TITLE: This House is Burning: Book Two
       A Thief's Diet

AUTHOR: Tesla

EMAIL ADDRESS: Tesla@hiwaay.net

DISTRIBUTION:  Okay to archive.

RATINGS WARNING: R

KEYWORDS: Casefile, MSR, Investigation

SPOILERS:N/A---early in the canon

SUMMARY: Part two of three connected stories,
         the first being "Blood on the Snow"

THE DISCLAIMER: Original characters from the TV
series property of Chris Carter,1013 and Fox. 

FEEDBACK: Sure. See above address

AUTHOR NOTES: At end



St. Louis County Criminal Court St. Louis, Missouri

 Mulder sat outside the courtroom, black raincoat folded over his 
arm, his suit  and shirt neatly pressed, his tie knotted for him 
by the prosecutor's judicial  assistant. Scully would be pleased, 
he thought bleakly.  She had offered to take  him to the airport 
that morning, but he told her that he could leave his car in  
long-term parking. He shouldn't be in St. Louis too long. She had 
given him the  little half-smile she liked to give him these 
days. He used to think that he  couldn't stand it when she rolled 
her eyes at him; but her genuine impatience  was more palatable 
than this Susie Sunshine act.  That, and her yoga classes  during 
lunch. He had asked her to go get a hot dog at the Mall one day, 
and she  looked at him like he'd suggested they eat potted meat 
on crackers; then she had  seemed to catch herself, and, with a 
smile, said, "Sounds great."  

Don't think about Scully. Get your head in the game.

He was used to testifying in court, used to the defense's ploy of 
invoking the  rule against witnesses being in the courtroom until 
they had testified.  He had  explained the Bureau's profiling 
methods for curious juries, and had cultivated  a patient 
demeanor when criminal defense attorneys tried to rattle him, or 
to  make him lose his temper. Back when he did a lot of 
profiling, he usually had to  take his files with him to remember 
what had happened during a consult.  He  didn't need notes for 
this gig, though. 

He had seen this murder take place.

 Washington, D.C. Six months earlier

Mulder knew he was in deep shit.  It was a gift, he told himself.  
Here he was, Scully-less, sent to verify the profile of a serial 
killer.  He had told his  boss that it wasn't the same guy. A 
first week rookie in Forensics 101 could  have done the same.

"I can tell you that, right here and right now and save the 
Bureau airfare," Mulder said. "Different method, different 
victims.  Different disposal." He sighed. "Why am I going out 
there?" (Scully was in Tampa at a forensic pathology  
conference.)

Skinner looked up, wearing one of his familiar Marine 
expressions. The one that said, "If you were in uniform, you'd be 
doing fifty laps around the parking lot, you little shit." It 
never worked because Mulder had never been a Marine; still, he 
could appreciate the intent.  

"Come on, sir, you can tell me. Why am I going to St. Louis? You 
know, if there's some subtext you're not telling me, I could make 
some mistake...." Mulder realized he was saying it in an annoying 
sing-song, but pressed on. "There's something up. I'm not a 
profiler any longer, and Scully and I have been filling out all 
our 302s, all our expense reports, even been getting  atta-boys 
from the ASACs. Sir. You're not sending me there because I pissed 
you off lately."

"No," Skinner said. "You're correct, agent.  I realize that the 
profile doesn't fit the task force profile.  And anyone from 
Behavior Sciences would say the same.  The St. Louis homicide 
division is in a lot of hot water about  this case, though.  The 
Post-Dispatch is accusing them of ignoring the killings because 
the victims are prostitutes."

Well, there was nothing to do but go back to his desk and pack up 
for St. Louis.  Mulder couldn't help but wonder if he being 
gently nudged away from the basement  department.  It was a 
subtler way to shut him down; send him off to the kind of  cases 
that burned him out, or that couldn't be solved.  Next thing you 
knew,  he'd be back in hostage negotiation or something. Going to 
job fairs at  colleges.

He shuddered.

