his bottom drawer she had to go through as well. Expense
reports first, the only thing scarier than an irate AD Skinner over a
late field report was an irate accounting office over late expenses. She
sighed one last time before setting to her task; it was going to be a
long week.

~*~*~

Same date
Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
Parliament Hill, East block

"What's the status of that report Sara, I need it yesterday you know."
Jenson Bennet stood at her desk inside her office. It was nothing more
than a cubicle, but it was her home six days of the week, that and the
'Cartier Room' on the first floor where the policy committees were held.
Nine times out of ten she could be found in either room unless she was
out of town at a convention. Her job didn't leave much room for a social
life. Actually she had to laugh at the very idea of a social life.

She had several friends, all working in separate departments and they
constantly jibed at her regarding her lack of a life, teasing her with
the idea that all she needed was a bed and a closet in her office and
she could officially call it home. They didn't understand though, none
of them needed to work as hard as her. Sure Canada faced all sorts of
issues, especially regarding the foreign affairs department and justice
department, but none of them were equivalent to agriculture. Canada was
the number one producer of wheat in the world, somebody had to fight for
the farmers out west, may as well be her.

"It's coming Jen, sit down and take a breather, Derek isn't going to go
anywhere without you." The Honourable Derek St. Paul, Minister of
Agriculture, her boss; of course he wasn't going anywhere without her
reports. However, being cabinet minister and an impatient man overall,
he wasn't going to be too pleased if she was late for the meeting. She
held the information they needed and the results of soil quality tests
from the southern fields in Saskatchewan, as well as the gas emissions.
This week would mark the first submission of all countries under the
Kyoto Protocol with their results, and it was necessary for Derek to
make sure they were on target, and if not, a revision of policy would
need to be made to get them back on target. He had committed to a rather
large reduction; if they didn't start out right, Canada would be the
laughing stock of the international environmental world. Needless to say
it was a big event.

"Now Sara," she grabbed her briefcase stuffed with papers and her blazer
from the back of her chair. "If I make Derek wait any longer and he gets
pissed off as usual, I'll take it out on you." She stopped by the
doorway of her office, and stood in front of a large full-length mirror.
Her blouse needed straightening and her hair was a mess. Ash blond
strands stood out at all ends, giving her the look of a mad scientist
moreso than a high-ranking employee of the public sector. She quickly
grabbed her comb from her desk and started running it through her hair,
trying to settle it some. She knew it was useless, the wind would knock
it out of place again, however she had to try.

"Done." Her assistant shoved the papers in into Jenson's awaiting arms
and grabbed the comb from her hand. "Now go, before Derek starts calling
here and harassing me. I swear that man doesn't need a telephone, he
could probably shout from the centre block building and we'd still be
able to hear him." With that Jenson was out the door.

The day was calm, unusually so for October in Ottawa. The sky was
overcast, however it showed no sign of raining, and there was only a
slight breeze compared to the usual stronger gusts.

And as usual, the hill was covered with reporters awaiting the status of
the meeting she was just about to attend to. If anything, nobody could
say that Canada wasn't environmentally conscious. "Care to give an old
friend a scoop Jen?" She'd recognize that spicy cologne anywhere, and
stopped dead in her tracks as the husky male voice spoke in her ear.
She'd been so preoccupied with getting to the centre block office that
she hadn't heard him come up behind her.

"Sorry Jeremy, no can do, you know Derek will kick my ass if I do,
you'll have to hear about it like everybody else."

"Is that how you treat your friends? I'm wounded." He had a look of mock
indignation on his face; his brown eyes sparkling and blond curly locks
blowing in the cool breeze.

"No, this is how I treat reporters. I don't mix business with personal
matters. You know that. Now if you'll excuse me, you'll hear the results
at the press conference later today, I'm going to be late." She stepped
to move past him, however his hand caught her by the shoulder.

"How about tonight?"

"What about tonight?"

"An exclusive interview, preceded by dinner of course, and followed
by...? he leaned in close, his breath on her cheek, and she felt herself
blushing as he spoke about the rest of his 'plans' for the evening. What
was she saying about a life being overrated earlier?

"Good day Jeremy." She rushed past him and up the steps to the main
building. Derek was standing at the doorway of his office, face flushed
with obvious anger.

"What the hell took you so long?"

"Damn reporters" she muttered before stepping inside and handing him the
progress reports.

~*~*~

Mulder stood inside the doorway of his mother's Greenwich home looking
at the mess she left him to clean up. It was now empty and quiet and
unusually dust free for a change, not that his mother allowed dust to
settle for very long. The heat was shut off, as was electricity and
water. He had called the companies shortly after her death. Only this
week the water was turned back on by his request, his only reason to
maintain a normal level of cleanliness while packing things up.

The house was full of haunted memories he had no desire to remember, it
was never really home to him, just a place he stayed at before leaving
for Oxford. His mother was curt and unresponsive to his needs, providing
food and shelter but never cared much for him emotionally. To her he was
a fuck up and she treated him as such. The day he moved to England his
belongings were either sent along with him, or boxed up in the attic and
his bedroom was turned into a guestroom, cold and impersonal like the
rest of the house.

Anything that resembled a family living in this house died the day his
mother did, all photographs of him and his sister burnt and left in
ashes at the bottom of her garbage can. There was no sign of her ever
being married either, it was as if Bill Mulder had never existed.
Despite what his mother had felt, he still loved him, and wished there
was some sign of him around. However when he died, his mother donated
all his possessions, not calling him once to help, and signed the land
off to a real estate agent. He thought at first it might have been
because she thought him dead too at the time, buried in an explosion in
a rock quarry in New Mexico, however when he spoke with the lawyer
afterward about the estate, he had found out she did it all after she
knew he was alive.

He never confronted his mother about it, but he wanted to. He didn't see
how she could do it with such clinical detachment; he was the man she
was married to for so many years. He didn't understand until now though.
He was about to go through all her belongings detached from what he was
actually doing. Clothes were being donated to homeless shelters nearby,
all perishables were being and jewelry and antiques were being appraised
tomorrow and sold no matter the price. The trunk of his car was full of
folded boxes, another box on the passenger seat contained cleaning
materials, a small tool kit, garbage bags and tape to put the boxes
together. He had one week to clear the house and put it on the market.
He wanted out in three days.

He had already found a nearby motel to sleep at during his stay; he knew
he couldn't handle having to sleep in a house that he never acknowledged
as his. The first place he thought to clean out was the attic, may as
well start from top and make his way to the basement. He wanted the
first two floors cleared out by evening, the second two by the end of
tomorrow and with any luck he'd be left with disassembling the furniture
the following day.

He asked himself for the second time that day, the first being when he
spoke to the lawyer two hours ago, why he hadn't taken Scully up on her
offer. Things would have been much easier if he had somebody with him to
help; somebody to talk to him and keep his mind away from memories
better left buried.

~*~*~

The main parliamentary press conference room didn't take very long to
fill up, every news agency across the country was eagerly awaiting the
announcement of results of the first testing for the Kyoto Protocol.
Derek had assured the entire team there was nothing to worry about, the
press conference was only set up as an introduction to what the Kyoto
Protocol was, and Canada's role in it. If there were any problems at
this stage, it was still early enough to catch them before they could
cause drastic harm to the final results.

Jenson had agreed with Derek on his assessment of the reports, however
many of the others weren't so sure anymore. They were more afraid of the
public scrutiny they would receive upon announcing their plans than as
to whether or not they could make their goal. Many were having second
thoughts on how they were going to achieve the goal, trying to find less
impacting ways on doing so.

She peeked out from behind the blue gray curtain at the crowd. Many of
the reporters were already sitting in their seats, their tape recorders
sitting on the edge of the large oak conference table and multiple video
cameras set up along the sides and back. Many of them already had a copy
of the press release, reading over the summary of their results and
preparing for the bombardment of questions they were likely to ask the
panel presenting the information. Many of the reporters were familiar,
faces she had seen before and people she had met. They covered the
political beat regularly, knew what to ask and who to talk to in order
to get the information. Some of them were new, not rookies in the field,
but general assignment reporters the local papers and stations had sent
out to help for extra coverage, no doubt due to the lack of hard news in
Ottawa lately. When something happened internationally such as the Kyoto
Protocol, it was likely it would make front page and many features would
follow. That's what the extra reporters were for. She didn't see the one
face she was looking for though, she was sure he'd be here, CBC would
not show up at an event like this without their best political reporter.

"You ready to go Jen?" Derek stood beside her proudly; ready to push his
way through the curtains to take his seat.

"I guess I have no choice, now do I?"

~*~*~

He sat in the gray padded seat in the back row, a large camera to the
left, and another reporter with his notepad in hand to the right, "Colin
Kindley, Ottawa Citizen" he thought with disgust. There was no glory
with these print journalists, all they get is a name, a by-line; their
faces aren't known to the outside world like his was. He was the face
that the entire country remembered and would recognize; Colin Kindley
was probably just going to fade off into the night like most print
reporters did, his story would not be remembered; they never were.

"You ready to go?" He looked up at the cameraman, giving the go-ahead to
start filming, setting up the establishing shot as four committee
members sat around the main table, the Honourable Derek St. Paul in the
centre on the left, and the slim young blonde sitting on the centre
right, Jenson Bennet. His eyes narrowed on her, focusing on her steady
hands as she shuffled the papers in front of her, how they lay perfectly
still, flat, palm face down on the table. It was the sign of confidence.
As a reporter, he knew the different signs of body language and what
they each portrayed. She hadn't seen him yet; he made sure of that,
which was the reason he took the back seat. It allowed him to watch,
without being watched.

"We welcome you today to the first announcement of Canada's involvement
in the Kyoto Protocol," The minister began. "We ask two very simple
rules before we begin. First we ask for silence while we speak, meaning
cell phones and pagers turned off. If one goes off at all, we will
abruptly call this conference to a halt and leave. Second, we ask all
questions be left until the end. We will do our best to answer them all,
however if you ask during the conference, there would be no possible way
for all of the information to get out. I'd like to introduce our first
speaker, Jenson Bennet, our Senior Policy Analyst and Chief of Policy."

He wasn't surprised at those rules; he'd been to press conferences held
by St. Paul. He could be a hard ass; he didn't get to be the Minister of
Agriculture and Agri-Foods by being a softy. It didn't matter though; he
wasn't here to see him. Other than doing his job, he had a second
agenda. Phase one of his plan was set in motion, phase two would begin
tonight.

Her eyes were focused on the back wall as she spoke, glancing around the
room making eye contact with a few of the reporters gathered around in
the first row. "1997, Canada sent twelve delegates, myself, four
scientists, three researchers, Derek St. Paul, two farmers and Deputy
Prime Minister Thomas Phillips, II, to the Kyoto Protocol, a conference
attended by 160 different nations concerned about the Greenhouse effect."

He focused on her mouth as she spoke, watching her lick her now dry
lips. "After forty-eight hours, a global treaty was entered by the
industrial countries of the world to reduce gases emitted into our
atmosphere. Canada has committed to a reduction of 6% by the year 2008,
and we're here to say, we're on target."

Her eyes were sparkling as she continued to report on the results, just
like her mother's were like when he first introduced himself to her
twelve years ago. Much of her reminded him of her mother, which was why
the upcoming night with her was imperative. The reporters began the
bombardment of questions to the table, many of them revolving around
their plan of action. He couldn't care less, all he had to do was make a
statement on video and summarize the conference in less than two
minutes, it wasn't news to him. Instead of focusing on what was going
on, he focused on her instead, on what was going to be the beginning of
phase two in the grand scheme of things.

He looked back at her sitting on the table, she had spotted him, she
didn't acknowledge him, her professionalism wouldn't allow that, but
nonetheless she had seen him. Excellent. He smiled and rose from his
seat, beckoning his cameraman to follow him out.

~*~*~

Several hours had passed since Scully had sat down and since she had
began working on the reports, and she had a total of one and a half
pages completed. She was working at a snail's pace, although she
couldn't explain why. Over the course of the past eight years or so with
Mulder, she had taught him to become more organized with his receipts.
They were no longer thrown in the receipt box haphazardly, but instead
filed in individual envelopes marked with the many categories listed on
the report sheets. The first few times under the system were rocky. In
the beginning she had told him time and time again how to file the
receipts as he persisted in putting them in the box and letting them
pile up, instead of filing them in the proper envelopes. He had learned
rather quickly though, and she laughed as she recalled the expression on
his face when she made him do the expense report for a particularly
active month. She had taken one look inside the box and dumped the
contents on his desk firmly telling him that if he insisted on not
following the system she set up, he could do the reports himself. Ever
since that day there had never been another problem, all receipts were
promptly placed in the proper envelopes and even organized in
chronological fashion. Now if only she could get him that organized
regarding case reports.

His files and case findings were spread across the top of his desk, and
his inbox and outbox were indistinguishable, although she was certain
that he knew exactly what to do with each. She groaned in obvious
frustration, the numbers on the sheet not matching up with the in her
brain and calculator. She's a scientist; numbers should come naturally
to her, except her mind was elsewhere at the moment. Physically she was
in the basement of the Hoover building; mentally she was with Mulder,
wondering how he was coping. It had been a year and a half since he was
last in his mother's house; she never understood why he waited so long
to clean it out. Maybe he just needed the time to mourn and process things.

She looked back down at her papers, noting what needed to be completed.
Two more pages left, miscellaneous expenses and the final total page.
They were usually the easiest as there were always very few
miscellaneous expenses. The fewer there were, the less she had to
justify them, the less amount of time it took to fill out the papers.

She was about to settle back into the chair and pull out the final
envelope when the phone on the desk began ringing. "Scully" she
distractedly answered it, fingers thumbing through the box.

<Agent Scully, Special Agent Brad Waters, Miami field office. >

Miami, the Richmond case. She and Mulder had just spent a week on the
beaches investigating bodies that had gone missing in the middle of the
night and washed up on shore the following day, completely decomposed.
Mulder had thought it was an X-File, lab reports on the autopsies had
proven otherwise and they had finally caught the guy on the fourth day.
"What can I help you with Agent Waters?"

<It seems that our copies of the files for the Richmond case had gone
missing, would you mind faxing a copy to us?>

It took every ounce of will power inside her not to groan; incompetence
was not highly tolerated. "Not a problem, I'm just finishing our expense
report for the trip, you should have it within two hours." She hung up
on him, not allowing another word out of his mouth. Just what she
needed; extra work.

~*~*~

1439 Colonel By Dr.
South side of Rideau Canal
1am

The street was dark outside with the exception of the occasional taxi
driving by filled with drunken students returning from the various bars
in the market to the university located about seven minutes down the
road. Even on a weeknight it was not uncommon to see the bars downtown
packed full. Most of them were first year students, freshly nineteen and
thrilled to be on their own, however one couldn't deny the troops of
upper year students either going to celebrate after finishing their
papers, or enjoying their freedom once again just as much as the first
years were. The market was always alive.

As was the large brown-bricked house sitting at the bend of the canal.
All the lights were out showing no activity, just like many of the other
houses, but as he had learned, appearances could be deceiving.

A bead of sweat dropped from his forehead as he moved against her in a
frantic rush to complete what they had started. The covers had long
since fallen to the ground, the two pillows once sitting next to each
other could be found at opposite ends of the bed, and the fitted sheet
had started to come loose at one of the corners. The couple was not
deterred. Her hands were clasped to either side of the headboard of the
double bed, head thrown back against the wall opening her neck enough to
allow him to lean in biting as he continually thrust into her, both
becoming more frantic as they neared the edge.

One, two three, he was done, and she followed soon after. The room was
silent with the exception of the shuffling of bodies and the sound of
heavy breathing. He glanced over at his partner; her normally perfect
blonde hair plastered to her face at the sides, and the back a general
mess. He ran his fingers through his blond locks, noting that his were
probably just as sweaty if not more so. "That was intense, where the
hell did you learn that Jeremy?"

He chuckled some at her question, of course it was intense, he didn't
grow up in *his* home without learning a thing or two. That thought
sobered him immediately; he knew what he had to do tonight. He had
worked through the agenda so many times in his mind that he was sure it
would proceed without a hitch. "Let's just say that I had to develop a
way to get my sources to speak to me. This was probably the best."

"Well I'll certainly speak to you anytime if you keep this up." She rose
from the bed and he watched her ass sway as she headed to the bathroom
to clean herself up. "Water?" She turned to look at him as she asked the
question, and it struck him how familiar the look was.

"No thanks." He rose from the bed and walked to his coat as she entered
the bathroom. He could hear the faucet running and took the opportunity
to rummage through his pockets before following her out of the room.
"You know," he was smiling at her through the mirror, "You look just
like your mother did at your age."

She turned to him in what was obvious shock; "how the hell did you know
how my mother looked at my age?"

He shrugged, "I saw the picture in the living room." He raised his
hands, now gloved and holding a black wire between them. "However, that
is beside the point, at her age, she looked just like you do."

Jenson had no time to react, he had her pinned against the bathroom sink
and within minutes she lay lifeless in his arms, the cord falling loose
from her neck. "Sweet dreams Jenson Bennet."

He set the cord down on the sink and began to fill the bathtub with cold
water. He had a lot to do tonight and needed to prepare the body for the
next step.


~*Chapter Two*~

October 22, 2001
Greenwich, Connecticut

The final touches were complete, only unfortunately it took him four
days to finish up instead of the three he originally intended. The house
was listed and on the market, furniture and valuables were sold off for
a decent sum, not that it mattered. The money was immediately set aside
in a slush fund just in case something happened to him in the Bureau and
he needed to dip into another account for his search. The money from the
house was going in the same place. The actual inheritance from his
mother however he had invested in five different places, two accounts
actually under Scully's name, without her knowing. He didn't want her to
know until the time came. He just wanted to be secure in any way she
could be if something ever happened to him, or something happened to her
and she had to leave the bureau. The rest of his investments all had her
as his benefactor anyway; in the long run, she'd get all of it. He
didn't want it, it was never his money to have, another unwanted thing
left by his mother.

He was anxious to get back to work and bury his mind into something
other than the past, the previous four days had been hell for him, the
memories of things best left forgotten had flooded to the forefront of
his mind again. He was reliving all of the emotional baggage he had
dropped so many years ago. The attic was filled with old treasures of
his, things he now deemed 'junk' but had once held so much value. His
high school championship basketball from his senior year was piled into
a box with his old yearbooks and trophies. He had books galore in
another box, some magazines, and some actual literature he enjoyed. He
thumbed through several of the poems and remembered the circumstances
that had related to them then and now.

Much of them reminded him of Scully, however he didn't want to mix the
past with the present, it was usually best left forgotten, and the books
went to the local library. He kept nothing from the house except an old
photo album his mother had buried in her closet, much like his but
dating further back to the time of her parents and straight on through
until he left for Oxford. Over the years he had noticed fewer and fewer
photos of him had been entered, stopping at his birthday..."Fox turning
17, Fox turning 18". It left a sour taste in his mouth, however he could
not bring himself to get rid of the book.

He stood in front of the house looking at it one last time as the real
estate agent was placing the sign in the lawn. It was officially on the
market and ready for viewing, however he would not be the one taking the
families on tour. The keys were in the agent's hands now and all but the
final sale papers were filled out. The agent, at his own discretion, set
the price; Mulder just didn't care anymore. It was a house, never a
home; he didn't want to see it again after this. The final sale papers
would be faxed to the office and he'd send them back UPS. If luck was
with him, he'd never have to set foot on this soil again.

He packed the photo album into the back of his car alongside his duffel
bag, it was time to head back to the real world, he was never happier to
be going back to DC. He wanted to see Scully again, he missed her, and
he could have used her here.

Without a single glance back at the house he drove off, counting down
the hours until he'd get to hear her voice -- hell he has as cell phone,
he may as well call her now. She was probably worried sick about him
anyway; he just hadn't been in the mood to talk to anybody.

~*~*~

The day was as cold as it looked, graying skies hanging low and a steady
wind blowing from the north. It was the typical October in Ottawa. The
majority of the trees were bare now, those that weren't only had a
handful of leaves left hanging on the branches, and they'd turned from
their bright reds and yellows to a dull shade of brown. The clouds
seemed endless in the sky, each threatening to open up any minute and
allow the snow hidden inside to fall to the earth and cover it in a
white blanket for a few hours before turning to slush and melting away.
While it snowed often, it never stuck to the ground long enough for
people to worry.

Colonel By Drive was no longer the scenic route it used to. Leaves
covered the roadway and fewer people walked along it as it became
colder. Traffic increased, however nobody paid attention to the canal
anymore.

The canal itself was being drained, employees of the National Capital
Commission working hard cleaning the sludge off the brick walls and
pebbled pathways on either side as it prepared the canal for flooding in
the winter. It was a long and tedious process that lasted several
months, from October to March from cleaning and prepping it for the
winter, maintaining it over the winter as it became the world's longest
outdoor skating rink, to cleaning it and prepping it again to fill it
for the summer. It was a job that nobody wanted, however it paid good
money and many students from all three post-secondary institutions as
well as high school students were able to pay for their education by
working for the NCC.

They all worked separate sections of the canal; a part that was located
closest to where they lived so there were no traveling expenses.
Students lined up from all over the city to apply for whatever position
was available, cleaning, draining, setting up shop at the pavilion,
flooding, and installing and running the various Beavertails shops and
rest stops along the canal. Their favourite part was the free
beavertails they would all receive the day before the canal would open.
The NCC splurged and opened the canal to them only, allowing them to
sample the pastry that would soon be on demand by the entire city and
tourists alike.

Josh Hammel and Sylvia Norton where two of those students from the
University of Ottawa who worked the canal long Colonel By just before
Dow's Lake. They had just finished draining two days ago and for the
past seven hours that day, they had been scrubbing and hosing down the
walls. Each was dressed in knee-high fisherman boots provided by the NCC
and a waterproof windbreaker to protect them from the spray and help
deal with the cold. They were also supplied with a cell phone to get in
touch with the central office downtown for any inquiries and emergency
numbers programmed just in case. It wasn't unusual to find debris in the
canal such as shopping carts or parts from car wreckages. Three or four
times a day they had been calling the clean up crew in to remove said
items.

Sylvia sprayed the walls while Josh took a large snowbrush like brush
and started scrubbing the brick, removing the green sludge. Pieces fell
from the wall to the ground and landed in an ungraceful heap on the
pebbled bottoms along the side. Neither of them was thrilled about this
aspect of the job, but it had to be done. "Hey, Josh!"

The young sandy-haired male looked over at his female counterpart, only
to be greeted with sludge in his face. He grimaced as she started
giggling at the site, making a comment about wishing she had a camera.
He however did not find it quite as amusing as she did and tossed the
sludge back at her. Sylvia had been prepared for retaliation and ducked
as she ran into the shallow water left at the bottom.

What she was not prepared for was stubbing her toe on something at the
bottom and falling face first into the murky green water.

This time it was Josh who broke out in laughter as he saw her emerge,
her normally pale face and dark brown hair a shade of a sickly green,
and her yellow NCC windbreaker almost covered in what looked like a
green slime. She would be sick for days he knew; nobody jumped into the
canal without feeling sick later but he couldn't help himself. "Not funny!"

"How the hell did you fall in?" He managed to spurt out between his
bouts of laughter.

"I tripped over something. Help me pull it out before we call the crew
back in."

"Yeah right, and have you push me in, no thank you." He took two large
steps back toward the wall.

"I'm not going to push you in, one of us is wet and I have to leave to
get cleaned up and warmed up now, you'll be working the rest of the day,
that's enough payback for now, I just need help moving whatever's in
here out."

He finally conceded and stepped next to her, dipping his gloved hands
into the water feeling around for whatever she tripped over. "Got it,
you grab the other end." Together the two of them pulled the object to
the side of the water. Several minutes of silence passed as the two of
them stared at what they had pulled out.

Josh suddenly reached into his pocket and dialed a special number on the
cellphone, not taking his eyes off the young blonde he had just helped
pull out.

~*~*~

It had been months since he'd entered the main newsroom at CBC in
Ottawa, it was a place he tended to avoid, all of the rookies "flitting"
around trying to capture the scoop annoyed the hell out of him. Working
in a beat such as his provided that one advantage, nobody was a rookie.
Dealing with federal politicians day in and day out, CBC couldn't risk
sending an uneducated or overeager reporter in, it would be political
and career suicide. The minute he was offered the transfer out, he took
it with open arms, moving up from the provincial beat to the federal
beat in a blink of an eye. It was exactly where he wanted to be, both
career wise, and strategically. One down, seven to go.

The office was open concept and spacious, each reporter having their own
desk in his and her own area, without walls to block any of them. The
only offices sat at the back of the large room, those belonging to the
story editors. While they did not necessarily edit the stories, they
were known as editors for the sake of tradition. Instead they assigned
stories and sent news teams out to investigate. They were the contact
people between the bureaus and the main newsroom in Toronto.

Reporters and camera people filled the room, each in fast heated
discussions either with each other or whoever they were speaking to over
the phone, each trying to find a story worthy enough of the six o'clock
news. The only one so far was a missing policy analyst from the Hill,
which fell under his beat. He had to laugh at the irony of it all.

He didn't really know why he had been sent here, he'd only received a
message from his bureau chief stating that he was to meet Paul Anderson,
head of CBC National Television Ottawa bureau. With any luck it was
regarding a promotion. He knew the players on Parliament Hill now, he
could continue with his plan and work another beat, and it would
probably be easier on him if he moved. It would remove the current
conflict of interest confronting him, however Paul couldn't know that,
not without confessing and turning himself in.

The news only broke about the Ottawa-Carleton Police recovering the body
an hour ago; he could see some of the reporters on the phone already
contacting people about it, none of them would get the story however, he
already knew Lydia Sherway would receive the assignment. Jenson Bennet
had been an important federal employee as well as a prominent media
figure this past week. Lydia was the top reporter covering the police
beat, bureau chief. She was known city-wide for being able to get
answers from the media relations officer that other reporters had only
failed at doing, all the while being able to prevent libel and contempt
of court. This story was big enough to warrant her reporting it.

So why the hell was he at the newsroom again. He had to wonder.

The office he was looking for was in the far right corner, large glass
walls covered with ivory venetian blinds and a matching glass door with
Paul Anderson's name etched on in black print. The office itself was
basic; a large oak desk sat in the middle with several bookshelves
surrounding it. The first bookshelf contained texts regarding journalism
in general, CBC annual reports and the various style guides that CBC had
used in the past regarding both broadcast and radio. While CBC National
Radio had its own office and staff, there were times he had been called
over to cover for one of their reporters, and knowing their style guide
was essential.

The second bookshelf contained awards earned by Paul over his years in
journalism, dating all the way back to his first year in journalism at
Carleton. He had ended up winning the two Brownie awards available to
him as a first year J student; the first most likely to fall asleep in
O'Brien's class, and the second was most controversial message on the
newsgroup available to the students. They sat proudly on his top shelf,
along side several newspaper investigative awards that he had collected
before moving into broadcasting, as well as several awards he had
received after he joined the broadcast movement.

The third and fourth shelves were lined up with row after row of video
footage, each chronologically ordered and marked with dates. They were
copies of each 6pm nightly news show. Like many other editors, he kept
track of the previous two years' worth of news in his office, replacing
the oldest with the newest and then archiving them in the video library
located at the opposite end of the floor. Next to the shelves sat two
large black leather couches, and four television screens used to monitor
the ongoing breaking new. The office resembled that of an editor like
Paul Anderson who took his job in all seriousness.

Paul Anderson himself was a tall burly man standing at 6'5" with silver
graying hair and somewhere in his mid to late 50s. He was promoted to
Ottawa head of CBC National Television a little over ten years ago and
was still going strong. Jeremy could remember his days working with
Paul, he was somewhat of an icon to him, and always had an interesting
story to tell about when he worked in the field. He was the one thing he
enjoyed most about the newsroom.

He stood at his desk as Jeremy entered the room, his hand extended in a
familiar greeting. "Good to see you again Jeremy, take your seat." His
handshake was quick but firm. This was no chitchat meeting that much he
could be sure of. "I'm assuming Kev told you why I called you out here
today?"

"Actually no sir" he started, referring to his respective title he used
to refer to him back when he worked in the newsroom before being
transferred to Toronto three years ago. "He just told me to get my butt
down here at my earliest convenience... meaning now he said."

"I'm assuming you're the one covering the Bennet woman story on the
Hill?" Paul asked, full well knowing the answer.

"Yes, been keeping my eyes and ears open for any news about it, they're
pretty hush-hush about it."

"Good, keep an eye on St. Paul, he worked closely with her. As well as
try to get chummy with Alyssa Hartwell."

"The media relations officer on the Hill." The name was familiar to him;
she wasn't one of his usual contacts however.

"She was recently promoted to the number one officer for Prime Minister
Adams. If anybody on the Hill knows anything about what's going on,
it'll be Alyssa."

"Promotion, I wasn't aware of that."

"No, it was kept internally to ward off the press from chasing after her
all the time. Alyssa is an old schoolmate of mine, that's how I know."

"And for all this you had to drag me into the newsroom, couldn't do it
over the phone?"

"You know me Jeremy, I know just how much you *love* the newsroom, I had
to bring you back one last time. Not to mention rumour has it Kev is
retiring this year and a new bureau chief will be needed there. Right
now all eyes are on you, you've just got to perform."

"Thank you sir." He rose from his seat with a smile, if things kept up
like this, his plan would follow through perfectly, and not once would
he be suspected.

"By the way, there's a press conference at police headquarters today
regarding Bennet, basement level conference room C. Lydia will already
be there, I suggest you meet up with her as well. Considering the
importance of this story, it's best that you two work together as well."

"Cops", he thought with a smirk. Just what he needed. It was time to go
view his handiwork he guessed.

~*~*~

He had returned. She was thankful for this; her days of boring paperwork
were finally at an end. She had completed the load of paperwork he had
left for her days ago, solely relying lately on Quantico, hoping they
would call her for a consultation or extra help if needed. However,
crime wise it was slow. Quantico was feeling the lag as well; they were
over-staffed at the moment for the amount of work they had available to
them. She supposed this should be a good thing, less crime, less
murders, etc., but she's a federal agent, it's her job to focus on these
things.

Needless to say she was going stir crazy sitting in the office all day.

The office was finally neat and organized. She had taken it upon herself
to tidy up Mulder's papers and desk, storing loose files in the
cabinets, and cleaning out his drawers. The files themselves suddenly
became organized. The divided the files by decade and chronological
order. Mulder seemed to know his way around each, however she didn't,
and with his photographic memory he would soon be able to pick up the
system.

"Smells fresh in here." She stopped what she was doing and turned to the
doorway the minute she heard his familiar voice.

He looked fresh himself, relaxed finally wearing his best black suit and
white shirt. The shirt fit snugly to his torso yet maintained that airy
open look. His pants fit just nicely too, tight where they needed to be,
and accented his assets quite nicely. "I opened the windows for a
change," she muttered. After four days of separation she was shocked she
couldn't bring herself to say more than that, or at least something
remotely intelligent. She just stood staring at him. "I thought you
weren't supposed to be back for another couple of days." God she missed him.

He moved gracefully to his desk and half sat on the edge of it, crossing
his arms across chest and smirk on his face. "You enjoyed it that much
without me here?"

"It was productive, since when are we ever productive with you around.
You're always ready to go off on the latest adventure."

"I've never seen you complain before, however if you want to hang back
and do the paper work from now on while I'm off investigating, I'm sure
that can be arranged. The bureau is always looking to assign new
partners, I just have to find one who'll cover my backside just as well
as you can."

"Your backside is mine Mulder and you know it. Nobody can cover it or
you better than I could."

"Too true Scully" he had the familiar leer in his voice and she found
herself blushing as she realized what she had said. It felt good to
banter like this, it was one of the things she missed most about him
being gone, the office was too quiet without him. "So what's on the
agenda for today since there is technically no work to be done?"

"An X-File of course, this one came across my desk the other day and in
between all my cleaning and organizing I managed to find some time to do
a background check on everything to make sure it's legitimate." She
walked to the door dimming the lights before walking to the slide
projector, hitting the switch to allow it to warm up.

"Oh setting the mood I see, dim lights, the familiar hum of the machine,
I'm shivering with anticipation. What have you got for us this time around?"

"It's right up your alley Mulder." She hit the right switch on the large
plastic controller she had in her hand, flipping to the first slide
displaying a man only much too familiar to Mulder.

"Elvis Scully?"

"Not Elvis Mulder, a look alike. His name is Peter Johnson, worked for
twenty years as Niagara region chemical worker before getting fired last
year from his job. He was helping the cleanup of the Love Canal and
ended up rocking the boat a little bit too much, knocking a fellow
employee and himself into the water, causing the chemicals to take a
serious effect on his health." She paused for a moment looking at him.

"I'm still listening."

"Well he disappeared for the last year and has suddenly resurfaced
setting siege on various chemical plants and companies in the area." She
began clicking the controller several times, allowing slides of the
different buildings in question to fly by before his eyes.

"Using your famous words, how is this an x-file?"

"Well," she clicked to the next slide set up, displaying a frozen frame
from what looked to be a surveillance camera. "This was taken at the
Hartley Chemical Plant upstream on the Niagara River at exactly 2:34pm."
She clicked again and brought up the next slide containing a single
match being held in the air over a chemical bin. She continued to do
this as the fire grew bigger and suddenly there was no more
surveillance. "There's no person on screen to do this, however somebody
had to be there to ignite the fire. The Hartley was the first building,
Clowry and Niagara Chem soon followed, all the same style. The man
shouldn't have survived the first one, let alone the last two."

"You're suggesting invisibility and invincibility?"

?Actually I'm suggesting the only way to get out of the office right
now.? She smiled up to him. ?Skinner already approved the 302, I'll
arrange for another ticket so you can join me on the 1pm flight to
Buffalo this afternoon. The way I see it, the case shouldn't take more
than a couple days, just the amount of time I need away from the office.?

He placed a warm hand at the small of her back as he guided her through
the door. ?And here I thought I had finally converted you to the darkside.?

~*~*~

All the rooms were the same; they're always the same, Jeremy thought as
he stood next to Lydia Sherway. He gave her a quick once over, Lydia had
always fascinated him with her jet-black hair and shapely body. Her
shoulder length thick hair was pulled back into a twist fastened with
pins at the back of her head, her white blouse hugging her chest with
just enough breathing room, her legs were long and the three inch heels
combined with the short black skirt she wore with a tailored black
jacket only emphasized them more. She was a real knock out of a
reporter; the male officers located in this building always seem to fall
at her knees every time she calls. It's the females that she usually has
trouble with. Either way it was no wonder she was the best police
reporter in town.

Her camera crew was moving quickly along the back of the room testing
their mics and cameras to make sure they didn't miss a single important
detail. The murder of Jenson Bennet was big news, and the facts that a
lot of the information was not being disclosed made it even bigger news.
One thing was obvious to everybody; it was a murder, that much had been
revealed. Jeremy had heard the rumours around town about who or what had
killed her, going from an innocent mugging of her personal belongings to
the elaborate story of her and St. Paul having an affair and he killed
her before his wife could find out. That was the latest published by the
Enquirer anyway.

It's amazing how much public attention scandals bring in. He was sort of
hoping St. Paul would be charged with the murder, it would take
attention away from his activities with her the night of. He wasn't a
suspect yet, but the fact that her assistant knew of their rendezvous
already had questions pointed at him. Lydia may be running the show for
CBC today, however, he was not above putting in his input to draw more
attention toward St. Paul.

?We'd like to invite everybody to bring their tape recorders to the
front of the room please then take your seats.? The spokeswoman, Carol
Ryan, stood at the podium in the middle of the room. Her brown hair was
short and coiffed in Barbara Walters's style, and her hot pink jacket
reached to just above her knees paired up with the standard issue black
dress pants. Ryan was never the epitome of fashion, probably another
reason that her and Lydia didn't get along so well. It's not so much
that either was vain, but when officers would sooner rather talk
straight to Lydia then go through Ryan, it made her job seem useless and
mundane. However, today, she was in the spotlight, and she knew Lydia
couldn't take that away from her for a change. The dozens of journalists
packed into conference room C approached the large wooden desk at the
front placing their tape recorders at the edge in between the two
officers sitting there. The cameras in the back were turned on and crew
men huddled at the sides of table hanging large microphones over their
heads.

?First off we'd like to thank you all for coming. Getting straight to
the point, you're all here to hear about the murder of Jenson Bennet.
We've got our best men on the case and we've combined forces with the
RCMP on the Hill. Behind me to the left is Sergeant Phillip O'Connor
from the RCMP, he's leading their investigation, and to the right is
Constable Sean Pemax of the Ottawa-Carleton police, head of our task
force at the moment. In a few moments they'll be releasing the details
of murder and the possible suspects we're looking for at the moment.
Before I hand you over, I do have an information hotline number we'd
like you to publish for any and all information, 1-800-555-3138. The
murder of a federal employee as you know is a serious offence and we
have every intention of bringing this case to a quick close. Thank you.?

Ryan stepped aside from her podium allowing the floor to open to the two
officers sitting the table. There were three possible suspects in this
case, however, due to possible contempt they're not disclosing the names
or any of the reasons they're suspected. Most people know them anyway,
gossip always got around fast. It also looked like an isolated case,
nobody at the Hill has gone missing yet although they're doing a
thorough search of the canal and opening it will be postponed a couple
of weeks during the investigation. It was standard stuff really; they
only got one piece of information wrong. They stated it was an isolated
case and they're not foreseeing anything else happening related to the
incident. Jeremy had every intention of rectifying the situation; the
next name was already on his mind?

~*~*~

Gray, Vipond, Harlem & Associates
3rd Floor 151 Sparks St.
October 23, 10am

"Sacha, do you have copies of the Bolgony file? I'm going to need extra
help on this one, it's getting bigger by the moment and with the added
coverage by the press, we may have to motion for a change of venue." The
dark haired 40-year-old man ran around the office opening the filing
cabinets on the way looking for the brown folder containing the
information he needed. His suit, despite the extra workout he was
receiving running around the workplace, was still in pristine condition,
his black slacks hanging loosely over him, and his white shirt as crisp
as if he had put it on that morning.

"How do you expect to win with this guy Jude? It's not going to work,
he's going up against the Ministry of National Defense, and the federal
government isn't going to let him go. Not to mention this isn't going to
look good on your part if you're representing him." A shorter man
outfitted in much the same attire handed him the folder containing the
information requested. "Think about it, you're the top federal lawyer.
Prime Minister Adams trusts you to work his cases to the best of your
ability. Going against the federal government at this point is political
and career suicide. You're never going to get an opportunity to
represent anybody with any ounce of power again."

"That's not the point." He stopped in his tracks and stood by the large
oak desk belonging to the clerk of the office who seemed inexplicably
absent at the moment. His free hand took the opportunity to run itself
through is dark locks, putting them neatly in place as he did so, and he
let out a soft sigh at the same time. "I didn't take this case Sacha, if
it were offered to me, I would have declined, I know better than to take
something going up against those who I represent, but you know I have no
choice in the matter. For some reason I was assigned to this, the order
came from higher up. Maybe they don't want him convicted of this, maybe
that's why I've been assigned."

"Or maybe they want to send you down the crapper with him too."

"There are better ways to get rid of me than this. I have too much
information about the day to day activities of Parliament and its
members. If they wanted to get rid of me, they'd have done it already
and nobody would even notice I'm gone."

"Okay, now it sounds like you've been watching too much television bud.
This is Canada; this sort of secret government working within a
government to search and destroy anybody and anything who goes against
it doesn't work here. We don't have the facilities that let's say the
U.S. has regarding that stuff. Hell; look the Parliament Buildings can
barely stand!" The younger man moved toward his office in an attempt to
get out of the conversation.

The gray eyes of Jude looked at him with a gravity that the younger
lawyer had only seen a few times before, and only in the courtroom in
front of the witness he was trying to intimidate. "You believe that and
you might be able to sleep at night. There's more to this government
than what meets the eye. You say we don't have the facilities for a
secret ops unit, then maybe you should go take a federal employee's tour
of the National Defense headquarters. We've got training grounds there
for troops you wouldn't even believe exists." He maneuvered to the door,
lifting his black blazer from the coat rack and slipping his arms
through the silk lined material. "Meanwhile I'm running late and I don't
want to get caught up in the media that I know are just awaiting my
arrival. Thankfully there's a back entrance through city hall, but who
knows if they've discovered that too or not." He slipped his second arm
through the second sleeve and began to straighten his solitary blue and
gold tie. "I just hope this Bennet news keeps the media occupied enough
to ignore us today, although I doubt it."

"I've been keeping up with that one, they're assuming it's a solitary
murder, most likely one of opportunity. She didn't have anything
important to hide from anybody, the Kyoto information was public news,
there's nothing pointing in any other direction, which, in a way, is too
bad cause defending the murderer then would be a nice challenge to
undertake."

"For you Sacha, not for me. Like you said, going up against the federal
government is political and professional suicide for me. She's a federal
employee, a well-liked one at that. There's no way that St. Paul would
let me ever practice law again if I stood in the same court as the
accused and wasn't helping the Crown." He glanced at his gold and
platinum Rolex and saw the hand was nearing 9am mark. "Listen, I've got
to run. I've still got to brief my client and I want to take a glimpse
at the evidence National Defense is using. I'll let you know how it goes
at the end of the day."

"Hey, good luck. If you don't survive this can I take your corner office?"

"Like hell, Maria called it an hour ago."

~*~*~

It was St. Paul's turn to undergo the rapid firing of questions coming
from both the Ottawa-Carleton police and RCMP, and he was not amused one
bit. Early in the morning he was awoken by a phone call to arrive at
police headquarters on Elgin, for the third day in a row, and quite
frankly, he was getting tired of being asked the same questions when he
had no involvement whatsoever in Jenson's murder.

The interrogation room on the third level of the building was
reorganized to give it an air of intimidation. St. Paul was seated at
one side of the mahogany table without so much as a glass of water while
three RCMP officers sat at the other side of the table, a pitcher in
front of their notepads. Two city officers stood behind the others,
bouncer style, their arms crossed over their chest, legs spread, stance
defensive.

For two days he refused to cooperate with them, insisting he have his
lawyer present, and each day they went through the same routine. He was
called back to the interrogation room and denied access to his lawyer.
And the game was starting to get old. He'd spend all day in here with
nothing to say, and no chance to leave.

Enough was enough though, this time they weren't getting away with
keeping him incarcerated. He was more than willing to cooperate on their
investigation, Jenson was an invaluable team member and it was true he
did care about her deeply, but he'd cooperate on his terms only, and
they didn't include sitting at a table becoming dehydrated and being
denied counsel.

Once upon a time he had been a lawyer himself, graduating at the top of
his class from Osgoode Hall at the University of Toronto and then
instantly being recruited to Toronto's top firm before deciding to enter
politics.

He knew his rights just as well as, if not more than those who were
holding him hostage despite the fact that he wasn't under arrest.

He didn't choose to sit this time despite the insistence of the officers
across from him. His stance matched that of the city officers and his
face portrayed a sense of stubbornness, telling the officers they'd get
no farther today than they did yesterday. He knew very well that Jude
Harlem was in court for the day and that he couldn't arrive in time for
questioning at all, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be available at
other times, or in the evening if that's what they wished.

They stood like this for ten minutes; the officers quietly drinking
their water as they attempted to ask the questions St. Paul refused to
answer. They were all nearing the edge of their patience. Sgt. O'Conner
repeatedly threatening confinement for lack of cooperation and Const.
Pemax pacing back and forth across the room muttering under his breath.
St. Paul knew what this meant to these men. The murder of a prominent
political figure could either make or break their careers.

It was just too bad they didn't have the right man.

"Listen gentlemen," for the first time the entire morning St. Paul
spoke. "I am more than willing to cooperate with you, Jenson Bennet was
a very good friend and employee of mine and I want her killer caught as
much if not more than you do, however, you're not getting anywhere by
denying me my rights." The officer sitting next to O'Conner started to
open his mouth before St. Paul shut it for him. "No, you're not going to
talk, you're going to listen. I have a ministry to run, I have sessions
to attend, I have questions to answer in the House regarding Kyoto, I
don't have time to stand here and dick around while you conveniently
forget what my rights are and what the consequences are for denying them
to me."

He reached to the inside pocket of his black Armani suit jacket with one
hand and pulled out a single, white card with gold etching on the front.
"We both know you don't have sufficient evidence to hold me here and the
fact that you're not going to find evidence against me will make it even
harder for you to justify my being here. Take this card, and call my
lawyer and set up an appointment with him, and I'll be there. Meanwhile,
I'm going to walk out that door and go do my job, and you aren't going
to stop me. If any attempt is made, Prime Minister Adams will be
notified first hand by me and you won't have a chance to find the
killer, you'll all be out of a job. There is a killer on the loose and
sitting here arguing with me isn't bringing you any closer to catching
him."

The officers glared at him without saying a word and accepted the card,
placing it in the file they had collected with information regarding St.
Paul. Smoothly the man walked out of the interrogation room without
question or anybody blocking his way to the black sedan waiting in the
parking lot for him. As he settled into the soft leather interior and
turned the ignition on, his shot nerves started to melt and he soon
relaxed to the strains of Mozart's Pachabel Cannon in D, the only thing
that could calm him during high stress periods, and made his way toward
Parliament Hill.

~*~*~

He had to admit, seeing her in the morning was the greatest thing that
had happened to him all week, and the way she worked the slides had been
another sight entirely. It wasn't often he let her play with his
machine, but the way she worked it earlier it was like she was a pro.

The case itself didn't sound promising; it wouldn't have been something
he'd take up despite its unique characteristics. Visiting Niagara didn't
particularly appeal to him either despite the fact that he had seen
pictures of its beauty. Niagara was some place he'd want to take a
girlfriend, a wife on a honeymoon, or spend a romantic weekend away from
everything else there. Maybe to cross the border or visit the little
shops in Niagara-On-The-Lake. He did have a romantic side, he had to
admit this, but it's been so long since he had anybody suitable in his
life that this aspect got buried beneath his other layers. This case
would ruin any appeal the visit had now, as most cases normally did.
There were so few places in the U.S. left to visit and feel some sense
of normalcy in his everyday life.

Then again he wasn't the one who was trapped in the office all week with
paperwork and no partner. He was rather surprised that Scully didn't
start flinging pencils at the ceiling by the end of the week. Then again
she wasn't the type to do that; instead she cleaned. Only thing she
didn't touch were his pencils that he had flung up on the ceiling before
his trip out, and that was probably only due to the fact that she was
too short to reach.

He was a little upset that he didn't get to sit down before they left
the office though. The way she spun around in his chair as she flipped
through the slides had most likely left his seat warm and unbelievably
welcoming. He always took a secret pride in whenever she sat in his seat
when he wasn't around, and especially the times he was around.