**************************

 The assistant prosecutor, a placid blonde woman, came out to sit 
with him. "Nice  suit, Agent Mulder," she said. "The tie makes 
it, of course."  He obliged her by  smiling. "Anyway, although I 
know that you know the drill, when I put you on,  I'll walk you 
through your C.V. and your experience, and then ask how you first 
got asked to consult on the murders, and which officers you 
talked to, and so  forth.  This defense attorney will try to make 
you mad; that's her standard  trick."

"It's okay, I took my Zoloft," Mulder deadpanned. She surprised 
him by winking,  and saying, "So did I," before getting up and 
going back down the hall.

Mulder opened his notebook. He had been met at the airport by Hal 
Barnes and  Jane---Janey---Kerr from the St. Louis Homicide 
Squad. He had explained to them  that he had to view the crime 
scene photos and the autopsy reports first, before  any of the 
local investigators had a chance to brief him. That was standard  
operating procedure, and Hal had nodded.

"We thought we would drive you by the actual locations before we 
take you to the  hotel," Hal said. "Janey's got the stuff for 
you."  Mulder, in the front  passenger seat of Hal's car, turned 
around to acknowledge the dark woman in the  back. She patted a 
banker's box beside her. She looked at him, then seemed to  
really focus on him, before suddenly smiling. Mulder found 
himself smiling back  at her, as if they were sharing a private 
joke. They were in an unmarked department car and the low, 
familiar crackle of the  police dispatcher came over the radio 
mounted just above the console. 

"Tell the court what happened next."

"I reviewed the crime scene photos and the medical examiner's 
report," Mulder  said. "I then met with the detectives, with my 
initial conclusions already  written up."

 "Not the same guy?" Hal Barnes said, unhappily. "Damn."

"Well, you have three women who resemble each other 
superficially, with dark  hair, shoulder length.  But one died of 
an overdose, one was strangled with her  own scarf, and the third 
was pushed out of a moving car. But here's the  interesting 
thing.  The overdose victim looks like the middle victim, and she  
frequented the same geographic area as the second one.  The scarf 
was knotted  around her neck post-mortem, or at any rate, very 
close to death.  You may have  a copy-cat who wanted the last 
victim to resemble the first."

"Better and better and better," Barnes said, looking at his 
partner. "What  else?"

"Well," Mulder began, looking sidelong at Barnes' partner---she 
reminded him of  someone. Who?---"Strangling is a personal, very 
personal crime. Whereas giving someone enough money to overdose, 
or providing her with very strong drugs, is  more cold-blooded. 
Or squeamish, I suppose."

Jane Kerr looked up. "I thought I had retired my hooker drag," 
she complained.  "Why couldn't they have been blonde?"

"You're thinking of decoying?" Mulder asked, oddly unsettled. "I 
don't know if  there's any pattern to the time frame between 
murders."  He tilted his chair back against the wall. "Since you 
could have a copycat, are there any more  unsolved murders of 
women----brunettes or not?"

Barnes and Kerr looked at each other. "What?" Mulder asked.

"We have what *could* be a sniper," Kerr said. "A dark haired 
woman shot as she was outside a liquor store. We thought it was a 
drive-by----but no one heard the shot. A car with really loud 
speakers went past at the same time, though, and the music could 
have drowned it out."

Barnes took up the story. "But ballistics just came in. She was 
shot with a high-powered rifle."

Mulder frowned at them. "The psychology and profile of a sniper 
is a lot different from someone who preys on women---especially 
women at high risk, like  prostitutes."

"She wasn't the only one," Barnes said. "Another woman was shot 
outside a  nightclub across the river in East St. Louis. The 
crime rate is so high over  there, that it didn't get much 
play...."

"Ballistics?" Mulder said, suddenly keen.

"It matches." Kerr said.



The prosecutor had been standing at her table, pulling photos out 
of manila  envelopes. "Do you recognize these photos? One at a 
time."

"The first is a young woman who died of strangulation." He handed 
it back to the prosecutor. "The second, a young woman who is also 
dark haired. She was  strangled and stabbed. The next three 
pictures are of young women who are dark  haired and who were all 
shot with a rifle."