The same pride also extended to the way she reached for his hand as the
plane ran down the runway preparing for takeoff. In his Oxford days he
had become so used to flying that it didn't bother him one bit, however,
if he had to sit in a boat for any length of time he couldn't eat for
days afterward. She was exactly his opposite in that way too. No matter
how many times they had flown together from case to case, she never got
used to it, the same fear would clutch her every time, but she was a
master on the sea.

And he knew that if he could do anything to ease that fear of flying for
her, including holding her hand, he'd do it in a second. What he didn't
know was at what point in the past nine years they had found that
comfort level that allowed him to hold her hand and allowed her to
accept his comfort.
The clear DC skies helped calm her though, without clouds there was less
concern for turbulence, something that made her grab him even tighter.
After nine years it was the only sign of fear or discomfort she had
shown him, allowing him to see how strong she was the rest of the time.

Such as now, they were flying in a calm blue sky, and the reports were
open on her lap for study, as was a copy on his. She did do a thorough
background investigation on the various chemical centres as well as a
history of the Love Canal, and their primary target, and the case looked
legit. He just didn't want to put the effort into this particular one
the minute he got back from his mother's.

He sighed as he settled into his seat, an hour left before they landed,
a flight attendant bringing around his favourite airline coffee...no
doubt recycled coffee beans in hot water, and Scully at his side moving
her head up and down as she read everything over again.

At the moment, life doesn't get much better than this really. He was on
his way to yet another city where his illusions about it would be
destroyed in a matter of days and his partner and best friend was at his
side alongside him, what more could he ask for?

~*~*~

**Note: use of actual real people in this next bit, they have been used
without permission, however, in no way do they demean the figures they
represent**

As he had expected, the Hill was a hustle and bustle of officials moving
from building to building as an internal investigation was conducted
regarding Jenson. Jeremy stood on the press terrace in the House of
Commons watching question period as several key politicians were
escorted to the side of the room for their interrogation. The House had
never been hit with a murder so close to home as Bennet, and despite the
rumour of this being a solo case, the authorities were taking every
measure possible to solve it.

He had also noticed that St. Paul was inexplicably absent from the House
the entire time even though energy issues regarding Kyoto and his
findings were continually being brought forth to the speaker, René
LaPierre.

His own interview with the RCMP had gone smoothly though, cooperating in
whatever manner he could. He had stated that he did speak with her
earlier that day on the Hill before her press conference, and he was in
the room watching the conference, but that he hadn't seen her afterward.
He, like many other members of the press assumed the last person she'd
see before leaving was St. Paul. According to his inside sources,
primarily Mike Duffy, CTV/CJOH reporter, St. Paul was the number one
suspect still, and many reporters were ready to pounce on him the minute
he showed his face.

Of course Mike Duffy doesn't need to pounce, St. Paul would probably go
to him exclusively. Of course after the broadcast Duffy would share the
information with him as long as it was kept off the record, which in
this case Jeremy didn't mind. Until Duffy could get his information
though, he had to find somebody else to rely on and get answers from.
St. Paul would not be willing to offer him any answers, and neither
would his lawyer once he came into the picture.

And he was hoping he would. The national defense case was taking up much
of his time, however, once a second victim close to St. Paul was brought
into the picture, that case would be put on the sidebar and things would
go accordingly. Journalism school taught him many things, primarily
accuracy in everything you do. Everything had to be planned to the last
letter and organized thoroughly before enacted. It was the way
television broadcasting worked, everybody had an agenda to follow
throughout the day and well, he had an agenda to follow through until
the very end of it all.

Clark Roberts, leader of the federal tories, stood in his seat, raising
his hand and began waving his finger at the Liberal members sitting
across the way. His droopy cheeks dropped as his jaw opened a split
second before he started rationalizing the resignation of both the
Honourable Derek St. Paul for the crime he committed against the people,
and for Prime Minister Albert Adams for allowing it to take place.

Jeremy sighed in his seat, as did the rest of his colleagues sitting
around him, knowing full well that although that statement is allowed to
be said without consequence in the house, to publish it could be
libelous, contemptuous and hardly ethical. Besides, the opposing parties
were always demanding the resignation of some cabinet member for one
reason or another. It wasn't newsworthy in the slightest.

His head did perk up some though when St. Paul was finally escorted to
his seat with Alyssa Hartwell at his side. It was the perfect set up.
With the press continually flooding the Hill recently over Bennet's
murder, of course St. Paul would be working with Alyssa Hartwell so they
could control the news going out regarding this affair. In fact St. Paul
would be working very closely with her.

Jeremy arose from his seat ready to take his position next to Ed
Greenspon of The Globe and Mail before the closing of questioning
period. Together they formed the television hosts, bringing insight to
the rest of Canada, or whoever turned into the parliament channel anyway.

He knew getting to Alyssa Hartwell would be easy. Not as easy as getting
to Jenson but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

~*~*~

Alyssa Hartwell stood behind the curtains on the Liberal side of the
gallery, awaiting the commencement of the scrum assembly. She was tired
already and her job hadn't even really begun for the day. Her short
brown hair was gelled and spiked to perfection and not a fibre on her
mocha tailored suit was out of order, although she felt in disarray at
the moment. Soon the lights would shine on her, and under the intense
heat it was difficult not to break into a sweat. Fortunately her tan
skin always had a certain glow to it which hid the beads of sweat well.

She peaked through a single wooden side door, where the news crews were
already gathering under the three arches.

Today was going to be tough. There were only three things on the minds
of the press, and the two most prominent focused on Derek St. Paul.
Alyssa had already decided she wasn't going to let him speak, no matter
how anxious he was to get a word in edge wise. The scrum barriers on the
first arch would be so overcrowded it would just become dangerous, to
both the members of the press and St. Paul himself.

The speaker was finishing his final statements, once again mentioning
how the House is for the people and meant for reasonable discussion of
public policy and that accusations such as those presented by Clark
Roberts should be kept out of it. She looked on with amusement. It was
the same spiel everyday, and everyday outlandish remarks were stated and
resignations were demanded. They were like unsupervised children at
play: Nobody gets along and somebody is left insulted. This was the very
reason she never ran for office despite the support she knew she could
garner without a problem.

She peaked through the double doors a second time, taking notice of the
various news crews this time and where they were setting up, mainly by
the first arch. She sighed, she knew who they were waiting for. Neither
Prime Minister Adams nor Deputy Prime Minister Phillips had anything to
say at the moment, so nobody was waiting at the second arch, and the
opposition Alliance Party had little to say at the moment, so the third
arch was empty as well. There were a few reporters at Clark Robert's
microphone, and with reason after that blatant accusation made in
Parliament.

The various MPs were rising from their seats and heading to their
respective doors, some of them walking straight out to the scrums, and
others making a quick right to the stairwell leading to the caucus room.
The looks on the face of the press members showed exactly what they were
thinking, that the MP speaking in front of them wasn't the one they
wanted to talk to.

She stopped Logan Galen, the minister of defense before he made a turn
right. "Do me a favour please Logan, just talk to them. I need somebody
to distract their attentions while I hurry Derek out of the way. You're
the only other member in this room who has something worthwhile to say
regarding your trial. Everybody else other than Derek has trivial news
that they don't care about."

"You know I can't mention the trial if I'm not in the courtroom, not to
mention the press have eyes like hawks, they'll be keeping an eye out
for him."

"I don't care, you'll provide more distraction than anybody else here.
Just give a standard statement, that you're doing everything you can to
prove your case, what the charges are and the status of the case, like
who's testifying and when you expect it to be wrapped up." She stopped
St. Paul as he tried to walk by and kept him close. "I only need you out
there for one minute. The rest I'll handle."

Logan glanced at her and a calm St. Paul and gave up. He knew he really
didn't have any other alternative considering this was a member of his
own party who he was covering for. It was like the three muskateers, all
for one, one for all, everybody helped everybody else.

Alyssa stood by the door with St. Paul and watched as Logan took his
place in front of the microphones and began his spiel just as he was
being bombarded with questions. She trusted him enough to know when to
say no comment and when to walk away. She pushed the door open slightly
and allowed St. Paul to slip through first before following him. She had
made it out the door by half a foot when they were spotted as expected.
"There he is," one of the press shouted, alerting the others to his
presence. She pushed him up the stairs and ran quickly, alerting the
RCMP officers standing guard at the corridor not to allow them any further.

The questions being yelled at them, such as "did you really do it? Did
you murder Jenson Bennet? Were you trying to hide an affair from your
wife? Did your wife catch you in the act?" and so on and so forth were
ringing in her ears. She wished she had her predecessor around during
times like this, and collapsed against the caucus room door before
pushing aside to allow a frustrated Logan Galen in.

~*~*~

And it was done, Jeremy thought with a laugh as he watched the two of
them run up the stairs on the CBC evening news that night. The whole
country was probably watching and seeing St. Paul working with Alyssa
Hartwell. Jenson Bennet was the first, and now Alyssa would make St.
Paul's supposed guilt look even more credible. This was only the
beginning, and the smell of revenge was becoming sweeter with every
passing moment.


~*Chapter Three*~
Niagara Falls, USA
October 26, 5:47pm

The television glowed blue green in the background of the dimly lit
motel room, highlighting the two agents with each flicker of the screen.
They sat side by side on the drab comforter covering the double bed and
were surrounded with<BY papers, photos and files pertaining to the
recent chemical plant explosions. There were transcripts of interviews
with various plant workers and those who used to work with Peter Johnson
on the Love Canal, and interviews from various residents near the canal
and the plants.

All of it, from what they could see, was leading them nowhere.

Peter Johnson, although obviously guilty in the eyes of the entire
Niagara region, didn't have enough evidence against him saying that he
lit lighting the actual fires although key witnesses were saying he was
the man to charge. All the evidence was circumstantial, and although the
fires themselves were mind baffling, Mulder had to admit, this wasn't an
X-File, and he knew Scully saw that too. It didn't mean that he was
going to leave it alone, it was still worth investigating.

Johnson hadn't made a move on a plant since they had arrived, and none
of the remaining plants had received any threats either. The plants
already damaged by fire and explosion were well on their way to
rebuilding and replacing the positions of the lost men. Johnson wasn't
stupid, he attacked the offices, not the actual chemical tanks saving
Niagara from a huge environmental disaster AND causing harm not only to
the United States, but to Canada and for a change, Mulder was very
thankful they weren't dealing with a careless buffoon, but instead a man
with average or above average intelligence. Now he only needed to find
the evidence they needed to arrest him.

Much of the case resembled a case he and Scully had worked on their
first year together, a pyromaniac who could light fire with the flick of
his finger, but he knew this time it was slightly different. Although
the fire was still there, a match, not a finger, ignited it. The mystery
was in the fact that the man didn't appear in any of the surveillance
videos.

He looked up from the still photographs of the videos at the sound of
his partner sighing in frustration, vocally stating in some form exactly
how he felt at the moment, as if they were stuck in a dead end. For
three days they had been staring at the same evidence in front of them
this night, and for three days, there were no leads, no theories,
nothing but evidence that couldn't be supported in any rational way,
nothing that would hold up in a court of law if it came down to that.
Much of the X-Files ended like that, theories but no evidence, but as
Mulder had already stated many times in the past three days, this was
not an X-File.

"I don't know about you Mulder, but I'm giving up for the night. I'm
wiped and will be able to go over everything better with a fine-toothed
comb in the morning." He felt the bed shift from underneath him as she
stretched beside him and stood on the ground. He was inclined to agree
with her, it was late and there was nothing he was seeing in any of the
reports that he hadn't already read a dozen times before. However, he
was too wound up to sleep, the facts still haunting his mind knowing
there was an explanation for everything that was happening and there was
a way to get solid proof.

He glanced at the television once, not really paying any attention to
the news report, just noting there was a fuss on Canada's Parliament
Hill, but nothing more before flicking it off. "I'm calling it quits too
for the night too, Scully. I think I'm going to go for a run for a bit
before crashing though." He walked her to the connecting motel door,
holding his side open as she crossed the threshold.

"Don't stay out too late Mulder, We've got an early morning again."

"Goodnight."

~*~*~

She lay in bed surrounded by the darkness of her motel room as she heard
his door click almost silently next door. It was meant to be silent, and
unless she was looking to hear it, she would never have heard it. Of
course over the years she had known what to expect from a man like him.

Mulder's mind was a complex mosaic filled with ghosts of his past, and
every grain of information taken in about whatever case he was working
on, this being one of them. While it usually didn't take any time for
her to fall asleep, he had to work to put his mind at rest. Over her
years with him she would see this struggle daily, fighting to keep his
mind calm enough to focus, but active enough to solve the case.

She knew his recent visit to his mother's home would resurrect memories
he'd rather keep buried, which is why she chose a simple case to work on
for when he returned, or at least it seemed simple at the time. She
wasn't really expecting him back to work on the case, or if he had
returned while she was out, she hoped she'd have enough of the case
solved that it wouldn't overwork his mind. It looked like she was wrong
on both accounts.

The case itself was a mystery, and they were no closer to any answers
than they were back in DC. She knew there was something they overlooked
because in the beginning it had seemed like such a simple open and shut
case. Somewhere along the lines it evolved.

She wanted to sleep the sleep of the dead, the files making her mind and
eyes unfocused on everything else surrounding her, but she wouldn't fall
asleep until she heard him return to his room, much like the previous
three nights. He was still in such a state that she wasn't prepared to
leave him be yet, and whether he knew it or not, she was still watching,
if not interfering.

Three times on the airplane over she tried asking him about his week
off, and all three times he answered her with a shrug of his shoulders
and changed the subject to something pertaining to the case. He wasn't
fine yet, and she knew he was trying to drown himself in the work again.

Her head fell back against the worn motel pillow, thankful for at least
a modicum of comfort in an otherwise unbearable situation. She wanted to
get him out of Niagara and back to the office and find some office work
to keep him at bay at his desk. Maybe then he'll tell her what's on his
mind.

She lay a good hour staring at the dark ceiling thinking before she
heard his returning footsteps. She held her breath for all of a moment
when he stopped outside her door before moving to his. He was back
safely for the night, she was thankful. Tomorrow they would go searching
for answers again, and if they didn't have any in two days time, she
would hand the case over to the local field office. There was no reason
to spend any more time on a case that would drown his emotions even
further below the work.

~*~*~

The run the previous night hadn't done anything more than muddle his
already muddled mind. The case didn't clear itself up in his head, nor
did it look any simpler once he looked at the reports and videos for
what was the fifth time since their arrival. Now, sitting here in front
of the one of the VPs of the Niagara Chemical Treatment Facility, he was
beginning to think it was hoax perpetrated by the companies themselves
so they could receive claims from the insurance companies. It was no big
secret that after the Love Canal scandal, chemical plants across the
Niagara region were facing financial difficulties, especially with the
class action lawsuit against many of them.

However, for some reason this came through to the X-Files division from
the local field office, so there must have been something there that
they weren't seeing. Maybe their suspect was involved still, but how
could he set ablaze offices without a scratch on himself, while being in
the offices during the times of the various fires.

And their work wasn't getting any easier when they were both awoken at
6am and notified of the most recent fire. He was tired, she was tired,
and sitting in the police station with the VP was getting them nowhere.
Like the other companies, he was insisting it was the same man.

"I'm telling you it's him, there's nobody else in the region who could
do what he's doing." Alec Zalderman's face was red, contorted with anger
and he released a slight spray of saliva every time he opened his mouth
to speak. "NCT had no reason to set afire their own offices, we
weren't...aren't lacking in funds and we're actually helping to clean up
the chemical problems here, not cause them like the other buildings."

The man was right, Scully noted. Until now all of the buildings in
question were actual chemical plants, those in the business of creating
the chemicals and pollutants that caused the problems. Then why would
Peter Johnson set fire to a treatment company, unless he was being set
up, and this particular case was looking for an insurance claim?

"Then Mr. Zalderman, what you're saying and what actually happened don't
make sense," Scully stated in an attempted contradiction. "If you're
here to clean the chemicals, then Peter Johnson couldn't be your suspect
because so far he's only attacked chemical producing companies. For a
man who used to work for a treatment company, he would understand the
necessity to clean hazardous materials and would find no reason to
attack your building. There's nothing pointing him in this direction."

"What do you mean there's nothing pointing him in this direction, he set
fires to the other buildings. That should be enough of an indicator for
you."

"Unfortunately that's not," Mulder stepped into the conversation. "If
you have any video evidence directly linking Peter Johnson to the fire,
then we'll be glad to witness it. If not, then you'll have to do better
than linking him to your fire because he allegedly set fire to the other
buildings."

"Allegedly?" Zalderman was off his chair in split second and leaning
forward on his desk, his fists clenched tightly, his eyes hardened, and
face red. "He set fire to the other offices, just like he did to mine.
There is no 'allegedly' involved. He did it, plain and simple. You don't
need video evidence, there is no video evidence, the control room went
down in the fire, you'll just have to take my word for it."

"Mr. Zalderman, we're going to ask for copies of all your budget reports
and annual income for your plant, as well as copies of tax forms, then
we'll review the evidence and see if there is a link between your
building and the others. Meanwhile the arson team is investigating the
building itself." Scully stood from her chair, crossing her arms and
mentally asking him to defy her request, her height coming short to his
but her determination much stronger.

"There are no papers, they all were in the office when it went down too,
along with the video tapes."

"Well then it shouldn't be too hard to call up the Internal Revenue
Service and get them to fax Agent Mulder and I a couple copies of their
forms from the previous five years, now should it?"

She watched in amusement as he shrank back to his seat, a defeated look
on his face as he glared at her. "They were all kept in a separate
office building off site." He wrote the address down on a sheet of
paper. "You'll find everything there you need to know, although you'll
need a warrant, which I doubt you can get as you don't have sufficient
evidence. My staff will have their instructions."

The two agents nodded at each other before leaving the room and the VP
sitting sullenly in his seat.
~*~*~

Something on this case was troubling Mulder, and it was where Peter
Johnson fit into the puzzle. The budget reports were standard, easy to
read and easy to follow. The tax forms were a little more complex but
revealed exactly what he and Scully had suspected earlier; NTC was
suffering from decreased income and it was only a matter of time before
they'd have to shut down. Budgetary cuts had already taken place and
most likely a cutback in staff. They'd need the human resources and
payroll records to prove that, but once again a warrant to get the
information wouldn't be too difficult to get.

So with the exception of Peter Johnson, the case was open and shut. As
with the other offices, this one seemed to be after an insurance claim
too. Maybe Johnson was just the scapegoat, somebody who didn't have a
clue as to what was happening, or maybe he really was in the thick of
things.

He sat in the vinyl diner seat in the corner of a small Niagara cafe
mulling over his latest thought over a plate of fries and chicken
burger. His partner seemed content with her own fries, her face
thoughtful as she contemplated about what was on her mind. Probably the
same thing that was on his. They had a tendency to think alike on cases
like this. Scully was never one to look for a paranormal explanation on
anything, although she had become more of a believer over the years. But
this case had no paranormal slant on it, so there was no reason for her
to even contemplate that avenue of investigation. For a change there was
no reason for him to investigate that avenue either.

"It makes sense for a change Mulder," she said while dipping her fry
into a pool of ketchup. "It's been how long since we've had a case that
makes this much sense? No off the wall theories, no mutants, no
monsters. It's all bureaucratic bullshit really."

"Nothing is ever that simple. We still have to see where Peter Johnson
fits into all of this. My theories on this one, and no, they're not off
the wall," he winked at her before he moved on with his thoughts, "are
he's either a scapegoat who has been paid off big time to keep his mouth
shut, he's a scapegoat who knows nothing about what's going on, or he is
the arsonist and he'll receive a percentage of each claim if he does
what the companies want."

"So we bring in Peter Johnson and play good cop/bad cop with him until
he confesses his role in this entire charade?"

"Good cop/bad cop Scully? I didn't know you like to play dirty."

She raised her eyebrow at the leer before bringing another fry to her
mouth. "Would you prefer another method of interrogation instead?"

"Of course not, besides I like watching you play good cop, it's not very
often I get to see the sympathetic Scully when dealing with a witness."

She brought another fry to her mouth, once again raising her eyebrow.
"Who says I want to be the good cop?" Score one for Scully, she thought
as she watched him drop the fry he was holding. He can dish them out,
but obviously he couldn't take the leers and jeers she sent back to him.
"Do you want to wait for tomorrow to bring him in or go after him when
we're done in here?"

"The sooner, the better I think. I'm starting to miss investigating
X-Files. This is why I got out of mainstream investigation to begin
with. It's too boring for my tastes."

He finished the last of his chicken burger and waited for her to finish
hers. Their work for the night was by far nowhere near done, and he
wanted to get a decent night's sleep before returning back to DC. He
wanted to be on his toes for the next case.

"Agent Mulder? Agent Scully?" The two agents looked up to see a ragged
man standing at their table. He was unshaven and covered head to toe
with caked mud and dirt. His jeans were ripped at the knee and his shirt
was worse for the wear and tear. Peter Johnson, Mulder mused. His work
had just gotten a hell of a lot easier. "I need your help. They're after
me now," he pleaded.

Or maybe it hadn't.

~*~*~

This was the second time this day they found themselves sitting in the
interrogation room at the local station. This time under very different
circumstances as the man sitting across from them was clearly agitated.
He spent the entire ride from the diner to station constantly looking
over his shoulder and from side to side. Looking for what, Mulder didn't
know, but something was bothering him.

"The chemical plant VPs, they're all after me." His eyes wandered back
and forth across the room and he twiddled his thumbs as he spoke. "I've
been hiding in the woods surrounding the Love Canal. They're all scared
to come looking for me there, the latest readings still don't look too
promising, so they won't set foot there yet. But it's only a matter of
time, and then I have nowhere to hide. They're already sending in others
after me."

His hands started to shake as he continued to twiddle his thumbs while
speaking. "They want to shut me up. I didn't do nothing and they want to
shut me up. They already killed Bear. Bear was the only thing I had in
the world and they killed him to get to me."

"Bear?" Scully asked patiently from her seat.

"My Newfoundland dog. Big black beast, looks like a bear and weighs
about 200lbs and stands a good 35 inches tall to the shoulder. His face
reminded me of a black bear so I called him Bear. He was all I had and
they shot him to get to me. I loved that dog and they killed him."

"Okay, back up Mr. Johnson," Mulder asked. "Let's take this one step at
a time. Now, who is this 'they'?"

"The various VPs of the chemical plants. Your Mr. Zalderman you were
interviewing earlier today was one of them."

"Good, names are good. Now why are they after you?"

"Because they want me to keep my mouth shut."

"Because of the fires?" Scully asked this time.

"Yes, because of the fires. I started them. I had no choice. They had
Bear so I had to start the fires to their buildings in order to get him
back. Only they never gave him back, they killed him instead. They stood
at the entrance of the Love Canal with him and shot him in front of my
eyes, then sent their henchmen in for me. They want me to keep quiet, I
know too much!"

The two agents glanced at each other for a minute before speaking to him
again. "Mr. Johnson, would you testify to that in court? We may be able
to get a nice deal from the DA if you do."

"You mean I have to go to prison? I had no choice, they had Bear!"

"I know Mr. Johnson," soothed Scully, "but a crime is a crime and
unfortunately we can't let you off that easily, there's too much damage.
But if you testify against the various VPs, then they can't get their
insurance claims and they'll face a jail term most likely longer than
yours."

Johnson sat for a moment thinking on his options. He had already
basically confessed his involvement. Either way they had him in their
custody, it was just a matter of whether he wanted to stick it to the
bastards who killed his dog or not.

"Okay, I'll deal."

Mulder stood from his seat and spoke to the officer standing at the
door. In a matter of hours, he knew, the case would be closed and
wrapped up tight. He and Scully could be on their way back to DC the
next day and he'd be able to sink his teeth into something more
interesting and challenging.

~*~*~

Scully stood in the back of the interrogation room as both Toby Briant,
the Assistant DA, and Cade McCain, Johnson's lawyer, were discussing the
specifics of the deal. As it looked Johnson was getting off easy,
serving two years' jail time for arson, but no more because he didn't
cause harm or death to anybody, and because he was naming names and
details about each meeting with each of them. Their theory was sound;
each company on the brink of financial ruin risking their reputations to
collect a sizable claim that could save each of them.

Only they didn't count on the bureau bringing in the two of them who
dealt with complex cases on a daily basis so that a mainstream case such
as this would seem mundane to them. Mulder was currently speaking with
the local judge collecting arrest warrants for fraud and accessory to
arson for the board members and VPs of each company, and with any luck,
the rest of the arrests would go down later in the evening.

About the time she planned on being in her motel bathtub soothing her
aches and pains away. She couldn't vouch for Mulder and what he wanted
to do. She was still worried about him, fearing he was pushing his
emotions deep again and covering them with work, even simple work. She
knew he wanted to get home just as bad as she did. Her few days out of
the office were up and the novelty of a case out of town had worn off
the moment they gotten into the grind of things. Well it wore off the
minute they got into the grind of things and realized it wasn't an
X-File, but instead a cut and dry fraud case that should have been
handed back to the local field office the day they arrived on scene.

In exchange for Johnson's short jail sentence, he provided a list of
names of VPs and employees who approached him for the DA, as well as the
names of those who chased him down to the canal, and those who didn't
directly deal with him, but he knew was<WERE in on the fraud to begin
with. By the end of the hour and a half he spent with Toby Briant, the
list had grown to an extensive twenty-three names between the four
companies who were already destroyed, and another three companies
scheduled to follow suit.

It looked as if conspiracy might be added to the list of charges
presented, Scully mused.

Her thoughts were soon interrupted though when the phone in her jacket
pocket started ringing, and she smiled, instinctually knowing who it was
and needing to know how long his report would take so she could get back
to her bath "Scully."

"Hey it's me. Detective Cornnell and I are with a judge right now; we
need an official number of warrants, the names of those charged, and the
charges. Has Johnson given up the information yet?"

"The official count is twenty-three. We have fourteen charges of fraud
and conspiracy to commit arson, and nine for conspiracy only. If you
give me a minute, I'm sure Mr. Briant will be ready with a list of names
for you and the charges for each of them." At that moment the ADA looked
toward Scully with the piece of paper in his hand. "Hold on Mulder, I'm
going to pass the phone over to him for you."

She handed the phone swiftly to Toby Briant and watched as he listed off
each name and spelled it out for her partner. She was counting down the
minutes now. In an hour officers would be knocking on the doors of
various respected business members in the Niagara region, and tomorrow
they'd be on a flight back to DC... well that's if Mulder didn't want to
pursue the investigations any further. She hoped he didn't.

~*~*~

He had the opportunity to join in on the arrests and interrogations, but
he didn't, opting instead for the comfort of a warm pizza, the motel
television set, and his partner next to him on the bed. He knew she
didn't want him to go, and quite frankly, this time around, he didn't
want to go either.

He was tired, no, scratch that, exhausted. In the matter of one week he
had completely cleaned out his mother's house, put it on the market,
driven from Connecticut back to DC and returned to solve a fraud case on
little to no sleep. Of course he decided not to share that little bit of
information with Scully knowing she'd send him to bed and leave him for
the rest of the evening. He wasn't ready for that; he didn't want to
call it a night.

The local PD, updating the progress on the interrogations, made several
phone calls to them. So far five of the twenty-three men and women held
in custody had signed confessions and named others involved. What
started as a small case seemed to be growing larger and more complex by
the minute, but it was out of their hands really. As of 8 am the next
morning the case file would be in the hands of the local field office,
and as of 11am they'd be on a flight back home. By 6pm tomorrow the case
would be all over national television and they wanted to be out of the
area and away from any and all news crews around. Mulder didn't like
glamour and glory much, he just enjoyed doing his job and moving on, a
tact he developed as a rookie while other rookies enjoyed their fifteen
minutes of fame, seeing it as a step up. For him, there was no step up,
he knew that eleven years ago when he found the X-Files, and he knew
that she knew it too.

They were taking advantage of the many Canadian channels that they
couldn't receive back home, CBC, CTV, and Global to name a few. It was a
typical weeknight on prime time television, the American networks airing
much of the more entertaining shows, except for a special on CBC hosted
by Rick Mercer, "Talking to Americans" that they found remotely
humourous. As near as they could tell it was a one-night deal, not a
typical weekly program like "Royal Canadian Airfarce", which preceded
it. While neither of them were familiar with Canadian programming or
Canadian politics, they both knew a spoof when they saw it, and the
version of the national anthem being sung in San Francisco made him spit
his pizza out in laughter.

Of course that wasn't nearly as bad as the eight year old boy correcting
his father on the fact that Canada has provinces, not states after about
a dozen other adults fell for Rick's joke.

All in all between phone calls, and it was now up to seven signed
confessions, the evening was enjoyable.

"Mulder, I'm going to bed." His partner yawned once the show was over,
showing her fatigue. "We have an early morning meeting with Agents
Briggs and Lyons, not to mention I've spent the entire evening with you
and haven't packed yet."

"Aw Scully, but the news is about to come on. Aren't you the least bit
interested to find out what's happening across the border? Yesterday I
caught a clip about some hoopla going on in Ottawa. DC's been quiet
lately, it'd be nice to see some action somewhere." He wasn't quite
ready to relinquish her company yet, not when it was nice to get
together for a change and not study files or transcripts of interviews.

"I'm not interested. You watch it" He watched as she walked to the
connecting door. "Goodnight," she smiled while shutting the door behind
her, but not locking it. He grabbed the last slice from the large pizza
box and flopped back down on his bed, the remote in his other hand, as
he turned the volume down a notch.

A small bald man appeared on screen, the anchor, Peter Mansbridge as he
introduced himself and highlighted the top news stories, including two
unsolved murders on Parliament Hill and a high profile politician being
named as top suspect.

~*~*~.

Two men, neatly dressed in what Mulder could only discern as either
Armani or Henry Rosen suits, stood behind thirteen Canadian flags. The
table in front of them was a dark oak, littered with handheld tape
recorders from what must have been every newspaper and magazine outlet
in the country. A pan of the room allowed him to see the video cameras
lined up along the back, and the sea of reporters sitting in the middle
section of the room, notebooks in hand. The left hand side of the room
seemed to have been filled with various government officials, reclining
in their seats, as did the section on the right, but the middle was
obviously reporters.

Two taller men with dark hair stepped into the room, all cameras and
eyes on them, and Mulder had a difficult time determining who was the
high profile politician, and who was his lawyer. He knew one of them had
to be the lawyer.

Following the two men were two officers, the first being introduced as
an RCMP officer, and the other local PD. And on a stand next to them sat
two pictures of younger women; one with blue eyes and blonde hair, the
other African Canadian...with shorter, brownish-red gelled hair.

He leaned forward on the bed, turning the volume up just a touch, but
not loud enough to wake up his now sleeping partner in the next room.

The shorter of the two men was introduced as Derek St. Paul, the
minister of Agriculture and Agri-Foods Canada, and apparently the main
suspect in the murder case. The first young woman was a one of his staff
members whose body was found in the canal three days after her
disappearance, the second was the prime minister's PR director; and St.
Paul was the last person she was seen with publicly, with both the women.

There was something odd about the case though, something familiar as the
officers were describing the crime scene and cause of death, as well as
the forensic evidence used. Of course he couldn't be sure as to how
familiar it was without an in-depth look at the forensic evidence but
they weren't going to announce the details on television when a suspect
had yet to be arrested.

St. Paul obviously denied the claims, saying he was a good working
friend of the victim, Jenson Bennett and had nothing but respect for her
as a person and employee, and relied on her for much of the work and
progress in the Kyoto Protocol. He didn't have much to say regarding the
second victim though, Alyssa Hartwell.

<<Yes, I was indeed seen with her the night of murder, she was escorting
me out of the parliamentary gallery but that was it. Her death saddens
me, she worked hard and knew her job inside and out, better than most.
Her death is tragic, but I played no role in it whatsoever.>>

Derek St. Paul.

Jenson Bennett.

Alyssa Hartwell.

Mulder committed those names to memory hoping to find a connection
between this case the sense of familiarity overcoming him. There was
something niggling at him; he just needed to figure out what it was.

The lawyer was then introduced as he read a statement he prepared.

Jude Harlem.

That name definitely struck a chord this time, and he knew he wouldn't
get any sleep that night. He couldn't pinpoint the exact case but he
knew he had past dealings with someone named Harlem. He knew where to
look for the casefile too. The rest of the press conference and news
show tuned out as he focused on the name.

Harlem.

He remembered it from somewhere, now if only he could just remember where.


~*Chapter 4*~ 
October 29, 2001 
CBC Television, Ottawa Bureau 

Jeremy sat at his desk, feet up on the table with a copy of the latest
issue of Maclean's, admiring his work.  Cover story of the week, of
course, was the double homicide and the increase of evidence pointing
toward Derek St. Paul.  There was a small article on the fifth page
regarding Harlem's latest case against national defense, which ended
in his favour, but for the most part there were profiles on both
Alyssa and Jenson, as well as a profile on St. Paul.  For the most
part, Maclean's was right on the ball with their facts, they always
were, but for a change he enjoyed knowing more about a situation than
the nation's top political magazine.

Nothing was moving on the hill today though, it was the day of the
funeral for Alyssa Hartwell and the entire political sector of the
city was shut down for the day. And unfortunately no news for him
wasn't good news.  It usually meant he was stuck doing a report on
something that only pertained to the average Joe Blow.  It was
mundane, and it was boring.

Oh he was invited to Alyssa's funeral.  As a member of the
Parliamentary Press Gallery he had an open invitation to attend
without his camera in tow. All members of the Parliamentary Press
Gallery were invited since that's apparently what she would have
wanted, to be surrounded by peers in the profession that she devoted
her life to.  It would certainly make for an interesting change as
he's never attended the funeral for any of his victims, not in the
past and certainly not now seeing as Jenson's funeral was closed to
the general public, open for friends and family only.   It would also
allow for an opportunity to plant further evidence to make St. Paul
look guilty.  He was determined to win this game, and when he was
through with St. Paul, his lawyer would be next.

The foundations of the game had already been set, two working
colleagues had been killed and St. Paul was the prime suspect.  The
game would continue, escalate.  He needed somebody closer to St. Paul
now; somebody that everybody knew was associated with him.

He flipped to the next page of the magazine and his eyes fell on a
picture he knew would be perfect as his next victim.  With the scandal
surrounding St. Paul and the accusations of him having sexual
relations with both victims, this next one would be perfect.

~*~*~

He could see the reporters in the distance, those who didn't work the
Hill on a regular basis and those who declined the invitation to the
funeral so they could get a scoop on what has happening.  Very few
declined, but St. Paul could pick out the few who did standing at the
police line wearing smug grins.  They lost today, nobody was going to
give them any scoop on the story.  Nobody in his right mind was going
to attempt to break the solemnity of the funeral.  Besides, he had a
back way out courtesy of Prime Minister Adams.

He looked over at his wife and placed a hand on her shoulder for
support.  He knew it wasn't getting any easier for her either seeing
as half the accusations the press and public were hinting at an affair
between him and Jenson.  And no matter how many times he denied that,
he knew they were taking it's toll on Sara.  She was starting to doubt
his sincerity and his honesty about it all.  And he really didn't
blame her for it; it was a lot easier to sway to public convictions,
especially when the evidence was still pointed at him.  Not enough to
convict him in the eyes of the court; but certainly enough to convict
him in everyone else's eyes.

His daughter Jordan was another story.  As an aspiring journalist
herself she had made friends with Alyssa rather quickly and soon found
herself to be one of Alyssa's staff.  She wasn't doing much other than
writing press releases, but it was how she wanted to start her career.
 It would take a while for him to earn her trust again.  Alyssa was a
role model, and now she was gone.
And considering journalism was becoming her life, her passion, her
family ties were becoming less meaningful to her.  It really was just
that simple.

Her dark brown hair blew across her face in the wind, many of the
strands sticking to her cheeks where the tears had started flowing
earlier in the morning.  She glanced back at the numerous reporters
standing behind the fence, and the many more gathered in the crowd,
and was touched at how people who worked so competitively with each
other could get along in the end.

Then there was the man with the blonde hair at the end, watching her
instead of the minister presiding over the ceremony, focusing on her
intently, in a way that was neither frightening, nor comforting.  In
many ways it disconcerted her, his look was cold...almost.

She knew him though.  Although she never dealt with him directly, she
knew him, everybody in the Ottawa region did.  He was a journalist, so
was she, so she should feel safe with this man.  Then why was it
bothering her so much that he was looking at her?

She stepped away from her father and the crowd, moving to the
sidelines to try to gauge what he was thinking.  As a journalist she
was trained in observation, at being able to read people's faces, only
now, he was gone.

And she was standing outside the crowd alone.  She moved back in next
to her mother a moment later, pushing the man's look out of her mind
and focusing on the final farewell to her friend.

~*~*~

Same Day
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Basement office.

He couldn't find the file, spending the last few days searching his
entire cabinet for the connection between him, and the case in Canada.
 Several times his partner had told him there was nothing to connect
him to Canada, to give the search a rest and try to find a new case
for them to work on.  And he did search for new cases, only none of
them seemed to stand out in his mind like the one with Jude Harlem
did.

"Scully, are you sure we've never worked on an X-File with a Jude
Harlem or anybody named Harlem?  I could swear I know him from
somewhere." He was bent low, deep within the final drawer of the final
filing cabinet in their office, still having no luck in anything
remotely similar.

"Positive Mulder.  Besides, you know these X-Files better than
anybody, and if it's not where you thought it would be, chances are it
isn't here at all and it has nothing to do with either us, or the
FBI."  He slammed the final drawer shut in frustration and sat on the
floor for just a moment before standing back up and heading to the
door.  "Where are you going?"

"VCU, maybe if I didn't work on it here on the X-Files, it could be a
case from my violent crimes day.  If you need me and I'm not there,
try calling Cold Cases, it could be in there as well."

"Are you sure you're not just dreaming this up?  Seeing a connection
that really isn't there?"

"I worked on this case, Scully."  He was adamant.  "I can see it, I
just can't seem to see where I put the file."

"Okay, so lets say there is a connection between you and what's
happening in Ottawa, and lets say you find the file, what do you
expect to do about it?  You'll never get approval to go up to Ottawa
and investigate, we have no jurisdiction whatsoever there and the
Canadian authorities have never been overly friendly in allowing the
FBI to impede on their investigations.  That still leaves us here in
DC without an X-File to work on."

"You found the last case Scully, I'm sure it won't be so difficult for
you to find the next grand adventure for us, as long as we don't have
to travel to the Antarctic, I'm happy."

She let out a loud sigh as he exited the room, leaving the same
feeling of loneliness upon her as he did when he left for Connecticut
a week and a half ago and began to shift through the papers that had
accumulated in their inbox that morning, hoping that something
different, and strange had arrived for them to investigate.

Nothing.

And for what was definitely not the only time in the hour he was gone,
she stared at the pencils of his hanging in the ceiling.

~*~*~

He moved around the reception, his keen eyes focused on her the entire
time, keeping out of her sight, yet keeping her in his sight at the
same time, like somebody trained for observation.  She held onto her
husband's elbow as he escorted her around the hall, meeting and
greeting with fellow politicians, civil servants and Alyssa's friends.
 He expressed his sorrow to her parents, and her husband and
eight-year-old daughter, although neither of them seemed convinced
that he meant what he was saying, also believing him to be the killer.

Jeremy took great delight in watching St. Paul squirm as he moved from
family member to family member, watching his career go down the drain
with each person to whom he spoke, denying the allegations.  He knew
it wasn't enough.

St. Paul wasn't his object of interest this evening though. It was his
wife, Sara, who followed him everywhere, although she held a great
pain in her eyes, like she didn't believe him either.

And it was obvious to those standing around them; it was obvious in
the way she spoke to St. Paul, it was obvious by the way she was
acting around him, tensing every time the subject arose, cold
sometimes as he would describe her. To the others, it would look like
they were having marital problems, and they were, but not fighting per
se. She had become passive, accepting her role as a federal minister's
wife, but nothing more.

He was cautious in his observations, not wanting others, particularly
the other journalists who were most likely looking for a story among
all the talk occurring, to latch onto what he was doing. While there
was no story to be found, and there was little chance they would catch
the fact that he was the killer, and not St. Paul, he just didn't want
so much attention focused on Sara. It would only make what he had to
do harder if he had to avoid the prying eyes of others.

It was the perfect night for this, her look of disdain for her husband
fresh in everybody's minds, it would seem like a domestic dispute
resulting in murder, and there would be no doubt he'd be placed under
arrest and confined for these heinous acts.

She spotted him and he smiled, moving toward her and her husband with
ease.  "Mrs. St. Paul, the Honourable Minister.  How good to see you
both here.  Those of us who worked with Alyssa are very grateful that
you could come, seeing as you worked closely with her these past weeks
too."

"Mr. Hunter," St. Paul extended his hand with unease that Jeremy could
only take pride over.  His plan was working.  "Nice to see you again,
I hope you're not fishing around for a story around here like the
others.  If we're going to chat, off the record only."

"I wouldn't have it any other way.  I respected Alyssa too much to
make a story out of this.  I do want to talk shop though for a moment.
 CBC wants to do a fifteen-minute stint on her since she used to work
for us before moving to Parliament.  Not much time, granted, but much
longer than the typical news story."

St. Paul seemed interested, Jeremy noted.  This was good; he was
starting to trust him.

"Anyway, I've been asked to get you to speak about her as a co-worker
and a friend.  Not long, I want to get clips of her work in there, as
well as family and other friends, but if you're interested, I can give
you a one-minute time slot."

Jeremy could see the wheels turning in St. Paul's head as he
considered his proposal.  He knew he was going to go for it, there
would be no doubt, especially since being asked to appear on the
program was a sign of innocence as well.  If the CBC could view him as
innocent, maybe the rest of the general public would too.

"Call my office tomorrow with the specifics, the guidelines of the
show and what you're looking for.  I want final approval over my
clipping, with my lawyer present, but otherwise, I'd be honoured to do
it."

Hook, line and sinker, St. Paul stepped aside, and he continued to
watch him and his wife mingle with the rest of the guests.


~*~*~

It was getting hard to breathe in the room, his colleagues sending
accusing glares his way each passing moment, and people who were once
open and friendly with him were now cold and distant.  Even his wife,
St. Paul noted, was starting to distance herself from him, especially
when he needed her the most.  In public she acting the same as she
always did, lightly hanging onto his arm, smiling at him and at
everybody he greeted, but privately it was a different matter.  She
had taken to greeting him with barely a hello, spending time working
in the sunroom rather than in the study with him, and sleeping in the
spare room at night.

He doubted his marriage was in crisis, he just figured she was
confused, but that didn't mean he didn't worry.  He always worried
when it looked like his life was about to fall apart in some way.

It had taken him all of a moment to consider Hunter's proposal
regarding the CBC special.  He knew strategically it was a smart move
to make, although he didn't want to trust journalists to make him look
good.  He had already stepped aside to call Jude to draft a contract
for the next day, but even still, who was to say that working with
journalists was going to save him face.  For the past couple of weeks
they had been working against him, painting him as a monster to the
public, and now he wanted to work with them?

However, he knew that if he declined the spot it would make him look
worse.  The media could say any number of things like 'St. Paul denied
comment' and it would make him look guiltier than he already did.  The
situation was complicated and really, he couldn't see any way that
would make him look good coming out of it.  There was always going to
be judgment passed about him, and if he were a quitter, this would be
the time to think about retiring from politics.  Hell, half the
parliamentary gallery was demanding it.

"Deputy Prime Minister Phillips, good to see you again," he extended
his hand to his companion in greeting, thankful to see a supportive
face.  "It's too bad it had to be under such circumstances."

"Yes, it is, unfortunately these things happen.  I just hate seeing it
happen to people so close to us.  Prime Minister Adams is ready to nip
this thing in the bud though.  He's debating about bringing in CSIS to
help solve it since the RCMP isn't keeping it quiet and discreet."

"That's good to hear, I for one will be glad when it's all over and
then maybe I can get on with my life and my work in peace," St. Paul,
although leery of believing anything was that easy, was relieved to
hear that more people were working on his side to solve the murders.

"You know we're here for you.  Albert knows you didn't commit those
crimes and I think with the Prime Minister's faith behind you, others
might see what he does."

"Or if they're anti-political they might now.  But I'm not looking a
gift-horse in the mouth.  I didn't harm Jenson or Alyssa and as long
as he knows that and isn't planning on kicking me out of the House in
disgrace, I'm satisfied."

"You have no worries from anybody in the House.  It's the outside
public you have to worry about."

St. Paul shook Phillips' hand one last time as a farewell before
facing the rest of the crowd again.  His wife had played her role
wonderfully, but he knew there was only so much she could take.

"I'm going back to the house, the evening has gone on long enough." 
She slipped her arm from his and moved toward the coatroom to fetch
her evening jacket.

"I'll come with you, I'm getting tired of all these accusing glares, I
wouldn't mind some peace and quiet."

Sara St. Paul shrugged her shoulders as she reached for her black faux
fur shawl.

"Do you want me to grab Jordan?" he continued to ask.

"Do what you like.  She's a grown woman; it's really up to her if
she'd like to come home or not.  I'll have the valet pull the car up
front and meet you there."

She turned out the door before he could respond and he went to find
Jordan, hoping that she was immersing herself in a group of friends
rather than sitting at a table alone.  He knew Alyssa's death was hard
on her, but he also knew there was nothing he could do to protect her
from the hurt either.

~*~*~
***note.  I have looked at avg Charleston temps and while it&#8217;s
not necessarily cold by my standards (seeing as Canada is right near
the arctic and Ottawa is one of the colder cities in the winter, this
particular February Jeremy will be talking about the temperature will
be a below average cold spell***

Finally, Jeremy thought as he saw Mrs. St. Paul slide into the front
seat of her husband's black BMW.  She looked tired, he noted,
exhausted actually.  If he were a betting man, he'd bet that she was
losing patience with her husband too, yet there was she was, by his
side each and every day.  In a way he felt sorry for her, she was
never meant to be part of the game, she was never meant to be hurt. 
She didn't have anything to do with what happened, yet now she played
an integral role in it all.  The first two attempts did nothing to
shake St. Paul.  He was still standing his ground and it was starting
to piss him off.

He was having his doubts about including her in the game though.  He
genuinely respected the wife of a political minister with all the crap
she'd have to put up with.  She was a public figure at all times, and
although it was a choice by marriage, it probably wasn't in her
original life plan.  She was a good mother to Jordan, a colleague of
his, he admired as well.  Her eagerness to be in the field was
phenomenal and she proved to be extremely tenacious.  It wasn't right
to deny her the right of motherhood.

However, his right to a mother had been denied.

He felt cold again, physically, like he was back in Charleston in the
middle of February, like he was ten years old hiding in the back alley
again as his own mother, a 30-year old cocaine and heroin addict stood
on the corner of the street.

He was watching her, like he did every night when she left him alone
in their 'nest' to go and 'work', only he realized later in life that
her work wasn't really work, not in the common sense of the word.  He
watched men constantly approach her, touch her, play with her and
sometimes hit her and beat her until she was nearly unconscious on the
ground.  She would see him and tell him to go away as he tried to pull
her back into their pile of old blankets and newspaper clippings.