"Was it a sniper?" asked the prosecutor. She had walked back to 
lean on the  railing to the left of the jury box, so Mulder would 
naturally look at the jury  as he answered her questions.

"Objection, your honor, this witness has not been qualified as a 
ballistics  expert, but strictly as a profiler for the F.B.I," 
shouted the defense attorney. She spat out "F. B. I." like it was 
an obscenity. The jurors' heads all swerved  to her side of the 
courtroom.

Mulder looked patiently at the prosecutor. She didn't move from 
her stance  beside the jury box. "Witness has gone through his 
resume and his work  experience and the defense didn't object," 
she said, her voice untroubled. "Judge, on page four of State's 
exhibit 5, Agent Mulder listed his accredited  course work and 
citations in ballistics and forensics."

Mulder stared down at the pictures spread on the railing before 
him as the  lawyers argued.

When you saw them all together, they did suggest a type, even in 
the postmortem  pictures that Mulder always thought were so sad. 
You lose all privacy as a  victim, as a corpse. Not only does a 
detective turn out your wallet and read  your checkbook with the 
terribly mundane tiny sums to the grocery store and the  dry 
cleaner, not only are your clothes photographed---and there's 
that safety  pin instead of a button and the old frayed 
underpants---but there you are,  photographed as you are ritually 
flayed and dissected. In the name of science,  in the name of 
detection, in the name of a justice that often seemed random and  
capricious and just curious.  

God, he loved profiling. He loved it like the addict loved his 
crackpipe. He  kept telling Scully how much he hated doing it and 
hated getting into the perp's  head, but the truth---were they 
finished yet?

"---Rule 405-"

No. The truth was, that he hated the guy, hated the act, but he 
got off on the  work. Got off on losing himself in someone else, 
just like an actor in a part.

 When he was finally in a conference room with all the evidence 
photos, he  thought immediately that someone had to be killing 
all these women for some  agenda of his own. It didn't matter 
that the methods were different at first,  because he was finding 
his way to a kill. The first woman was dead, and he saw her, and 
he enjoyed the thought of---not her death, but of the death of 
someone  who looked like her. Then he started planning how to do 
it.

"The witness may answer." 

"Yes," Mulder said. "The killer began using a gun rather than 
risk contact."

"In your opinion, are all these deaths related?"

"Yes, because of the similarity of the victims."

"Anything else?"

Mulder leaned forward, picking up the first photo. "He didn't 
kill this lady,  Cheryl Adams, but her death triggered the next 
death. He went from there."   "Tell the jury how you arrived at 
this conclusion."

"After I was called in?"

"Objection, your honor, the witness is asking himself the 
questions now."

Mulder glanced up at the judge. He waved his hand. "Overruled. 
Start from the top, Agent Mulder."

"When I looked at all the photos of the first two victims, I 
noticed how similar  they were in appearance. I asked the 
detectives to show me the evidence boxes-"



 "See how these girls all look like each other? I don't mean, 
dead, but their  driver's licenses. Have you got any photos from 
relatives, snapshots, portraits? See how they wear their hair? 
He's after a certain type."  He stared at Kerr.  She smiled 
again.

"Yeah, he's looking for Janey," Barnes said, behind him. "Look at 
her."

"Yeah, I am," Mulder said.

 ii.

"Permission to take the witness on voir dire," asked the 
prosecutor  unexpectedly, after a series of objections from the 
defense. Another long period of argument. Some of the jurors were 
giving him sympathetic  looks.  Mulder tried to look as gee-whiz 
as possible.

"Granted."

Mulder tensed. This meant that the defense had found out 
something about his  many-splendored case work and was going to 
question him on it to discredit his  testimony about this case.  
There was no telling---

"Do you remember Eugene Tooms?"  

Mulder relaxed. This one, he could answer on auto-pilot. He may 
have sounded  silly at the Tooms' parole hearing, but Tooms had 
obliged him by using the Dirty  Harry offense and trying to set 
him up, and killing his psychiatrist. At least  he didn't go 
after Scully...God. Letting Scully get in bed with him had been 
one  of the bigger mistakes of his life. It was the damned cold 
medicine, he had been  kind of stoned. When they had sex.