Only the last night he couldn't pull her back into the nest as he
watched one particularly large man continually throw her around the
street.  She was crying, half-baked as blood was pouring down from her
nose, from inside her mouth as she kept shouting 'stop it stop it' and
'go away James I'm fine.'

He tried to pull her from the man's swinging arms, but only ended up
getting in the way, being knocked to the ground as he watched the man
give his final blow to his mother.  He tried to go to her, to pull her
into the warmth and heal her cuts and bruises like every other night
she came home like this, but the man grabbed Jeremy as he made his
move toward her, pulling Jeremy to the back alley to give to him what
the man gave to his mother only minutes before the beating began.

When he returned to her, she wasn't moving, she wasn't breathing, she
wasn't doing anything but lying in a pool of her own blood.  By the
time police arrived it was too late, and he had disappeared down the
back alley where he watched from a distance as they loaded her onto a
gurney and took her away for the last time.

He hardened his resolve.  Sara St. Paul was about as innocent as her
husband.  She married the bastard; she could damn well lie in the bed
she made with him.

~*~*~

He knew he had found the file before he even set his eyes on it.  It
was gut feeling that led him to this particular drawer of cold cases
in VCU and he was right on the money when he pulled the folder out.

Charleston, 1989.

He didn't need to open the file to remember what was inside it; it was
all coming back to him, the names, the murders, the details and even
the profile he wrote for the UNSUB at the time.

Harlem.

Greta Harlem.

He remembered the name he was looking for; he just couldn't connect it
to the Jude Harlem he saw on television.  It would take some
background research into it to find the connection, but he was sure
there was one.

He signed the file out of VCU, avoiding the looks of the other agents.
 He knew what they were thinking; it was either 'Spooky Mulder's found
another case to connect aliens with' or 'Spooky's found a lead on an
old case and how can I get in on the action to help my career.'  They
were always the same looks, which was why he very rarely visited VCU
anymore.  Old memories, old nightmares, two things he was very glad to
be rid of while down in the X-Files.

He entered the office to find Scully sitting at his desk using her
laptop.  It was a reminder to give her a desk of her own one day, but
right now he enjoyed the idea of her sitting in his chair, keeping it
warm for him, although she'd shoot him on the spot if he ever voiced
that thought aloud.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I think so.  I'm going to have to do a little more research into it,
but I think this is the one I'm looking for.  It either connects to
Canada or it doesn't and I'm way off base."

"But you don't think you are?" His partner closed her laptop and
continued to look at him from his chair, refusing to budge at the
moment.

"No, I don't think I am.  I'll know the answer by the end of the day. 
I just need to go over old newspaper clippings and do some background
checks, but I think I'll find the connection in there."

"Well since you're determined to find a connection, I'll head over to
the archives to look at the old clippings.  I know they tend to make
you sick.  Why don't you head down to do the background checks and
we'll meet back in a couple of hours."

"Sounds like a plan.  How about make it an hour.  I'll know what I'm
looking for once I see it."  He began to head toward the door again.

"Mulder?  If you find this connection, what do you plan on doing about
it?  Canada isn't in our jurisdiction."

"No, it isn't, but it was my case first.  I'm hoping that'll have some
effect on the powers that be."

~*~*~

He watched as her blonde hair cascaded down past her shoulders before
she started running a brush through it. It needed work, he noted. She
was due for another appointment sometime soon; her dark roots were
already showing. He had spent years observing her, knowing her inside
and out, knowing how vain she was and how she never let her natural
hair colour show the way it showed now.

Although the public still couldn't see it with the hat she wore
earlier in the day.

She sat in her vanity chair now, her black silk robe covering the navy
negligee he knew she was wearing underneath. He was there the entire
time.  He watched them enter, he watched him go to his office, her to
the bedroom.  He watched as she hung her dress up in the closet, and
placed the hat in its proper box. Her husband was still nowhere to be
seen. This was good.

This was very good.

They had left reception together, and he had followed in the car
behind them unnoticed, as always. They had left their daughter behind,
knowing she'd find her own way home.

This was what he wanted. He didn't have to do everything at once
tonight; he could use Jordan later if St. Paul wasn't behind bars
after this. He was actually looking forward to using her later if he
could, in a way he was hoping things didn't go his way after this, it
would only make the game more fun later on.

Sara St. Paul placed the silver brush back onto the table and picked
UP? What looked like a ridiculous schoolgirl scrunchy, and he watched
as she pulled her hair back. She was one of those women who couldn't
stand sleeping with her hair down. It was the same thing every night.
She'd spend ten minutes brushing, then tie it back. It was a look
she'd never take to the public
though.

He tightened the cord in his hands, watching it crush against the soft
leather of his glove. He was upset he couldn't stay to watch the
aftermath, much like he had in the previous cases, however, he knew
within a few minutes the house would be teeming with cops and he
didn't want to be found
anywhere near there. Maybe after word had gotten out about the murder
in the newsroom, but until then it would look too suspicious to show
his face.

Then of course there was the façade that he was on St. Paul's side and
wanted him for his tribute to Alyssa. With tonight's events he knew
CBC wouldn't want him on the show, not when he'd look guiltier than he
already did.

She turned the bedside light off before crawling under the navy
Alexander Julian Duvet, and he took two steps forward knowing that if
he was going to get it done tonight, now would be the time.

And he watched with glee as the wire now cut through the soft flesh of
her neck, and she grew sickly pale under the moonlight.

~*~*~

~*Chapter 5*~
Canadian Security Intelligence Service
Headquarters
Ottawa, Canada
October 31, 2002

The meeting held in conference room A on the third floor was already
underway as the coppery-brown haired officer indiscreetly made her way
to her seat in the far corner. The pepper-haired man, Director Daniel
Graeham, didn't bother stopping his spiel as he glared at the younger
officer. He didn't know why he put up with her most days. She was very
rarely discreet in her investigations and had a tendency to piss the
authorities off. It was the hair he figured. Redheads were always more
temperamental and 'out there', although she didn't truly classify as a
red
head.

"Glad you could finally join us Officer Menard. Since you chose to be
late today I can only assume that you've been following the news and
don't require me to go over what I've already said to the others."

Officer Katrina Menard nodded her head. She had called her assistant
from the highway informing her she was running late again and managed
to talk her into nabbing a copy of the meeting's agenda and filled her
in as she dropped her coat and bag off. She figured she knew about as
much as everyone else, and of course, given the only item on the
agenda, it was safe to say that the entire city knew about what was
happening.

"Anyway, Prime Minister Adams has asked that we set up a task force to
bring this investigation to a quick and quiet close, finding the real
perp before the police bungle the case and arrest the wrong man."

Another officer jumped into the frey, "Adams doesn't believe it's St.
Paul?"

"No, he doesn't," answered Graeham. "He's standing by St. Paul's
innocence."

"With all due respect Director, why is CSIS even getting involved?"
questioned Menard. "We never get involved in homicide cases unless it
directly affects Canada's national security. I hardly call this a
national security matter."

"No, it is not, but Adams doesn't want it to become one either. If
people catch wind that it's just that easy to walk up and murder
everybody close to those in power, there may be copycats. Back to the
traditional way of anarchy I suppose, instead of using mass nuclear
weapons and hiring
terrorists, just use your average schmuck on the street to kill the
co-workers and wife of a prominent official. As well, this couldn't
have come at a worse time. Canada is currently receiving international
attention regarding the ratification of Kyoto. We don't want this as a
black mark."

She nodded her head in understanding. It wasn't a case she was
thrilled with, nor did she want to get involved in this investigation,
but whatever the Prime Minister said, they pretty much had to follow.
It was easy enough to cut funding in the wrong places if they weren't
pleased. It wasn't
honest, but what in the government this day was. 

Graeham continued on. "While this doesn't normally follow protocol,
Adams has requested his own head of the task force. He has chosen an
officer he thinks will best do the job right and quickly. As reluctant
as I am to agree with him given the officer in question, I do have to
say he's made the
right choice."

He looked over to Officer Menard, and she sunk in her seat as he did
so. "You, Menard, will head our task force." He continued to glare at
her.

Hard.

"I'm warning you now though. I want you to keep this discreet, unlike
the Dobson case. The less media attention to our involvement, the
better. You screw up on this, and you're out, for good, no matter how
much Adams seems to like you. Is that understood?"

She nodded again.

"Good, the rest of you will listen to what she says and so what she
says. Now get to work, meeting adjourned."

She sighed as the rest of the room looked to her for further
instructions.  She should have skipped the meeting all together.

~*~*~

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Assistant Director Walter Skinner's Office
Same Day

"Mulder, explain this to me again please."

"Very simple sir," Mulder's face was a steadied calm as he sat in his
chair across from the assistant director.  "The case that's occurring
in Canada now is an extension of the case that's sitting on your
desk."

"Extension how?" He raised his eyebrow slightly, attempting to keep
his calm and detached exterior while wondering where his top agents
were coming from.

"Greta Harlem, the last murder victim before the UNSUB disappeared and
before the case got shipped off to cold cases, is the mother of Jude
Harlem, the lawyer defending Derek St. Paul, their prime suspect."

Skinner sighed wearily in his chair, rubbing his forehead with his
left hand as his right held the file in front of him.  "That could be
coincidence.  Harlem's a lawyer; it's his job to defend at murder
trials.  You'll need something more."

"The MO is the very same, strangulation with a black, rubber-coated
wire.  The way the body is being disposed of is the same, with the
exception of Greta Harlem because he had to leave her in a rush."

"Mulder, that's not enough to warrant you access to their
investigation.  Once again it's all circumstantial.  How many people
are strangled everyday with some form of rubber-coated wire?"

"Not just some form sir," Mulder continued.  "Forensics did a break
down of the rubber wire used in our deaths here and they were the same
for each.  I'd wage my life's savings that it's the very same in
Canada."

The assistant director was starting to get impatient.  "Mulder, this
still doesn't—"

He was cut off.  

"Here's the clincher sir, and I had to dig for this.  Derek St. Paul
was involved in this case back then too.  His mother was the fourth
victim, Brook Delaney.  Apparently when she divorced her husband
Raymond St. Paul, he got full custody of Derek and shortly after her
murder, he obtained custody of Jude Harlem, Derek's best friend, and
took both of them to Toronto, Canada.  I didn't find the connection
until I looked into Jude Harlem's background."

Skinner sat silently in his chair processing the information he just
received.  He knew at this point that it was pointless to argue with
the younger agent.  He had a case for himself, and he was right, it
was their case first, the FBI was the first to investigate it. 
"You're telling me that it's the same killer for both of the cases?"

"I'm positive."

For the second time during the meeting, Skinner sighed.  "I'll do what
I can to get you out there, but realize that it might not be possible,
or if I can, it's for consultation only, you'll have no jurisdiction
to investigate."

"Yes sir,"

"Now let me make a couple of phone calls, I'll let you know as soon as
I find out anything," he didn't bother to escort his agents out as he
picked up the telephone.  He knew his spiel was in essence, useless,
Mulder was going to do whatever he wanted despite what was just said. 
The least he could do though was get him out there in an official
capacity, that way he wouldn't have to deal with him illegally
impeding the investigation and pissing off the authorities of another
country.  It's not like he hadn't pissed off enough US authorities.

~*~*~
Derek St. Paul glanced only once at his grief-stricken daughter from
across the room.  The evening had been chaotic with the police
searching the house for any clues of an intruder.  Of course, none
were found, he knew they wouldn't find anything.  It seemed that
somebody was out to ruin his career, although at this point he didn't
care anymore.  He just wanted his wife back.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.  He wanted his old life back before
his wife started suspecting him of these murders, before his daughter
distanced herself from him.  He'd trade in his entire political career
to have his life back.

He knew what the officers were looking for now that they had found no
indication of another presence in the house…the murder weapon,
something they believed St. Paul had.  He didn't have it, and if they
did find it he would be the first to pay for a private investigation
to find out where it came from.

He could hear Jordan crying from the far side of the room as she sat
near the spot her mother was found.  He wanted to console her.  She
would have nothing to do with him.  She blamed him, he knew.

"Derek."  His friend and lawyer placed a supportive hand on his
shoulder.  He was thankful to have somebody like Jude Harlem on his
side.  He knew Jude would do his best to get to the bottom of these
murders.  He had already handed out his other cases to his partners
and contacted the CSIS agent who was supposed to be working with them.
 Jude had as much backgrounding in these murders as St. Paul had…Derek
knew that he would do his best to solve them.  They hit too close to
home, and Derek wanted them stopped before somebody else he loved was
killed.    He knew Jude was feeling it too, neither of them felt safe
anymore, these murders were too closely related...

"What's the plan?" St. Paul felt the need to ask, even though he
already knew what it was.

"First we're waiting for Officer Menard to show and do her own
investigation of the crime scene.  Hopefully she'll come up with
something that the others missed proving you didn't kill Sara." Jude
squeezed St. Paul's shoulder again to show he was on his side.  "Then
they'll probably want you down at the station again to answer a few
questions.  This time I'll be there with you to make sure all of your
rights are upheld."

"What about my job?  This couldn't have happened at a worse time?"

"The Prime Minister contacted me an hour ago.  He said to take all the
time you need to grieve and you can come back to the legislature
whenever you want.  The entire Liberal caucus is behind you 100%. 
Adams has even agreed to pay your legal fees, which I wouldn't have
charged you anyway."

St. Paul chuckled momentarily.  Albert Adams was a stickler when it
came to money.  Before becoming party leader he was Minister of
Finances and kept a tight reign on Canada's budget.  Even his own
budget didn't leave much room for flexibility, so him offering to pay
an absorbent amount of money was something that was flattering.  "Did
you take it?"

"At first I declined because it's unethical for me to charge somebody
else for your fees when I wasn't going to charge you to begin with. 
But he insisted.  I guess since I'm his lawyer as well he feels
confident enough in my work to fund it.  While I have a large savings,
he said I needed some way to keep food on my table so I can work since
I turned every other case away."

St. Paul decided it was time to change the subject.  He wanted to keep
his mind off the spot where his wife lay only until a few hours prior.
 "Who's the officer CSIS is sending over?"

"Katrina Menard, you've probably heard of her, she's very high
profile, but very good."

Jude didn't need to say anymore as a coppery-haired woman wearing a
pair of navy slacks and a white button down charged into the bedroom
with her team.

High profile indeed.  St. Paul would be surprised if she managed to
keep the case discreet with the way she was barking orders at
everybody around.

~*~*~

Katrina stood in the middle of the room, wishing that at that moment,
she could be anywhere other than where she was.  There were too many
politics involved in this case for her to feel comfortable with it,
too many risky factors.  Originally she had joined CSIS to work
against terrorism, it was only when they found she had a knack for
investigation and bringing about the results the powers that be wanted
did they move her to national homicide.  She wanted back in with the
terrorism crowd when it came to cases like these.

She did a cursory examination of the room, noting all the little
discrepancies that those incapable cops had missed.  She hated working
with local law enforcements.  It usually meant she had to put up with
the screw ups, that and she didn't like to share.  They constantly
rubbed each other the wrong way, and she had no doubt it was about to
happen again on this case.  It was too high profile for it not to. 
She noted the position of the body lying on the ground, the objects
scattered about her and the condition of the floor itself.  If the
person was wearing shoes, the floor would be scuffed.  There was
nothing.

"I want a post-mortem done immediately," she demanded the coroner.  "I
want forensics to gather any evidence they can off her," she paused as
she opened the eyelids of Sara St. Paul.  It was as she suspected,
another strangulation.  The red bruising along her neck also gave way
to that fact.  "I also want your guys to pinpoint exactly what type of
rubber is being used on the cord used to stangle her and who supplies
it and who would use it.  Maybe we can narrow down a suspect list."

She stepped aside as the paramedics zipped the large black vinyl body
bag.  She was disgusted, as she always was when people were dragged
away in one of those.  "Call me with the results as soon as you get
them," and with that she handed the coroner her card.

She looked around the room one last time before spotting the man she
needed to talk to sitting in the far corner.  His hair was ruffled and
he was starting to show a little growth on his face, like he hadn't
slept all night. He probably hadn't given the commotion going on
around there.

"Derek St. Paul I presume?" She extended one hand in a brief greeting.
 "Officer Katrina Menard, CSIS.  Prime Minister Adams asked me to look
into this case for you.  Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

She saw the man look up to the blonder man standing next to him, also
giving off the same disheveled look.  She figured him to be St. Paul's
lawyer since after all he didn't have any sons.  "You must be Jude
Harlem."  It was his turn to extend his hand to her in greeting.  "You
obviously have every right to be there when I talk to Mr. St. Paul.  I
have no intention of making him out to be the suspect, I just want to
get a clearer picture about what's been happening."

Kat had no further time to explain as Sgt O'Connor approached the
three of them.  "I hate to do this sir, but I'm going to have to take
you in, chief's orders."  O'Connor had a smug grin on his face like he
had just caught his man.  This was why Kat hated working with the
local law enforcement.  They did nothing but ruin her carefully laid
plans.

"Sgt. O'Connor," she smiled coyly at him. "Do you think you could give
me a moment with the man before you take him in?  After all, this is
my investigation now."

"Sorry ma'am, I have my orders, I have to take him in.  You can come
and speak to him at the station though, just like Mr. Harlem here can
too.  There's enough evidence against him to book him, and that's
exactly what we're doing."

She saw the blond man place his hand on St. Paul's shoulder and lean
in close to say something, although she didn't quite catch it.  St.
Paul had stood up willingly and was read his rights as he was escorted
out of the house.  She sighed, this one was going to make the papers
she knew, and it was only a matter of time before her involvement
became public and Adams fired her ass.

Life was just peachy, and she followed the three men out.

~*~*~

He watched from across the street as the two officers escorted St.
Paul into their car, and smiled at the sheer brilliance of this move.
It was enough to place St. Paul into protective custody, but for how
long, he didn't know. He knew he had to stop himself from proceeding
now, no matter how appealing going after the youngest St. Paul member
would be. If he went after Jordan now, St. Paul would be proved
innocent, and the game would move into a direction he didn't want it
to go in.

He grimaced as he watched the daughter silently watch her father being
driven away. She looked so overcome with grief that he couldn't help
but smile.  He was one sick guy, but he was sick in a way that would
end in his favour.  He didn't mind it. At least he got to see the
police take the man away who is *believed* to have committed the
crime.  It was more than he had gotten to see with his mother. Of
course, the man responsible for her death soon got his afterward.
Jeremy had made sure of that.

It was his first kill, his first taste of what was to come. All his
life he had grown up fighting others, police coming after to arrest
him for his various muggings, men after his mother, and other street
kids in general looking to stake out their own territory. It didn't
matter who went after him, he'd come out victorious sending the others
to look elsewhere for what they wanted.  This was time was different
as he bumped into the same throwing a black garbage bag into the
dumpster behind his building. He didn't make his move then; it was too
simple and too out in the open. Somebody, anybody could easily see
what was happening.  He followed the man into his apartment building,
keeping his distance so as to keep an eye on him, yet to stay out of
the way. He needed to know his room number and he'd never find that
out if he was caught. The man would surely remember him.

He returned that night, with an old wire he had found from some nearby
construction site. It was something that had been ripped out and about
to be replaced or was replaced with something newer. It didn't matter;
it was about to be garbage and had found a new use. After several
years on the street he could pick his way into anything and opened the
apartment lobby door without a problem and made his way to the
stairwell. Despite the late hour people were always about and it there
was too much of a risk of getting noticed if he took the elevator. The
man only lived on the third floor, it wasn't much of a hike and would
make a quick get away Jeremy had thought as he quietly picked the lock
of his apartment door.

Apartment 313.

He watched in delight as he caught the man by surprise and had slipped
the cord over his neck. The more the man struggled the tighter he
pulled the cord until he saw the body fall slack on his bed. There had
been no sound and it was done in five minutes, and he had enjoyed it.
It was only the beginning, he had thought back then. Everybody would
soon end up like the man. It was everybody's fault that his mother
died; they led her there, so now they could join her there tool

Jeremy's reverie was interrupted with the ring of his cell phone,
"Jeremy Hunter speaking."

"Jeremy," the female voice filled his ear. "Lydia here. Anderson wants
you at the cop shop right away. They've brought St. Paul here. I'm
already working on the story for tonight from my end but apparently
you're needed here to."

"I'll be there right away." He flipped his phone shut and placed it
back in his pocket, before pulling away from St. Paul's house himself.

~*~*~

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Assistant Director Skinner's office
November 1, 2002

The two agents sat in front of their boss for the second time in as
many days, Mulder with a smug grin on his face as he knew what was
about to come. The assistant director couldn't help but grimace at his
agent's cocky attitude, because the agent was right, he was about to
get what he want.
"Yes, Mulder, you have your wish. I have contacted a friend in CSIS
and asked for a favour and they're willing to allow you to help out
with the case, but it was under much reluctance."

He watched his agents nod their heads, but they kept silent to allow
him to continue.

"They don't play nice with the FBI, they think we're too high profile
and their idea of an investigation is notice but not to be noticed.
The only reason he acquiesced to your participation is because I had
ample proof that the case was yours before it was theirs. I sent him a
copy of the file you gave me and he agreed with you, the evidence in
the two cases are too similar for them to be coincidental.

"It appears that Director Daniel Graeham has also heard of your
profiling skills and decided he can use them to their advantage. Local
law enforcement believes Derek St. Paul to be the killer, however,
CSIS believes otherwise and they're working to clear his name. You
will be working with them unless you come to the conclusion that it is
indeed St. Paul who is the killer, then you're to hightail it back to
Washington before you ruin any good relations we have left with them,
got it?"

He glared at them to emphasize his point. It wasn't that he didn't
want the killer caught, even if it was St. Paul, but he figured that
local law enforcement would have enough on him to come to that
conclusion without his agents being involved. The agents nodded their
heads in understanding, despite the fact he knew they wouldn't leave
even if told.

"You both know that this is outside the FBI's jurisdiction despite the
fact that the case originally belonged to us. You will be there on a
consultation basis only. You are to behave as if you're ambassadors
and listen to everything that Director Graeham and his officer Katrina
Menard tell you."

The agents continued to nod their heads.

"Your flight leaves this afternoon at 3 pm out of Dulles. You'll land
in Toronto at Pearson International and make a connecting flight out
of there to MacDonald Cartier in Ottawa. The bureau has arranged with
CSIS to get you accommodation in a Days Inn on Hunt Club Rd."

The senior agent whistled in surprise. "Days Inn sir? Isn't that kind
of pricey?"

"We're paying 75% of the cost, CSIS has agreed to pay 25% because you
are going up there to help them out. Not to mention you'll find that
the exchange rate will agree with you quite well." Skinner gave a wry
smile before continuing. "Car rentals are your responsibility. It was
one of the only ways I negotiate you two there since it wasn't a
request out of Canada. You can pick up your tickets from Kimberly and
I suggest you two get packing. It's an international flight so you'll
want to be there a couple hours ahead of time."

The two agents rose from their seats and headed toward the door. "Oh
and Mulder?" Mulder looked back at his boss. "Behave."

~*~*~

Derek St. Paul sat exhausted at the large gray interrogation table. He
had no excuse to leave this time; Menard made sure Jude Harlem was
allowed to be with him. And he knew he wasn't going to get to go home
anytime soon either. There were several reasons for that, the main one
being he had no one to go home to, his wife dead and his daughter
abandoned. She was staying at a friend's house for the duration,
refusing to speak to him. He wouldn't have even known if Menard hadn't
told him.

The officers at the station were convinced they had the right man and
spent the last several hours trying to push him to a confession. They
didn't understand, nobody in the building did, he had nothing to
confess. He knew that once they returned from their coffee break
they'd probably go all night. It was fine though, as he had already
stated, he had nowhere to go.

He had long since shed his tie and jacket, and his once crisp white
shirt was open two buttons down. His usually impeccable hair was a
mess, a result of running his hands through it several times in
nervous habit. His career was officially flushed down the drain; he
knew he'd have to hand in his resignation sometime soon if the
publicity didn't go away.  His life was quickly following suit,
escaping from him with each passing moment.

He looked up as he heard the door open and smiled briefly as Jude
entered the room, two coffees in hand. He was glad he had one friend
sticking by him now, it seemed like everybody else had abandoned him.
"What's the damage so far?" he asked as he took hold of his coffee.

"Well, let's just say that lady luck isn't smiling down on you right
now."

St. Paul chuckled at that remark. How true it was, she hadn't been
smiling down on him since the night Jenson Bennet went missing. "I
could have told you that. How much longer are they going to keep me in
here?"

"Overnight for sure, they don't want to let you go.  There's pressure
from the House and Prime Minister Adams for them to let you be on your
way and they'll both vouch for you showing up for your proper court
dates. However, the police have a mind of their own, and since
Ottawa-Carleton has some funding at the municipal level, they don't
rely too heavily on the federal government. There's really no
incentive for them to let you go on the honour system."

"So in other words, I'm in here for a couple weeks until they can
arrange a prelim for me."

"It won't be several days. While the police aren't really federally
funded, the court systems rely heavily on what the federal government
has to say."

"You're saying I could get out earlier?" St. Paul's voice held just a
tad of hope at the suggestion.

"I know I can get you out earlier. The judge is being assigned to your
case right this moment. Prime Minister Adams is breathing down his
neck. Most likely you'll be in court first thing tomorrow morning and
they won't have much evidence to keep you locked up."

"Tomorrow…" St. Paul's voice was wistful, and tired, Jude noted. While
the prospect of early court dates would thrill many people, it didn't
with his friend. He was happy, oh yes, he knew Derek wanted out of the
station as soon as possible, but tomorrow also meant that his troubles
weren't going away, that he would still have to face them.

Jude smirked at his next thought. "This case'll be a piece of cake you
know, they don't know who they're going up against yet. It's been a
long time since I've been in criminal court, but there's a reason
Adams hired me and kept me on staff. The Crown's office really won't
know what hit them once I'm through tomorrow. They literally have no
time to prepare a valid case against you. Meanwhile, you're more than
welcome to stay with me for the duration of this. You can't go back to
your home here and leaving the city to your other house won't look
good for you."

"I need to know if you think the charges will hold against me. If they
decide to charge me anyway, anyway I could get a guilty verdict
later?"

This time Jude grinned, he was in his element now, the thrill of the
chase always giving him that extra bit of energy to move forward.

"Not bloody likely."

~*~*~

"What do you mean you're bringing in outside help for this," shouted
Kat. "You don't like the job I'm doing now?  I just started the damn
case, give me a few days at least!"

Her redhead temper was getting the best of her again as she screamed
at her superior. She knew she was the only one who'd be able to get
away without a reprimand for this, she had the federal government's
backing, Graeham wasn't going to screw that up.

"You're taking this the wrong way Kat," Graeham stood his ground
despite the verbal berating he was receiving. "I didn't call them in,
nor do I really want them here, but they're coming in anyway. They
have prior experience and knowledge on this case. AD Skinner of the
FBI told me the agents believe this case is an extension of one of
theirs that went cold a few years back."

"How the hell can they be connected? We're in an entirely different
country. Our guy wasn't going around murdering political figures down
there."

"The connection isn't in who in power the murderer was trying to ruin,
but he did murder people that were prominent to today's political
figures, their families back then. Have you done your background check
on Derek St. Paul and Jude Harlem? If you had you'd see that they
didn't grow up in Canada, they weren't born here, but rather in South
Carolina. Charleston to be exact and that's where the connection lies.
 Apparently both of their parents were victims of the murderer, who
used the very same weapon and MO back then as he's using now. If they
bring proof of this information to us, it would be enough to turn the
locals off St. Paul as the suspect and give them enough of a lead to
find a new suspect."

Deflated, Kat sat in her chair, a sheepish look on her face. She knew
she was supposed to do background checks on every person they were
dealing with in a case of this magnitude, but she just hadn't yet
gotten around to it. She very rarely did things by the book and it
always seemed to work for her. She would have gotten them done at some
point, just not within the next few days. "That doesn't explain why I
have to work with them, they could very easily have just faxed or
UPSed us the information."

"You're working with them because of the prior experience they have on
the case. One of them is a top notch profiler. He's the one who
originally profiled the murderer, he has all that information locked
and stored in his head. You can pick his brains all you want, but
without being able to see the images that he's seen, or having worked
on the case first hand, we wouldn't be able to get as accurate a
profile as he would. You know this Kat."

"But sir," she stuttered, clearly not wanting to give up her case to
the feds.

"No buts Kat. This is big stuff and Adams wants it solved pronto. If
the FBI can lend us any help whatsoever that brings us closer to
solving this thing, then I'm welcoming them with open arms. Besides,
they're not taking over the case, I would never allow that. They're
here on a consultation basis only. You're still lead investigator, but
they're here to help. Besides, you can probably take advantage of the
profiler's mind, and his partner is apparently damn good with
forensics, which may be our only lead to the killer here. Use them
Kat, take advantage of them. It's your case but use all available
resources you can to solve it."

She sighed in her seat, knowing there was no way she could get out of
this situation. "What are their names and when will they be here?"

"Agents Mulder and Scully, and they should be at MacDonald-Cartier
within the hour. They're going to check into the Days Inn on Hunt Club
road, it's quiet and they should go unnoticed there. I've already told
Jude Harlem to meet them there at 9pm so he could gather any
information necessary from them for his case. I suggest you get there
around the same time."

~*Chapter 6*~
Elgin Street Provincial Court House
Ottawa, Canada
November 1, 2002

The five figures sat in the basement briefing room of the courthouse,
exhausted both physically and mentally. They were waiting out the
crowds, mainly the reporters that were stationed outside the building.
Well the ones with cameras anyway. Both the print and radio
journalists were stationed outside this very room. St. Paul considered
himself very thankful that cameras weren't allowed inside the
building.

The day had not gone well. Crown Attorney Rita Marks had shot down
every argument Harlem could come up with and the judge ruled in the
Crown's favour, setting a trial date of January 20, 2003. That left
them with only a little over two months to come up with a substantial
argument and a reasonable doubt as to why St. Paul didn't kill his
co-workers and wife. The good news was the federal government had put
enough pressure on the judicial staff to set bail at the same hearing,
and on Prime Minister Adam's good word, St. Paul was released without
paying a fee. Some days it paid to work in politics.

The Canadian officer looked at her American counterparts in contempt.
She didn't want them there. She made that clear the night before when
she greeted them at their hotel, telling them exactly what their role
was and that if she felt they stepped out of bounds in any way she'd
give them the boot. She knew today that she couldn't do that. Losing
the prelim was one step closer to losing her job. If she didn't clear
St. Paul's name she'd be out of a job. She needed them, as reluctant
as she was to admit it.

Harlem and St. Paul sat in a corner, dwelling on the information
Agents Mulder and Scully had presented them with the night before.
Neither of them wanted to resurrect the past, although they had felt
the sting of the blows with the recent murders and their resemblance
to the murders from so long ago they had wanted to forget. They hadn't
mentioned the details; instead they discussed the best way to tell
Jordan. Derek had kept this secret from her for her entire life, not
wanting to accept it himself. He didn't know if she'd talk to him, or
even want to hear it, but he hoped that if she heard what had happened
so many years ago, she might join his side again.

He found out through Jude that morning that she had received special
permission from Carleton to move back into residence. A room had
become available in Dundas House and despite the growing waiting list,
she was awarded the room based on her circumstance, and based on the
fact she was the daughter of a well-known cabinet minister. At least
his name could do something right for her. He was disappointed she
didn't show up this morning to support him. Even if she weren't
mentally there, her physical presence alone would have helped give him
strength.

"Gentlemen." Kat broke the silence, receiving the attention of
everybody in the room. "We're not going to get anything accomplished
by sitting here. We need to get out there and find a way to clear
Derek's name. There are still avenues to be investigated." She opened
her note pad and pulled her pen from her suit jacket. "Jude, you work
on your court case, get alibis from everybody in Derek's household,
staff, etc, and speak those in his office as well. I want to know who
was with the victims just before their deaths. Definitely speak to
Sara Beaudoin, Jenson Bennett's secretary. She may have some
information as she was probably closest to her in the office."

She turned toward the two American agents. "Agent Scully, you've got
an eye for forensics and detail. I need you to go over each of the
autopsy reports with a fine tooth comb, and the forensic analysis for
each crime scene. Anything odd or out of the ordinary, report them to
me, they'll need to be followed up on. Agent Mulder, your profile is
14 years out of date. We'll need something newer to work on. See if
you can build upon it." Finally she turned to St. Paul. "You and I are
going to have a very long talk. We'll go to your office where you'll
be more comfortable. I want to know what you did every minute of those
days, got it?"

The room's occupants dispersed quickly as each person went to focus on
their task at hand. St. Paul picked up his briefcase and walked out
the door, refusing comment to the reporters hounding him. He made it
to the door without incident and before he knew it there were several
cameras in his face. Again, Kat refused comment to the reporters as
they made their way down the steps, and as soon as they were down to
the concrete path, Jeremy Hunter, CBC was there, microphone in hand as
if he hadn't heard the no comment remark. And behind him, working with
Jeremy was his Jordan, already teaming up against him.

~*~*~

Jeremy stood at the sidelines, inwardly smirking at the look St. Paul
had on his face at the sight of his daughter on the side of the
journalists, rather than the side of her father. Jeremy saw the
betrayal and hurt, as well as the anger directed at him for bringing
St. Paul's daughter to his side. It was all part of the plan though,
piece by piece tear apart St. Paul's life just as his was destroyed
years ago in Charleston. It was his fault after all, and he had to
admit, revenge was becoming sweeter by the moment. By the end he might
take out the young Miss St. Paul as well, just to make it final.

He wasn't really there to scrum the man like the other journalists
were. While yes, he was there for CBC and they'd like some footage,
St. Paul had already declared no comment. He had what he needed on the
camera already and was there purely for kicks. He wanted St. Paul to
see him with Jordan. He wanted to see the pain and anguish in his face
knowing that things from this point on weren't going to get better -
only worse.

He watched the exchange between father and daughter, reveling in her
refusal to go with him back to his place. Neither of them realized who
she was actually with. St. Paul had no idea Jeremy was behind the
murders, and Jordan thought it was her father's fault. To him, the
situation was comical at best.

The other journalists looked on, their cameras running and microphones
out in the air to catch the exchange on tape, hoping to air it on the
six o'clock news that night. Even his own cameraman was filming the
two of them talking. There was no reason to do so, he knew it didn't
fit into his focus for his story for the evening, but he allowed him
to continue anyway. There may be a use for it later.

The next figure to walk out the courthouse door caught his eye as he
saw the flood of other reporters to scrum him. He was familiar, but he
couldn't place where he had met this man before. He knew it wasn't
while he was here in Ottawa, he knew everybody in Ottawa.

"Agent Mulder!" He heard Tracy Kleppi, a rookie CJOH reporter call out
to the man, shoving a microphone into his face. "Agent Scully, could
you tell us why the FBI sent you here to help?"

FBI…he remembered the man now, Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI.
The woman with him he didn't know, probably a new partner, but the man
he knew. He turned to his cameraman and told him to pack it up.
"Jordan, if you're gonna come with me and help with the story, we have
to leave now. We don't have much time to edit and package the story."

He looked back at the man pushing his way through the crowd of
reporters. Yeah, he didn't want to stick around to see if the man
would recognize him, else the fun would end before it really began.

~*~*~

He was searching for his dark place, the place in his head he had long
ago tried to forget, as it brought nothing but painful memories to
him. This was why he left profiling; and it was slowly killing him,
driving him mad as he became mentally closer to each mass murderer,
child molester and serial rapist whose head he got inside. He was
thinking like them, beginning to act like them, becoming them. Some
people called what he did an art, he called it a nightmare, his only
solace lay in Scully, as he knew she wouldn't allow him to succumb as
deep as he once did. She pulled him away once, she could do it again.

Kat was right, though; his profile was outdated. While he could use it
as a basis, it was doubtful that the UNSUB's motives remained the
same. Nothing remained the same after fourteen years. Carefully he
pinned photos on the wall above the desk in his room. Photos of Greta
Harlem, photos of Brooke Delaney, of Sarah Marshall and Natalie
O'Keefe, the four victims 1988 victims from Charleston. Below them he
had photos of Jenson Bennet, Alyssa Hartwell and Sara St. Paul. He had
pictures of them from the autopsies, from the crime scenes, and some
daily life.

Scattered on top of his desk were notes from 1988, notes from the
Charleston PD along with his own, copies of autopsy reports and
statements, and all the paperwork pertaining to the cases in Ottawa.
He had his old data to reconfigure and all this new information to add
in, and he knew he didn't have a long deadline. This CSIS officer
would be breathing down his neck in a matter of days if he didn't
produce something.

He walked to the door and lowered the lights, then moved to the window
to draw the curtains. Even with the daylight attempting to break into
the room, it was still relatively dark, just the way he liked it. It
helped put him in the right mood. Why would the killer want to kill?
Before developing a thorough profile, there was one question he needed
to answer. What was his reason? Why is he attacking this particular
group of people, and why did he wait fourteen years?

There was a connection between most of the women and St. Paul. Two of
the most recent victims worked with him; the third was his wife. In
Charleston, Brooke Delaney was his mother, and Greta Harlem was his
best friend's mother. Somebody wanted to hurt St. Paul, that much was
obvious else the UNSUB would be taking greater pains in harming Harlem
as well. How did the other women in Charleston relate to him though -
there had to be more to their background. He thought he had done
enough background searches, but he was beginning to think otherwise.

He walked over to the bed and picked up his jacket from where he had
thrown it, and withdrew his cell phone. He needed information. He
dialed the number he needed and pressed talk. "Danny? It's Agent
Mulder, I need you to send me some information." He stated the names
he wanted to check and recited the hotel's fax number. He had no
sooner hung up the phone to return to his work when he was interrupted
by a rhythmic banging coming from the room next to him, followed with
the cries of ‘Lissie' and ‘John'. He shook his head trying to empty
the distraction. To think he had actually thought that the Days Inn
was a reputable hotel.

~*~*~

The forensic reports were straightforward, Scully thought, noting
nothing extraordinary. The M.O. hadn't changed in the slightest in the
seven murders, with the exception of Greta Harlem and Sara St. Paul.
Both murders seemed rush, the UNSUB not taking the time to clean up
after himself properly and dumping the bodies in an orderly fashion.
Both were found dead in the very location they were murdered, whereas
the rest were dumped in a body of water. The Atlantic Ocean played
host to three of the four women in Charleston, while Bennett was
placed in the Rideau Canal and Hartwell in the Ottawa River.

Scully understood the difference between the bulk of the murders and
those of Greta Harlem and Sara St. Paul. The carelessness of Harlem's
murder had simply been because the UNSUB was interrupted by Mulder, as
stated in his report. Harlem's body most likely would have been
properly disposed of as well if it wasn't for the fact that Mulder had
walked in and nearly caught the UNSUB in the act.

St. Paul's murder had been slightly different. The MO was different,
but not by much. Derek St. Paul was intended to discover the body.
Disposing of Sara St. Paul wouldn't have made Derek look as guilty as
he already did. Having the body in his bedroom sealed the deal, so to
speak. Why would anybody murder a federal minister's wife in her
bedroom unless it was the federal minister himself?

The autopsies, she could tell, were thorough and she came to the
conclusion from the pictures that if she had completed them herself,
her results would have been much the same. The markings around the
neck of the victims suggest strangulation, as well as the marks in the
eyes. The way their bodies were found indicated that neither of them
fought their attacker. It was either somebody they trusted or they
were caught off guard, unaware that something bad was going to happen.
She wouldn't be surprised if it were a combination of both depending
on the history of each deceased.

There was one element common among them all, and it was the weapon of
choice. Each report suggested something coated in rubber was used for
the strangulation. The markings showed the rubber-coated rope to be
about a quarter-inch thick and round, instead of flat. The report
contained a chemical breakdown of the type of rubber used; however,
nobody had looked into what type of rope it was. It was suggested to
be a rubber-coated wire but that was never officially determined. And
if it were a wire, what sort of wire would it be? Finding out its
proper use could help narrow down the field to find the UNSUB. Or it
could do absolutely nothing.

Scully pulled out her cell phone and phoned the forensics team back in
D.C. "Cecile? It's Dana Scully, I need a favour. I'm going to fax you
a chemical compound breakdown for a form of rubber used as weapon I'm
trying to determine for a case. I need an idea of what kind of rubber
this is and what it may be used for. I need the information back as
soon as I can get it, it's a rather sensitive case I'm working on."
Scully quickly stated the fax number for the Days Inn before hanging
up and calling the front desk, asking them to notify her when the fax
came through.

She looked back at her files again trying to find something that Kat
could use at the moment. So far it wasn't looking good, the UNSUB was
much too organized to be caught right now.

~*~*~

Jeremy paced in his living room, glancing occasionally at his guest
sitting at the kitchen table reading one of her school texts. He
admired Jordan's strength considering how the present situation was
tearing her family apart, however, he knew he couldn't admire it too
much. There was still too much to be done. Things had worked out as he
planned. St. Paul was released on bail and the entire world through
the eyes of the media had seen the exchange between him and his
daughter. It wasn't exactly loving.

The plan was set.

He just needed to work past the FBI agents that were in town,
specifically Agent Mulder. He had a history with Agent Mulder. Mulder
knew who he was; he knew where he would strike next, he had figured
out a pattern in only a matter of days; a plan that the others had
spent months working on.

He pulled out an old photo of Brook Delaney. It belonged to his mother
and despite everything that had happened, her mother had kept it.

~
Charleston, 1967

He half-hid in the shadows of the brightly-lit dressing room, where
his mother had told him to stay. He wasn't allowed any further into
the room; he was never allowed beyond the large red velvet curtains of
the dressing room. What was beyond the curtains wasn't for the eyes of
a child, his mother had said. And for the rest of the night she would
ignore him except to bring him a glass of water and something small to
eat. He was used to standing behind the curtains. They were soft and
protected him from whatever his mother was scared of him seeing.

There was yelling tonight though. Yelling at his mother and he wanted
to venture in further. There never used to be yelling. In the four
years he'd lived there in the half shadows he had never heard anyone
raise their voice at his mother, especially his Aunt Misty. Aunt Misty
had always seemed closest to his mother, and closest to him. She had
helped to look after him when his mother couldn't. But tonight there
was something different about Misty, about all of them. It wasn't only
Misty yelling at his mother, Aunts Hennessy, Crystal and Alize had
been yelling at her as well.

Even his Uncle Patrick was yelling at her, calling her names he knew
he'd never forget. She was yelling back just as loud as he ventured
through the curtain. Nobody yelled at his mother like that, he
wouldn't allow it and in a four year old's rage, he rushed at his
Uncle Patrick, kicking him in the shin and telling him to stop yelling
at his mommy.

~*~*~
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

He never forgot the look on his mother's face as she packed her
belongings in the dressing room and grabbed him. After that night they
had never stepped foot in that building again together, although years
later he did visit it once to find his ‘Uncle Patrick'. Patrick had
died four years later due to a heart attack. He felt cheated; a heart
attack was much too nice a way to go.

He did manage to learn the names of his aunts while there. The new
proprietor of the club had kept the records of the previous employees
and their working names. With a bit of money it wasn't hard to
convince the man to allow him a look at the records. And he watched in
satisfaction an hour later as the club was burned to the ground.

Now what he needed was a way to fly under Agent Mulder's radar so he
could finish the job he started so many years ago. He looked at the
picture of the redhaired FBI agent that was alongside him. She was new
and she didn't know him like Agent Mulder did. Now he just needed a
way to get close to her to keep tabs on the investigation and
suspicion away from him.

~*~*~

"Albert, I'll be back at work first thing tomorrow morning," St. Paul
paced around Jude's Vanier apartment while on the phone. He needed to
get his life back on track and he knew the best way was to get back
into the political sphere. Parliament was currently in recess and the
time would be perfect for him to catch up on the work he missed. He
had to forgo the Kyoto tour out west since he wasn't allowed to leave
Ottawa, but there were other ways to work with the angry workers out
there.

"Derek, what do you possibly have to do that can't be put off?" came
the reply on the other end of the receiver. "Agriculture and
Agri-foods doesn't have any primary business at the moment with the
exception of Kyoto, and you already know I plan to ratify it with or
without the support of the Alberta oil workers."

"Kyoto is important, and the support of the Alberta workers is
important if you want to be elected back into office. Every vote
counts and it's not going to do the country any good to have the
Canadian Alliance running it. Quebec will separate because they don't
want an extreme right wing western political party governing them, the
west coast will have the support they need to sell their oil to the
northern U.S. states instead of shipping it out to the east coast, and
the east coast will rebel against them. There will be strife across
the country. It's all a chain reaction that starts by ignoring the
needs of the oil companies."

"You still can't do much sitting here in Ottawa. You know I have to
cancel the tour out west. I personally vouched that you wouldn't leave
the city."

St. Paul sighed and fell into the awaiting leather recliner behind
him. "I have no intention of breaking your word to the court. I'm not
leaving Ottawa, but that doesn't mean that some of the MP's from out
west can't tour or the Minister of the Environment. I'm sure Wess
would love the excuse to promote Kyoto. Other than myself, he was the
number one supporter of the deal in the Cabinet."

"Fine, if Wess wants to promote Kyoto, he can, he has my blessing and
party credit card at his disposal. I'll give him a call to set up a
meeting with you first thing tomorrow morning. After tomorrow stay at
home while we're in recess. Take the time to re-energize, find
whoever's framing you and just sort things out. Your wife just died,
your daughter's ignoring you…and don't ask how I know, the whole
bloody country saw it on the news tonight. She's hanging out with that
reporter, Jeremy Hunter. Pull her away from him, reconnect with her,
you need it."

St. Paul sighed again, knowing that his boss was right. He just didn't
know where to begin. Without a goodbye or see you later, he silently
hung up the phone and just stared out the window. Time was standing
still for him at the moment as he remained in his state of
helplessness. He knew the only way to get Jordan to speak to him again
was by proving himself innocent. To do that was a whole other story.

Outside the window, cars sped by as bureaucrats were leaving the
office for the day, students from the nearby University of Ottawa
stood at the bus stop in flocks, waiting to head home to relax for a
few hours before picking up the books again. Life stood still for
nobody outside his little world, they all had their own agendas, and
they were all living their lives uninterrupted.

He jumped from the couch and ran to the kitchen where he found Jude
grilling up a couple hamburgers for dinner; his notes open on the
counter beside his George Foreman. "Jude, do you still have your
mother's diary anywhere? I remember you mentioning it when we packed
up her house a few years back."

Jude looked up from his notes, the question on his face clear as day.
"Yeah, it's somewhere on the bookshelves in the study, why?"

"If this Agent Mulder is right and what's happening now does link back
to the past and what happened to both our mothers, then it's quite
possible something may be in her diary."

Jude shook his head in doubt. "There's nothing in that diary that we
don't already know. It's mostly about her days working at the Golden
Glove. There's not much in there about when your mother was murdered,
or even just before mine was."