She wanted to. She did. She liked it, he wasn't deceiving 
himself. She loved it.

She just didn't love him.

 "Well, Eugene Tooms did eat the liver of his psychiatrist," he 
said. "So I think  I was correct in recommending that he not be 
paroled. I have a pretty good record with catching serial 
killers." He shrugged. "That's the bottom line---I recommended 
that he not be paroled, and he was. And then he killed again."

The prosecutor was smiling. "Your honor, if I could resume my 
direct?" 

"Proceed."

"Based on the similarities of all the victims, and the fact that 
the victims  were similar in their build, coloring, and hair 
style, as well as living within  the general area, the local 
investigators and I did a rough analysis to see if we could 
geographically track the murders."

"What would be the purpose of that?"

"To see if there was any patterns formed by pin-pointing the 
deaths on a map."

"What else do you do, when you, in particular, are asked to 
consult with a local  homicide investigation?"

"It's not too different from the on-site investigators do.  I 
look for patterns in the method used to kill the victims, in the 
individual characteristics of the  victims, in the surrounding 
crime scene, in order to gain insight on the  personality of the 
killer.  I give an opinion based on my training and  experience."

"Did you find a pattern in these killings?" 

"A forced pattern." He looked earnestly at the jury. "A staged 
pattern."



iii.

"Most serial killers have a model in their mind. There's a 
certain type of  victim that satisfies their need. Most snipers 
pick places; they set up a  command point and blast at everyone 
who comes in range. Sometimes they move around in the territory, 
sometimes they stay up in the clock tower or whatever  until they 
get taken out.  It's very weird that the killer switches his 
weapon,  and still has the same victimology."  

Mulder was sitting in an interrogation room with Janey and Hal, 
late that day.  The evening shift had taken over.  Outside the 
barred windows, evening traffic  hummed as commuters left the 
city. The two detectives looked as though they had  all the time 
in the world. That was good, because Mulder's moment of interest 
in  their personal lives was almost over.

"You have a couple of killers here, not a single one."  He kept 
pausing, waiting  for Scully to say something. But she wasn't in 
St. Louis with him, even though he kept thinking she was sitting 
behind him.  It would have been nice, actually,  to have Scully 
looking over the autopsy reports to make sure he hadn't missed  
anything. Not that he had, but he just---missed----he coughed, 
and picked up his  notepad.

"Number one: strangled." He looked up. "Someone that knew her, 
maybe a customer,  her boyfriend---no struggle.  Auto-erotic 
asphyxiation, maybe? Because it's like  she had done it before. 
Like she was expecting it.  But he went too far. She had  sex 
with someone, because there was a small amount of a lotion 
commonly used  with lubricated condoms. But nothing else was 
disturbed. This could have almost  been an accident; he didn't 
intend to kill her, and when she didn't respond, he  panicked and 
dumped her body." He put Cheryl Adams' photo on the table between  
them. "This is not connected in any way with these two earlier 
murders of the  other women; they were found in crack houses and 
the methods are completely  different." He put down two more 
pictures, the new ones that the homicide  investigators had given 
to him as possible victims. "These women were killed by  two 
different people. Not part of this investigation right now."

He looked up. Hal and Janey were nodding, their eyes on the 
pictures, as if he  were a magician. He always liked this part, 
the part when he made believers out  of the home team. "Then, 
here's Geneva Pratt. She's not a prostitute, but she  still 
worked at a high risk job, at a convenience store. She wasn't 
taken out at  the store, but as she walked to her car. There's no 
security camera outside. She  was strangled and stabbed."  He 
paused, for just that theatrical moment that  Scully would stop 
him from doing. "Or, really, stabbed. Then our guy came along  
and strangled her. He tried to make it look like the Adams 
murder, but couldn't  quite do it. She was stabbed and her purse 
was taken, and then she was finished  off by strangulation---or, 
even, post-mortem.  It's a thought. The death was  caused by 
blood loss, not strangulation."