"Doesn't matter, might just be enough. We may not be experienced
enough yet to see it, but I bet you those two FBI agents are. Agent
Mulder worked on the case back then, he knows what he's looking for.
It could be enough in there to help boost his profile. It's not going
to hurt anybody, it can only help."

Harlem flipped the patties over on the grill before shutting it and
turned back to his friend. He knew why St. Paul would ask such a
favour of him, and after his mother died, he owed it to the St. Paul
family to help clear Derek's name, but that didn't mean he wanted to
make public his family secrets. "Fine, take a look, make enough copies
for the three agents and the two of us, then return it. This way if
they're gonna mark it up in anyway, it'd be on their own copies and
not her book." St. Paul turned to leave, but was quickly stopped. "I
value our friendship Derek, you know I'll do everything I can to clear
your name, but make sure whatever is in that book doesn't get out. It
could kill both my career and yours, and you know that."

~*~*~

Kat harbored a grudge, and it had only been twenty-four hours since
she had met the duo against  who she harbored the grudge. She didn't
know why she did, they were obviously an effective team and she knew
that if anybody were suitable enough to help her solve the case, it
would be them, but that didn't mean she couldn't harbor a grudge.
After all, despite the views of her fellow co-workers, she was only
human.

What she really wanted to do was make this case high profile. It
wasn't her style to keep her work silent; however, it was CSIS' style.
How could you be a secret security agency if all of your cases were
very high profile? But high profile would help protect St. Paul and
isolate the real killer. But this wasn't the basis of her grudge.

The two FBI agents were going to steal her limelight. As it was they
were already getting more media attention than she was, and while she
should be thankful she didn't have to fight microphone half the time,
she couldn't help but be a bit jealous. CSIS gets involved, fine; the
newspaper will allow a little caption for it. FBI comes in and of
course they'll make front page tomorrow. Of course the point of the
investigation wasn't to garner media attention, but again, that didn't
mean that she didn't want it.

She was tired. The day was spent reviewing the statements made by
anybody close to St. Paul. They revealed nothing, to her tired eyes at
least. Perhaps if she started fresh in the morning she may be able to
see something she hadn't been able to see as of yet, but her eyes were
burning with exhaustion, there was no point working on it tonight.

She filed the papers in her briefcase and grabbed her jacket off the
back of her chair. She was ready to go home for the evening and just
take a bath. She needed a bath to calm her nerves. She was at the
doorway when her phone rang and for the first time in a long time, she
just wanted to leave and let the voicemail pick it up. Of course she
knew better than to do that, besides, they'd only try her cell phone.
"Kat Menard here," she juggled the receiver between her ear and
shoulder as she went to put her briefcase down.

"Kat? Derek St. Paul here. I've got something that might be somewhat
helpful to the investigation. It can be or it can't be but it's still
something I want looked at."

She raised her eyebrows in response. What was it that St. Paul found
that she hadn't thought of looking into? "What do you have?"

"Greta Harlem's diary. Jude has kept it this entire time and I only
thought of it tonight. If Agents Mulder and Scully are right and this
connects back to my mother's murder, then perhaps the diary may have a
clue. Even if it's a small one, it's still something. I've spent the
last couple hours at my office making copies of it for you and Agents
Mulder and Scully. I'm on my cell now heading to their hotel to go
over it. Think you can make it?"

"I'll be there in half an hour." She hung up the phone before
groaning. A grudge was not an adequate enough word to describe how she
felt about these two intruding agents. She was head of the
investigation, why was she suddenly the last one to know what was
going on and who has what?

~*~*~

The three agents and two men sat around Mulder's bedroom, he and
Scully on the bed and the others on chairs. Each sat with a large
photocopied package of the diary contents in front of them.

"It's a long shot," started St. Paul. "But it's possible there's
something in here. Our mothers worked together in the past and that's
how we met each other. That's the only connection we can find as to
why both his mother and mine were killed by the same killer."

Kat scanned the contents of the package, seeing no mention of Brook
Delaney or the other victims. "If there's a connection in here, where
is it? I don't see the names of any woman in here."

"And you won't find their names in there either," replied Jude,
clutching the original copy in the corner. "I am authorized to release
this information, but I want to keep it as hush hush as possible. If
this gets out into the media there's a chance it could ruin both
Derek's and my career. This may help, but it's not going to be a
necessary piece of information to pass onto the media."

"We'll do the best we can, of course we can't guarantee anything but—"
Kat started.

"They were strippers," interrupted Mulder.

Both Kat and Scully looked over at him in surprise that he made the
connection so quickly without hearing the story.

"It's easy enough to tell," he continued. "Misty, Hennessy, Crystal,
Amber; they're all classic stripper names that was used back then.
Every strip club hosted at least one of each. Not to mention if you
turn to page thirteen you'll get a clear picture of it. My question is
who's who?"

"Misty is Derek's mother, Brook," replied Jude. "When you read further
you'll see how close she is to my mother. Hennessy is Sarah Marshall,
Crystal is Natalie O'Keefe and Amber is Kris Huntly. My mother was
Alize but you won't find her name in there. I just remember her
telling me once."

It was Scully's turn to speak up. "Kris Huntly, this is the first time
we've heard her name, why was she not targeted along with the others?"

"Kris left the club about three years before my mother did. According
to the diary, the other women forced her out. There's no mention of
her after that, it's all in there."

Kat was in her prime again, and began dictating orders. "Agent Scully,
Agent Mulder, I need one of you to find information on Ms. Huntly
since the Bureau has better resources for background checks on
American citizens than we do."

"I'll make the call, Mulder should focus on the diary contents, he's
the one who'll be best able to pull something out there." Scully
stepped out into the hallway to make her call in peace. "Danny, it's
Dana Scully, I need a background report on a Kris Huntly...yes, that's
K-R-I-S H-U-N-T-L-Y...yes, you can fax it to the same number Mulder
gave you, he'll pass the information on. Thank you."

She nearly jumped when she heard a bang on the door behind her. The
bang turned into several and moans could be heard. She quickly
composed herself, rolled her eyes and proceeded to walk back into
Mulder's room. With live action behind the wall, no wonder Mulder
enjoyed spending so much time in the room here.

~*~*~
He stood over her, watching her take her last breath. To the average
untrained eye, Jordan looked like she was sound asleep with the
exception of the bright red fresh welts around her neck.

Jeremy was pleased with himself. There was no mess and he knew at this
moment St. Paul had no viable alibi. Anybody could sneak out of their
bedroom in the middle of the night unnoticed. Hell,
he snuck into Jordan's room in the middle of the night unnoticed. He
was thankful, however, that Jordan had a room at ground level and left
her windows open, else it would have been much more difficult to go
unnoticed. There were always students awake at every hour of the night
on campus.

The trouble wasn't in sneaking in though; instead it was sneaking back
out. He knew this time that he wouldn't be able to clean up after
himself and dispose of the body properly. It would also be more
difficult to trace St. Paul back to the school if necessary, a highly
prominent public figure such as St. Paul would always call attention
to himself merely by his presence. This was precisely why he acted at
night instead of in the middle of the day; it was easier to cloak
himself in darkness than in sunlight.

He gently closed her eyelids with his hands, knowing that St. Paul
would never be o cruel with his
daughter as to leave her dead with anguish contorting her face. He may
be a man angry enough at his family's betrayal to kill in the eyes of
the public, but that didn't mean that he didn't have a heart.
Carefully he pulled the bed sheet up, over her head and tucked the
sides around her. It would take about twenty-four hours before the
authorities would find her as again, it was no
big deal if a student hadn't been around for a day. Bless
universities, Jeremy thought. Students always acted unpredictably, so
anything out of the ordinary appeared to be usual business.

Part four of phase two was now complete. The past has had almost been
rectified...almost. After this night St. Paul's reputation would be
completely destroyed. If the other media becomes became too afraid to
make accusations, he would certainly not be. It was high time some
investigative reporting was put to good use and who better than the
man who has had been manipulating the people from the very beginning.

Before the end of the week, Derek St. Paul will realize that there's
one way out of the game, and it's not by winning.


~*Chapter 7*~
Days Inn
Hunt Club Road
Two days later

This was the first time he found himself really getting along with
her, Mulder thought. Officer Kat Menard was usually fiercely
independent and quite demanding; she liked to run the show. But
tonight, the two of them were working together closely; not a sign of
the Kat he was used to. This was the investigator Kat he was working
with, the one who wanted to get the job done and done quickly after
discovering the body of Jordan St. Paul.  As crude as it sounded, the
discovery of Jordan St. Paul relieved each of their minds. Local law
enforcement had accepted that Derek St. Paul didn't commit that
particular crime or any of the others, they had accepted that he spent
the night with them going over the diary and the history behind his
family. The killer had screwed up, plain and simple.

The rubber that forensics had picked up on her neck was the same as
the others and while the general public knew that each of the victims
had been strangled, the fact that it was a rubber cord had never been
released. If this was a copycat, then the murderer was very lucky in
knowing exactly what type of cord to use. However, everybody had the
feeling that it wasn't luck, the murder had been planned too well. The
only thing was that the killer had no way of knowing that St. Paul
wouldn't have been alone that night and with an alibi.

The media hadn't been alerted to the fact that they were now looking
for another killer. It was decided it was best to keep silent about
this murder, let them believe that St. Paul was still the killer in
hopes of catching the killer in the act again, this time before he
harmed anybody. The trouble was, who was the killer going to go after
next? This was where they hoped the diary would come in handy.

Danny had been faxing those reports constantly in the past two days.
The report on the wire hadn't been much help. This particular
breakdown of the wire could have come from anything, headphones,
microphone, electronic equipment patchcords, etc. In a city this
large, and this well off, there was no way to narrow down the field
just by the wire breakdown alone.

Mulder now had full reports on each of the Charleston victims, updated
from when he had last viewed them in 1988. Only Greta Harlem and Brook
Delaney had children. The others had remained unmarried until their
deaths. Danny had also faxed them information on Kris Huntly in record
time. There wasn't much to report on her other than the fact that she
was murdered on the streets, seemingly unrelated to the later deaths
of the other strippers. Mulder knew there was a connection though. Her
death may have been unrelated, but nonetheless finding out all there
was about Kris Huntly would be the key to solving this thing.

He knew Kris Huntly worked with the other women, he knew that she
didn't get along with them and they forced her out of the club. He
didn't know why other than what was written in Greta Harlem's diary,
and Greta's story was one sided.

Kris did have a son though, and according to Danny's information, he
was still alive somewhere although there hadn't been a single record
of him since he graduated high school. What he needed to do was find
James Huntly, and then maybe he would have some answers.

~*~*~

Scully turned away from the connecting door. The sight of her partner
and the CSIS working so closely together disturbed her, and she didn't
know why. It wasn't as if this woman was a threat to her friendship
with Mulder, or if she was a past lover or anything, and it wasn't as
if she was doing anything with him other than working , but still, it
was disturbing to say the least.

She wanted to break up their little party, she knew she should with
the report that Danny had just faxed regarding James Huntly, but she
needed the minute. She wanted the minute to recompose herself. Taking
a deep breath she looked at the report again, then decided to knock
knowing that the content of the reports couldn't be withheld for much
longer. She saw his weary smile when he looked up to see her standing
the doorway, and momentarily felt better, but she knew it wouldn't
last very long. Once he learned of James Huntly he'd be back working
with Kat again, and she'd be stuck in her room or in a lab looking
over forensic evidence for the next several hours…again.

"I've got information on James Huntly. I don't know if you want Derek
or Jude to hear this so I didn't let them on the fact that I have
this."

"What do you have, Scully?" He reclined back on the bed, stretching
for what was probably the first time in hours.

"James Huntly, son of Kris Huntly, father unknown. He lived with Kris
in an apartment she shared with a Sharon Dusack, former classmate,
while she was in university. After getting fired, she dropped out of
school and moved onto the streets and took James with her.  Whatever
money she earned she put toward his education, and at age 10, she died
and he worked to put himself through school."

"This is all in Charleston?"

"Yes. Later he found Sharon Dusack and she remembered him and his
mother and took him in. After having a place to live in he managed to
get a job and save a heck of a lot of money. Later, he managed to get
into NYU and graduated with honours in journalism. He worked for a few
years at a local station as a weather boy in Charleston, and just
disappeared. After 1985 there's nothing on him, not a signature, not a
record, nothing."

"What kind of boy just disappears?" asked Kat, from her seat on the
opposite bed.

"A boy who doesn't want to be found," replied Mulder. "Did Danny look
into this Sharon Dusack woman? She may know something about him that
we don't, like his whereabouts."

"We know she's alive and currently living in Raleigh, North Carolina.
She married about four years ago and is now Sharon King. I've got a
flight out in five hours so I can speak with her. I don't know how
much information she'll have on James' whereabouts, but she'll know
something of what happened with Kris Huntly and the other women.
She'll have a first hand account of Kris's side of the story." She
threw the folder onto his bed. "Have you come up with anything?"

"Nothing new. It's near impossible to get a list of people in the city
here who have moved recently from the United States, let alone
Charleston. As near as I could tell, the killer would have to be James
Huntly. His mother dies, he's angry—"

"Mulder, we can't tell if James Huntly is angry or not, maybe he
didn't have a close relationship with his mother. If he indeed was
raised among strippers, then the profile suited to him would indicate
that he's a womanizer, not a murderer. There's no evidence of
womanizing in this case."

"No, but we also know that profiles can't be categorized. People
aren't always as they seem. Right now we have a killer on the loose,
our UNSUB, and we could be meeting him on a day to day basis and not
realize who he really is. This is why we need James Huntly. He can
give us some direction."

She turned on her heel toward her room. "I'll go pack my overnight
bag. I should be back by nightfall tomorrow night, I'll let you know
if it'll be otherwise."

~*~*~ 

Mulder impatiently tapped his pen on the desk as he listened to Scully
over his cell phone. As soon as she arrived in Charleston she spoke
with Sharon Dusack, waking her from her bed despite the early hour.
She wanted the case solved as soon as possible, and wanted to be back
in the U.S. where all investigations would be under their
jurisdiction, not some rogue CSIS agent who placed demands on every
little thing. He understood her feelings; Scully was a very
independent woman and didn't enjoy having her expertise questioned and
re-evaluated all the time. However, he was also able to see Kat's
perspective. She was a lone female with her career on the line
depending on the outcome of this case. Besides, she was a very
thorough investigator, making sure to look into everything from all
angles. This was why she didn't question Scully's trip to Charleston,
and he knew it appeased Scully to conduct the investigation her way on
her home soil. Even more so, the information Scully presented to him
was damning to say the least.

"He hated her, Mulder." 

He had no doubt James Huntley did hate his mother. He lived most of
his life in a strip club where she lavished her attentions on the male
customers, not her son. She also took him to the streets with her,
using him to steal money so she could buy her drugs. At night, she'd
send him home while she prostituted herself. It was no wonder in the
end that she died on the streets. He was just surprised James Huntley
had survived. "Do we have a whereabouts on Huntley?" he asked her.

"Nothing. Sharon says that after he finished high school, he went onto
university and left town. He's  somewhere here in Ottawa though. He
continually writes her letters, but nothing revealing where he is. The
return address is a post office box somewhere in North Dakota. Now
there's a forwarding address for any mail going to that mailbox and
it's here in Ottawa, but I'm not having any luck continuing my search
from there. That may be a job for Officer Menard seeing as she's a
Canadian authority."

"I'm sure Kat will work on it," he answered off-handedly. His mind was
running two thousand miles a minute now that he had more information.
Developing a new working profile didn't seem like such a demanding
task anymore, he was already there. "When is your flight due?"

"I'm on the next flight out, I should be there this evening. I just
have a few more loose ends to tie up."

"What loose ends are you talking about? Do you have a new lead?"

"Not necessarily. I managed to convince Sharon to give a few of her
photographs of James to us. I figure I'll ship one to the Hoover
Building and take one back with me, and both agencies can come up with
a composite sketch of James. That may help us in our search for him."

"Excellent idea. St. Paul should be able to recognize him then. But
why the composites Scully if we have the real pictures?"

"We need to age the photos. She says she has a few from when he was in
high school, but nothing more."

"Nice work, Agent Scully," he praised her. "I'll see you tonight
then."

~*~*~

Jeremy stood with his ear to the hotel room door, not liking what he
had heard. The agents had found a way to identify him from his past.
He hadn't expected them to get that far. He said tonight though,
meaning that she was flying in sometime tonight. He had to stop her
from giving Agent Mulder whatever picture she had.

That shouldn't be too hard, after all, he was a journalist, and even
journalists showed up unannounced at airports and were never
considered to be suspicious.


~*~*~

Kat mulled over the new information Agent Mulder had presented to her.
She had immediately made a few phone calls to find out where the North
Dakota post office box led to, but nothing substantial yet. She had
managed to convince Canada Post that her interest was based on
national security, else it would have been near impossible to get any
information out of them. Canada Post considered any information
regarding mail to be confidential and answerable only to Customs. It
didn't matter; she would have gone after a warrant if necessary to get
that information.

Agent Scully boggled her mind though. In her few hours in Charleston,
she had managed to bring them closer to finding the killer than in the
couple of weeks she herself has been on the case. The two American
agents knew their stuff, but it didn't bode well with her. It was her
case and it was a matter of Canadian pride when it came to letting
Americans outshine them.

She did find herself growing increasingly closer to Agent Mulder. In
the few weeks she had known him, she could no longer deny his genius,
nor his passion for solving a puzzle. She had come to admire Derek St.
Paul too who had returned to politics despite scathing remarks made by
the media. They were still convicting him, rather the CBC was
convicting him, which was rather odd in itself as they proclaimed to
be a non-biased broadcast agency.

"This better be good news" she answered into her once ringing cell
phone.

"Officer Menard, it's Mack Harding from Canada Post. We have some of
the information you requested."

"Some?" she raised her eyebrow despite knowing that at the moment Mack
couldn't see it.

"Not all of it was available to me, and it may not lead you anywhere.
The address the North Dakota mailbox leads to is another mailbox in
the Hallmark store in Billings Bridge Plaza. The name indeed does say
James Huntley, but other than that there is nothing. There is no house
address from Mr. Huntley, nor is there a credit card number or
anything that may aid in your search. The boy pays in cash."

"Why would he pay cash?" she wondered aloud. "Would any of the mail
clerks recognize him if he showed up to pick up his mail?"

"Maybe, maybe not, that's something you'd have to ask them yourself.
From what I've been told by the manager there is he always arrives
when it appears to be too busy and people wouldn't notice him. She
doesn't actually see him, but she does notice the mail is gone after a
busy rush."

"You're right, it's not much to go on but maybe it could help. I'll
need the name of whoever is incharge of that postal location. I'll
have to go and speak to her in person."

"Josephine Walker manages the postal outlet. She'll be able to direct
you to all staff who may recognize Mr. Huntley. You may also want to
speak with Royce Garwood. He manages the Hallmark store and they would
recognize any regulars that walk in." The voice on the other end of
the phone paused for a minute. "Officer Menard, if you don't mind my
asking, I'd like to know what all this is about. Canada Post doesn't
usually give away this sort of information without a valid reason."

She was still mentally going over the information when he spoke, and
not wanting to go into the details of the operation, she replied. "I'm
afraid that's classified information. It's a matter of national
security and we don't want the public to become aware at the moment.
There will be a news release in a matter of days, you'll find out then
with the rest of the country."

She clicked her cell phone off. Years of practice had made it become
so easy to lie to people, although she didn't like doing so. It was
going to take all her efforts to solve this case so a news release
could be printed. Hell, they already had it all written, they just
needed the real killer's name for it.

She picked up her phone again and punched in a number she had become
familiar with over the week. "Agent Mulder, it's Kat, I may have
something here. How about I come and pick you up in about ten minutes.
It's still early yet and the manager of the post office Huntley's
address leads too might still be in. I think it's time we do some
actual questioning of witnesses on this case, what do you say?"

She received her acknowledgement and hung up. Quickly she grabbed her
keys and her leather jacket. She felt an excitement surge through her;
they were finally going to crack this case!

~*~*~

Jeremy paced the airport terminal at MacDonald-Cartier. It didn't take
any investigative skills to figure out which flight Agent Scully was
returning on. Most of the incoming flights were domestic; however, a
few of them were from the United States and one or two international.
One happened to have been a direct flight from North Carolina; it
didn't take a genius to figure out she had been to see his Aunt
Sharon. Sure, she wasn't his blood aunt, but close enough since she
had raised him after his mother was killed. Fortunately Agent Scully
wouldn't have been able to wrest much information from Sharon seeing
as he didn't share any information on his alter-ego, Jeremy. She only
knew him as James, freelance writer. The fact that he did some
freelance writing on the side supported that image too. Still, Sharon
could be a threat, especially if Agent Scully was smart enough to
connect the dots.

Not to mention whatever photo she had in hand to identify him. He
still didn't know what to think about that.

He glanced at his watch and back at the security gate. Ten more
minutes till her flight would land, and perhaps another hour or so
depending on customs. But she was an FBI agent, they wouldn't question
her too much at customs would they? As a reporter, there were so many
questions he needed answers to. However, as Jeremy, he had all the
answers he needed to put the next part of his plan in motion.

It was sickingly nostalgic watching all the incoming passengers hug
their families and friends. It wasn't like they were absent for a long
enough period of time to really miss anybody, or be missed. It was
never like he was ever missed. There was no love lost when his mother
died. He wanted justice for her death, which was what he was getting,
but that didn't mean he loved her like a child should love his mother.
He hated her, most of the time. He hated being yelled at to get out of
the house while she sold herself to some street scum, he hated being
used to procure drugs for her, he hated having to fend for himself and
take care of his mother every time she overdosed. She never hugged him
like the passengers in front of him did, she never kissed him or told
him she loved him. "James, here's twenty bucks, go see Jim." "James,
what the fuck are you doing sitting there doing your fucking homework.
You know I have a fucking client, get the fuck out of here." The
routine never changed.

No, he didn't love his mother, but he could have. If his 'aunts'
hadn't forced her out, life could have been different for the two of
them. Life could have been normal.

But what was normal in today's world? People believed he was a
successful television journalist and therefore his life was one to be
envied while they sweated all day just to put food on the table. If
only they really knew.

The sight of red hair around the corner pulled Jeremy out of this
thoughts. He had only seen the female once in front of the courthouse,
but he'd recognize her anywhere. She had a presence about her that
stood out in the crowd. "Agent Scully?" he called out as he approached
her.

"Yes, do I know you?" 

"Jeremy Hunter, CBC television. I was wondering if you'd be able to
sit down with me for a few minutes."

"Mr. Hunter, I have no comment on the investigation, I --" 

He quickly cut her off. "I'm not here for an interview, I'm here in an
unofficial capacity. I was tipped off about something in this
investigation, some information on a James Huntley, I don't know if
you recognize that name at all."

That seemed to have got her attention. "What about James Huntley?" 

"I don't want to talk about this in the airport. One of my viewers
called the newsstation today and I thought to bring it directly to
you, reporting it could cause serious damage to both my reputation and
my career."

"Lead away, you can take me to my hotel. You can discuss what you know
with my partner and I."

~*~*~

Agent Mulder and Kat managed to catch the postal outlet supervisor
with five minutes left to his shift. They considered themselves lucky,
not that it would have mattered if they hadn't; it just meant that
they would have had to catch her at home instead. At least by being at
the Hallmark, they'd be able to speak with several more employees
regarding James Huntley.