He looked at Janey. She was staring inwardly, seeming to 
calculate something.  Hal wasn't there yet. Mulder put the photo 
of the Mendez girl.  "At first, these  girls seemed to be drive-
bys, but again, she had a record for soliciting. So did  Beverly 
Parker. And when you have their drivers' licenses or booking 
photos, you  can see how they look alike."

Hal sat back, tugging at the knot of his tie. "A vigilante? He's 
targeting  hookers?" He picked up the last photo. "Or his 
paraphilia---" he grinned at  Mulder. "Am I way off base?"

"He could be the Bundy type," Mulder agreed. "I can see why my 
boss wanted me  out here, because we had a Bundy-type not too 
long ago. Bundy wanted to kill  women with long dark hair, parted 
in the middle, who were kind of upper middle  class, and who 
reminded him of a woman who had rejected him. That kind of killer  
has appetites that are so strong that he may take risks in order 
to satisfy  them. He's usually organized, works, puts on a good 
face to the world. I don't  think he killed the two girls in the 
crack houses, because they were too messed  up.  Look at the 
autopsy report and the pictures; they were wearing clean and  
neat clothes, their hair was clean and neat.  Now, if this was a 
textbook case, this guy would be trying to find the woman that 
most fits his inner model."

"Why isn't this a textbook case?" Janey asked shrewdly. "Because 
you think it's  someone who saw Cheryl Adams?"

"He's not killing because killing gets him off," Mulder said. "I 
don't quite  know why, but he's not your typical killer. Sure, he 
doesn't think these women's  lives are worth anything, he thinks 
he has the right to do exactly what he wants  to them, but I'm 
not....quite....sure..."  They were staring at him, wide-eyed. 
"Can we go get a steak somewhere? I'm  starving," he said 
plaintively. 

iv.

"What are the X-Files?" asked the defense attorney on cross-
examination. 

Mulder smiled patiently. "Kind of a cold case department. Cases 
that come in for  the Bureau that have no logical explanation."

"About UFOs and the like, right?"

"A few. Mostly, we get cases because the local authorities don't 
have the  resources.  My partner and I have a very high closed 
case rate in our  department, one of the highest in the Bureau."

"Profiling?"

"Profiling comes into it."

"But you don't currently profile fulltime?"

"No. My current department is the X-Files." He spelled it for the 
court reporter.



 The steakhouse was on the other side of a shopping plaza not too 
far from the homicide division offices, and conveniently in the 
same block as Mulder's hotel.  Mulder was cutting into steak when 
Hal asked, "So what are the X-Files, again?"

He opened his mouth to answer, and paused, editing his thoughts. 

Janey looked up. "No, wait, don't tell us until I get back from  
the restroom."  She picked up her bag and stood, threaded her way 
through  the diners.

"Smallest bladder in the department," Hal said.  Mulder stared 
hard at him, surprised by the indulgent look Hal had given his 
partner. "What?" Hal asked defensively.

"You're very close to her," Mulder stated, forking a mouthful of 
meat.

Hal flushed. "She's a married lady." 

"I didn't see a ring," Mulder said, realizing he'd struck a 
nerve. One day, someone was going to kick the shit out of him 
when he was in this Great Bwana Profiler mode. That hadn't 
stopped him yet, though.

Hal was swallowing his mouthful of steak, and Mulder waited for 
him to answer.

"She and Doug have separated. He's an investigator in the next 
county; they have  a special federal grant. Drug task force."

"And you don't like him," Mulder said.  

Hal rubbed his face. "What are you suggesting, Mulder?"

Mulder kept his expression bland. "Nothing."

"No, I don't like him. He's a ass."

"Good thing that's not a crime," Mulder said with a wry smile.

"Sometimes, though, you do," Mulder said, half to himself. 

Hal looked startled.

Janey was back. "So, tell us about the X-Files?" she asked 
lightly.