"Josephine Walker?" They approached the middle aged woman working the
counter. She peered at them over her glasses, acknowledging them with
only a terse yes before getting back to her work. "Officer Katrina
Menard, CSIS, and Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI, we have a few
questions we'd like to ask you."

"Any inquiries regarding this particular station can be made to head
office. They'll direct any concerns of yours."

"We recognize the way you operate, however, we have been given
permission by your office to question you regarding this outlet,
particularly one client, a James Huntley."

"Mailbox 00189." 

"That's the one. Would you or your staff be able to recognize Mr.
Huntley if he ever came in?"

"Is Mr. Huntley in some sort of trouble?" Now her curiousity was
piqued.

"Just answer the question, Ms. Walker," Mulder stated. 

"Nobody would be able to recognize him. It's the running joke around
here. The mailbox fills up, we all wait in anticipation, yet the man
never shows up. He seems to come in when it's really busy and we're
serving customers and not paying attention to the mailboxes. Next
thing we know, it's empty."

"What about the Hallmark staff, would they know anything?" 

"One or two of them may have glanced at James Huntley, but unless they
know his mailbox number and were paying attention to it, I doubt
they'd see anything."

Kat glanced over at Mulder and he was on his way to speak to the staff
of the store without a second thought. Like Josephine Walker, he had a
sneaking suspicion that nobody there would know anything about it.

"Ms. Walker, what type of mail does Mr. Huntley receive here? Keep in
mind we have authorization to ask these sorts of questions," continued
Kat.

"Personal letters from Charleston. All from the same person. I've
never seen any bills come this way for him. He must have another
address for them. It's not uncommon, although I wouldn't be able to
track them down for you."

Mulder returned to Kat telling her what they both had already
surmised, nobody in the store knows anything. "Everybody gets a
property tax bill here, don't they?" She asked the manager.

"Everybody's supposed to, Canada Post distributes them." 

"Thank you for your time Ms. Walker," Kat ended curtly before turning
on step.

"City Hall?" Mulder asked, knowing what Kat was working toward. 

"City Hall," she confirmed. 

~*~*~

Jeremy placed Agent Scully's overnight bag in the trunk of his car
then walked over to the passenger's side. He made a quick pretense of
unlocking the door for her. She didn't suspect a thing. People were
entirely too trusting of the media.

He noticed her gun sitting in its holster at her hip, hidden from view
by her jacket. He hadn't noticed it until now, but he knew it wouldn't
be a problem. All his life he had dealt with people with guns. His
mother's pimp owned several, and even his aunt Sharon kept one well
hidden in her home, although not hidden well enough seeing as he knew
where to find it.

Guns didn't matter though, and he sure as hell didn't need any in
order to incapacitate her. "What hotel am I driving you to, Agent
Scully?"

"Days Inn," she replied curtly before bending down to climb into the
seat.

Before her reflexes could relax, he placed his hands on her neck and
applied a bit of pressure to one spot. A moment later she lay slumped
in the seat, her gun that was once resting in its holster at her side
now tossed haphazardly in the back seat.

Nope, guns weren't a problem at all. 

~*Chapter Eight*~
November 3, 2002
8:30pm

He wasn't physically alone, Jude Harlem stood ten feet behind him, but
emotionally, he knew there was no other who felt the way he did. Derek
St. Paul stood by the side by side graves of his wife and daughter,
both murdered a week apart, and nobody knew why although speculation
was on an attempt to ruin his career. What he couldn't figure out was
why somebody would want to ruin his career. If they wanted him out of
his position so badly, they didn't have to go killing off his family,
he would have left on his own.

Now he has nothing to lose.

His life was built upon providing for his family. His entire life he
worked hard giving his family the life they deserved, one where his
wife enjoyed working because it wasn't a necessity, and one where he
was able to give his daughter the best schooling possible in a
province with a declining educational plan.

Politics, until now, was his passion. He saw it as a means to fix what
was wrong with this world. He wanted to work with crime and punishment
after his mother was murdered those many years ago. It was the driving
force behind his ambition. For one year he worked in the Department of
Justice, but he accomplished nothing and decided to run for MP
instead, where he'd be able to work in the legislature and committees
fighting for what the changes he wanted

Prime Minister Adams took to him right away, recognizing a kindred
spirit in him that he didn't find in any of the other party members.
It was this reason alone that he managed to become a cabinet minister
so young in age.

And of course it was his association with Jude Harlem that made Adams
choose Harlem as his own personal lawyer. Adams wasn't allowing St.
Paul to give up. Parliament was declared in recess for the time being
until he could fully recover from his daughter's death. He doubted he
would recover. But now he had a new cause to put his energies toward.
His staff was working hard on the Kyoto accord, Jenson Bennet the
hardest of all before she was murdered. He wasn't about to make it
seem all her hard work was in vain. He had every intention finishing
what she had started, what the department has started as a whole.

Harlem came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Perhaps
he wasn't as completely alone as he had thought. While Jude had no
wife or children to speak of, or to lose, he did lose his mother years
ago, a mother he was devoted to supporting. Harlem understood what he
was going through to some extent. But he didn't lose a daughter, he
wasn't the one being blamed for the murder of his co-workers.

"We can go," St. Paul said quietly. "Agent Mulder is probably
expecting us back shortly, Agent Scully is due into the airport
anytime now and we should be back to hear what she found out."

"You're taking all this much better than I would."

"I'm not taking it all," was all he said in reply. "I'm simply going
forward in the only way I know how, hoping that justice will occur and
I'll finally get some peace back."

~*~*~

Mulder glanced at his watch as he left City Hall; Scully should be
back at the hotel any minute now. To be honest, he was looking forward
to seeing her again. While investigating with Kat was productive,
there was nothing like working with Scully at his side. She saw things
he didn't. She was practical and always levelheaded. If he weren't
required for the profile, he'd have gone along with her to Charleston.
Together they made the perfect team, and without each other, he always
felt like he was missing something.

City Hall had ended up being a bust, leaving them with no clues as to
the identity of James Huntley. At this point he was depending on her
to bring him the picture and perhaps they could figure who he was by
aging him.

Kat had been in a bad mood since they left City Hall as well. She was
silently brooding about the lack of information and the fact that they
had gotten nowhere significant, just another dead end.
She was like him in many ways, acting just like he did after he hit a
dead end. He pulled out his cell phone and pressed speed dial one.

For several minutes he heard it ring but nobody picked it up. Scully
was never the type to leave her ell phone turned on and not pick it
up. In fact she always picked it up by the third ring depending here
it was located on her person. With anybody else he wouldn't have given
it a second thought, but Scully wasn't anybody else.

He called both the hotel rooms, hoping she'd be in one of them.
Perhaps she was in the shower and just didn't hear her cell phone. It
had happened before, but she was always able to hear the room phone.

He recalled the last time she hadn't heard her cell phone while she
was in the shower. He had ended up paying for a new connecting door in
the motel they were staying at. He didn't regret his actions that
night though, knowing she was safe.

But now she wasn't picking up anywhere, and this wasn't like Scully.
He dialed the hotel's number instead.

<Days Inn Hunt Club Road, Darby Hatchet speaking.> 

"Darby, it's Agent Mulder in room 208. Has my partner, Agent Scully,
returned to the hotel yet?"

"I'm sorry Agent Mulder, I'm afraid I haven't seen her and I've been
at the desk all afternoon."

"Thanks Darby, if she walks in can you tell her to call my cell
please?"

"Sure thing, oh the fax of Jeremy Hunter you wanted came in by the
way."

He paused for a second, "Jeremy Hunter?" 

"Yeah, it looks like a mugshot of Jeremy Hunter, the CBC television
reporter. It's him you wanted the photo of isn't it? I would recognize
him in a heart beat, I'm one of his biggest fans."

The photo Scully had sent to the bureau, they must have worked on it
right away and just sent it back.

"Jeremy Hunter, yes, that's who I wanted. Just keep  it at the desk;
I'll pick it up when I get in."

He turned off his cell. James Huntley was Jeremy Hunter, and he was
right under their noses the entire time. Being a reporter allowed him
to keep tabs on the case and still be above suspicion, not to mention
he would have been able to be in close contact with all of the
victims. What he found in the diary fit in his working profile and
coincided perfectly with Jeremy's behaviour.

He turned to Kat and found her already at work on her cell phone.
"Write this down," she directed to him. "153 Nepean Street. We're on
our way now"

He listened as she requested backup to that particular aspect. She was
as sure as he was that Hunter was behind the murders. Now if only he
could get a hold of Scully to share the news.
~*~*~ 

They were on Bronson Avenue headed back to Nepean Street when he
shouted, "turn the car around." They weren't very far into the city,
only passing Riverside Drive, but Kat nonetheless didn't like the
interruption.

"Agent Mulder, we have an address and a suspect. We are headed in the
right direction, what do you need to turn around for?"

"My work profile," he stated simply. "It's back at the hotel. What if
this guy isn't at his apartment? We'll need something to work with to
figure out where he might be afterward."

"And if he is at the apartment and decides to leave while we're
chasing your paper work? I'm afraid we can't risk it." Kat turned the
car around anyway, against her better judgment.

"We can risk it. Surveillance teams and back up will already be in
place. We have CSIS, the RCMP and OC police at our disposal. There's
no way Jeremy Hunter will get past them without any of teams knowing.
Besides, I have never seen a picture of this Hunter guy, I'd like to
catch a glimpse of what he looks like so I know what to expect.
Besides, the Days Inn is only five minutes down the road."

With one hand on the steering wheel, Kat pulled out a single red siren
light from the compartment between the two seats and tossed it to
Mulder. "Here, put this on the roof. It'll make things go much faster
for us. You better well believe I'm not taking my time getting there."

Mulder fell back in his seat as she accelerated and within a few
minutes they pulled to a stop in front of the hotel. "You have two
minutes, Agent."

He jumped out of the car and stopped at the desk briefly, inquiring
about Scully again, before reaching for the photo of Jeremy Hunter. He
moved to his hotel room, never taking his eyes off the photo as we
went along. Blue eyes, dark blond locks that were half wavy depending
on the length of his hair, round face... he remembered him from
outside the courthouse. He was there the entire time.

Without really seeing, he reached out blindly for the door handle, but
grabbed soft flesh instead. Surprised, he looked up to find that he
was not in front of his room, but his neighbour's room, and they were
both very much standing outside the door. He mumbled a quick apology
before his eyes opened wide at the sight. She was eight months
pregnant at least, and looked like a balloon ready to burst. "Now that
we seemed to have met," the female coughed. "Let me introduce myself,
Lissie and my husband John. We're your next door neighbours," she said
proudly in a southern accent.

Smiling briefly at them he entered his own room, picked up the
necessary file and left a brief note for Scully. Kat was waiting for
him, and he doubted that she'd wait very much longer.

~*~*~ 

Her head was throbbing as she awoke. Last thing she could remember was
getting into the car with Jeremy Hunter, and without opening her eyes,
she knew she was still in the car with him. It was most likely moving
at 60 mph…whatever that was in kilometers. Her head hurt too much to
worry about conversions.

She steadied her breathing as she slowly opened one eye, just wide
enough to see what was happening. She didn't want to alert the driver
that she was awake. Her life could depend on it.

Looking around quickly, she saw nothing distinguishing. She took
inventory of her person as best she could without moving. Her gun was
missing from its holster and her jacket didn't feel nearly as heavy as
it should without her cell phone. Knowing her assailant and how
careful he had been in the past, he probably collected each piece from
her body after knocking her out. She had no way to get to Mulder to
let him know that Jeremy Hunter was James Huntley. Thinking back to
the photo she had received from his Aunt Sharon, she could see the
similarities between them now. The cheekbones, the hair and eye
colour, the same shape nose.

She shut her eyes again as the vehicle came to a stop. "F*cking hell"
she heard him mutter. She focused on keeping her breathing even;
despite her need to know what was happening. The front door of the car
opened and she could hear Jeremy shift in the front seat. He was
exiting the car. Slowly she reached her hand out to the handle of the
backdoor, hoping to catch him unaware and run, but as quickly as she
grabbed onto the handle it was ripped away from her as the back door
swung open. She was wrenched from the seat and pulled to standing,
right in front of Jeremy, her gun pressing against the underside of
her chin.

"Guess what Agent Scully, you can now add ‘human shield' onto your
resume under job experience. One wrong move and I won't hesitate to
pull the trigger," he murmured into her ear as he pushed her forward.

Looking up she could see the threat. The entire street blocked off as
armed officers moved into position. At the head of the pack stood
Mulder, and even from this distance, she could see the terror in his
eyes as they settled on her.
~*~*~ 

Jeremy stood watching everybody's movements. He shouldn't have come
this way back to his apartment, but he had figured that nobody else
had seen the photo of him she was carrying. He didn't know how the law
enforcement had been clued in that he was the suspect this quickly,
but somehow they had. For the first time in his life he had
underestimated the pigs investigating him. His plan was sound though;
there was no way they should have been able to figure out he committed
the murders and kidnapped Agent Scully. Well, scratch that, his first
glance at Agent Mulder told him that they didn't know he had Agent
Scully.

To the average person Agent Mulder looked like the epitome of calm,
cool and collected. He stood tall, weapon in hand, his face devoid of
any emotion whatsoever. As a journalist, however, he had learned to
read the body language. Mulder was tense, he was holding onto his
weapon for dear life. He wasn't so much standing tall as he was
standing rigid, and his eyes clearly gave away what he was feeling. He
was scared for the safety of his partner. This gave Jeremy the
leverage he desperately needed right now.

"Your partner's life for Derek St. Paul's and Jude Harlem's," he
shouted to the two agents standing in the front.

Kat spoke up first; "We don't exchange an agent's life for a
civilian's, rather two civilians. Release Agent Scully or we'll open
fire."

He laughed. Officer Menard obviously didn't understand the situation
Agent Mulder was facing. She may not exchange the two for Agent
Scully, but Mulder would. He could see it in his eyes that he was
already thinking of a way to do it.

He had Menard all figured out. She was eager to move ahead, rash in
her decisions, but usually on the mark. CSIS, however, liked to keep
things quiet, and if today was any indication, he was sure Menard
didn't know the meaning of quiet.

Behind the wall of officers was a line of news media, photographers
snapping his picture, cameramen filming the events, his own cameraman
included. No doubt this was being aired live nationally. There was no
way he could convince the public now that St. Paul was the murderer he
knew the man was.

Sure enough, St. Paul didn't actually do anything himself to Jeremy's
mother, but the fact that she had died was linked to him. The others
just needed to see the link. Of course he was going to let them come
to enlightenment on their own. He was in deep shit already, why sink
any deeper by confessing?

"Officer Menard," he called back. "I'm sure you didn't hear me
correctly. You will hand over the two men I've asked for, or I will
not hesitate to shoot Agent Mulder's pretty little partner." He pushed
the gun into her neck harder for emphasis, making her wince enough for
all to see. "I don't think Agent Mulder will be too pleased if you
make the wrong decision and cost Agent Scully her life."

"You kill her, Hunter, and you won't be alive long enough to see her
fall dead, I'll shoot you myself," Mulder called back, taking a step
forward. "I should warn you though, I'm an excellent shot and always
hit my target."

"Threats, Agent Mulder, mean nothing to me. I already know I'm a dead
man, so what's left to lose?" He smiled, almost sweetly as he saw the
crowd parting. The two men he wanted were walking toward him, of their
own accord. He could hear Officer Menard's words of protest, but they
didn't stop them. It looked like it might be his lucky day. He'd get
the two he wanted, not to mention he'd get to keep Agent Scully as
well, just to piss Agent Mulder off.

~*~*~

Derek St. Paul now stood next to Agent Mulder, Jude Harlem on his
other side. Rage filled him as he faced the man who was tearing his
world apart around him. He was filled with rage thinking that he
believed this man was on his side, that this man sympathized with him.
That he faced this man day in and day out and didn't even consider him
to be a suspect.

It made sense though. Jeremy Hunter would have had to come in contact
with Jenson Bennet quite often as she was in charge of working with
the Kyoto Protocol. She had all the information that he, as a newsman,
would need in order to impart to the public.

Alyssa Hartwell also depended on Jeremy Hunter as well, seeing as he
was the Parliament Hill correspondent for CBC. But St. Paul didn't
work with her all that much, so why did Hunter choose to go after her?
Everything Hunter had done lately had seemed pre-meditated, so
Hartwell didn't necessarily fit the picture. He supposed they'd find
out soon enough. Derek had complete faith in the law enforcement
officers behind him. He knew somehow, that this would all end today
and the case would be closed. At least with the media there it was
already proven that he was not guilty of the charges against him.
First thing the next day he'd go and get an official acquittal from
the judge.

"Jeremy," he called out. "Jude and I have no problems going with you,
just send Agent Scully back here first."

"Do you think I'm honestly that stupid?" Jeremy called back. "I send
Agent Scully back to you and you open fire. I will release Agent
Scully when I'm good and ready to. The only guarantee I'm giving you
is that I won't kill her." He took two steps back. "Now, I want the
two of you to come forward, hands where I can see them and walk to my
car."

"What do you expect to achieve by murdering a high ranking cabinet
minister and lawyer, Jeremy?" Mulder asked, keeping his gun arm
steady. He still didn't like the weapon pressing into his partner's
neck.

"Sorry Agent Mulder, but that answer will have to wait for another
time. You're not getting anything out of me today. I want Derek St.
Paul, and I want Jude Harlem, and I want them now. Is that clear?"

The two men took another step forward toward Jeremy Hunter, hoping
that they'd be able to find a way to keep themselves alive, and save
Agent Scully. Mulder held out a hand to stop them. "Kat's right, we
don't trade civilians for Agents. You stay back. If you step out there
we can't guarantee you protection and my ass will be out of a job."

"You're running out of time," Jeremy yelled. "Let me make the decision
for you if your Agent Scully obviously doesn't mean that much to you."

Mulder gave Jeremy another once over, finding no real vulnerable spot
to shoot him without hitting Scully. The man was intelligent; Mulder
would give him that much as Jeremy hid his body well behind his
partner's. Mulder knew that if he wanted to hurt the bast*rd, he'd
have to go through Scully, and he knew she would expect that, it was
just a matter of where it would cost Jeremy the most amount of damage
- and Scully the least.

He spotted Jeremy's finger squeezing the trigger and knew he had no
more time to think; Mulder had to just aim and shoot.

He pulled the trigger a split second before Jeremy could. He shot to
kill, knowing there'd be no other way to stop him from killing again,
a the bullet that went through Scully's shoulder also make its way
into Jeremy's cold heart.

He turned to Kat before running to get his partner. "Call 9-1-1."

~*Epilogue*~

3 Weeks Later
A.D. Skinner's Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building

"Agent Scully, welcome back," the assistant director sternly addressed
her as she took her seat in front of him. Her official first day back
at work since being shot and she wasn't at all to pleased about having
a meeting with her boss. To be honest, she wasn't in a very good mood
to begin with since she had been assigned to desk duty for the next
couple of weeks, at least until her shoulder healed properly. She now
knew how Mulder felt when she shot him, and somewhere, she knew he was
thinking payback.

"Sir," she nodded. Mulder did the same as he sat in the seat next to
hers.

"I assume both of you know why you're here today, especially if you've
been following the news like I have."

They both nodded. It was announced the night before that Jeremy Hunter
was going to face four charges of first degree murder in Canada.
Investigation in the U.S. was ongoing for the murders of Greta Harlem
and the other women. Mulder had spent the last three weeks finalizing
the evidence linking the two sets of murders. Well Mulder had a little
unofficial help from Scully seeing as she was ordered not to go back
to work till today. It would only be a matter of time before Hunter
would be extradited to the U.S. and face charges for those murders.

"I received a letter from Director Daniel Graeham of CSIS," he
continued. "He sent both of you letters of commendation to be placed
in your files for your hard work solving the case. He says if it
weren't for your profiling abilities, Agent Mulder, and your forensic
work, Agent Scully, they'd still be on the streets looking for a
killer while Derek St. Paul would be facing murder charges."

The two agents nodded, flabberghasted that they received letters. More
often than not, they'd received letters in their file for not
following protocol properly. "Sir, I don't know why he's crediting us.
If Jude Harlem had come to them with the diary sooner, they would have
been able to figure it out as easily as I did. Jeremy Hunter's
background was spelled out clearly in that book."

"Yes, it was," Skinner agreed. "To a point though. The rest of his
background was gathered when Agent Scully went to interview Sharon
Dusack. She's the one who told us that Jeremy lived on the streets for
a time with his mother and that she was killed while he was still
young. It may not have been so easy to figure out why he was pinning
the murders on St. Paul if we hadn't known that sort of information."

"It was obvious that he had a deep hate for the St. Paul family, as
well as for Jude Harlem's family, with or without Sharon's testimony,"
replied Mulder. "Her testimony about his childhood only solidifies the
evidence somewhat. It'll be easier to convict him."

"It gives him a motive, sir." It was Scully's turn to speak. "It'll be
harder to ignore the evidence when the jury sees that Jeremy Hunter
believes he's exacting revenge. The only thing we're worried about is
how the fact that he is Jeremy Hunter will impact on the jury. For the
longest time he was a CBC reporter, a trusted face in the eyes of the
public. They'll either believe he didn't do it, or it'll change the
face of the media for a while."

"How so?" asked Skinner.

"The public will have a problem trusting any and all media after this.
This case has been more than a political scandal. It's a public
scandal now. The CBC will suffer. They're Canada's equivalent to our
CNN. Who's to say that there aren't other reporters out there bending
the truth to their own agendas? That's what Jeremy Hunter did. He knew
he was killer all along, but all his reports on the murders were
drawing attention to Derek St. Paul. That strikes quite a blow to the
trusting audience. Media officials are going to have to work awfully
hard to gain that trust back."

"It won't be a big problem though," interjected Mulder. "The trust
will come back with the next big scandal Canadians are facing. It
happens all the time here. They'll want to know more information on
what's happening, and to get that they look to the media."

Skinner nodded before moving on with the next item on the agenda.
"There were also letters of commendation from Prime Minister Albert
Adams for the two of you, as well as one for Officer Kat Menard. You
two realize these commendations are worth more coming from him than
our own president? It signifies a working relationship between two
nations, not just within our own. These are something that even the
Director can't dispute and can be used as further protection for your
places within the Bureau. It could possibly secure the X-Files for
you."

"Or they could be used to push us back into departments that we could
be of further use to," concluded Mulder.

"But they wouldn't be able to split you up. They specifically mention
how well your partnership works. That solidifies your position."

The two agents nodded.

"Meanwhile another case passed my desk this morning that could use
your attention. It will require you to leave your desk, Agent Scully,
but not in a way that will upset the doctors." He passed the envelope
to Mulder. "A school in Alexandria is claiming witchcraft has taken
over, possessing one student and killing another. They want an autopsy
performed, and interviews conducted, which I'm sure you can do. Agent
Mulder can do the actual investigating."

The two agents rose from their seats, Scully sighing. It was going to
be another one of those cases, she could already see the excitement in
Mulder's eyes.

~END~

Author's Notes: Okay, as you can see, several things have been
changed. We're gonna keep the rating at R due to some bad language,
and some violent and not so nice scenes. We're also gonna remove the
MSR notice here too because I just couldn't fit the MSR in the fic in
a way I liked, so it's just gonna be UST for certain parts. So yeah,
the headers have changed (don't you love how I give all this stuff out
at the end after the fact???) As for time continuity, I recognize that
it doesn't work out mathematically, however, we're gonna assume that
these people are some young geniuses. Just bear with it please, one of
these years I'll change it, but not today. It's just fiction and it's
for my own enjoyment and yours, so it doesn't have to be perfect!