"Weird stuff," Mulder said. "Unexplained cases. Crimes with 
unanswered questions. I get loaned out for this kind of 
profiling, but I've done a lot of it.  Did it fulltime for 
years." 

Hal nodded. "So, where do we go from here?"

Mulder set his steak knife and fork on the plate, and dabbed at 
his lips with a  napkin. "Dessert, I hoped," he said blandly.

"Good call," Hal said as their waitress cleared their plates.

"As far as the case goes," Mulder said, "we need, if possible, to 
cross-reference the victims with each other, and with their 
family members, and with any witnesses involved in the discovery 
of the body or any who are the last to have seen any of the 
victims alive. There's going to be a connection  in this. I don't 
think these murders are random."

Janey was writing furiously on the notepad she always seemed to 
have within reach.  She raised her eyes to his without raising 
her head or taking her pen from the pad. "Should we---" she 
began, and then stopped, her focus now on a spot somewhere off to 
Mulder's left.

"Janey?" Mulder looked from her to Hal; she was pale, he was 
reddening.  He followed their gazes and saw a tall man in khaki 
trousers and an oxford cloth shirt entering the restaurant.  He 
disappeared into the bar, with that faint swagger that showed he 
was as handsome as he thought he was.  

"Someone you know?" he asked.

Janey looked back down at her notes. "No one important."

Hal shook his head in a way that suggested Mulder should drop it.

The waitress reappeared, took their dessert orders, and Mulder 
rose. "Excuse me," he said, and went to the restroom.  

When Hal came in the men's room a moment later, Mulder was 
washing his hands. "I take it no one important back there was 
Janey's soon-to-be-ex?"

Hal frowned at himself in the mirror over the sink. "Yeah, that 
was him. Complete asshole."

"Why's that?"

Hal looked around, as if he was making sure the coast was clear. 
"Thinks he's a hotshit investigator. Fast track to the top, in 
his mind, at least.  Hates that the little woman is smarter than 
he is. They split up when she was doing that  hooker decoy duty. 
From what she says, they've never really got together to talk or 
resolve anything." He sighed.

Mulder studied the other man. Was everyone in love with their 
partner? "What does Janey say about him?"

"She won't talk to me," Hal said gloomily. "I don't know what 
happened, exactly,  but I think she caught him cheating and she's 
just in shock."

"Does she know how you feel about her?" Mulder asked, crumpling 
his paper  towels and making a rim shot into the trash can.

Hal looked pale. "She's my partner."

Mulder gave a half-shrug. "I hear it happens."

"Not around here." Hal glared.

"She didn't, say, leave him for you, right?"

"Look, Mulder, Doug is a hound. That's why she left. And yeah, 
okay, so maybe I wish she had left him for me, but she sure as 
hell didn't. She treats me like her big brother. Period.  End of 
story." 

Mulder nodded.  He knew that feeling all too well.  "Okay," he 
said. "I'm just being thorough." He tried to soften the statement 
with a self deprecating smile. 

"Whatever."

When they emerged from the steakhouse a little over half an hour 
later, the last of the sunset was hidden behind clouds, and the 
lights were up in the parking lot.  There was a faint crack, and 
a far-away rumble. 

"Thunderstorm coming," Hal commented as he unlocked the door on 
his side of the car. "We really get hammered, here."

Mulder heard something.  What it was didn't consciously register, 
but he threw Janey to the concrete beside the car and flung 
himself on top of her. Her elbow caught him in the solar plexus, 
knocking the air out of him.

"Wha-" she began, just as the car window burst into pebbles and 
the car alarm went off. 

"Are you down!?" Hal screamed, looking at them from under the 
chassis.

"I'm okay." Mulder felt the woman beneath him move. "You okay, 
Janey?"

Janey nodded.

"We're both okay," he called to Hal.

Hal had his weapon in one hand, and the microphone to his police 
radio in the other. "Shot fired---shot fired outside the Mall 
steak house, possibly from the office construction site."  Hal 
got to his feet, remained crouched behind the car. 

"It came from over there," Mulder said, and pointed, rolling off 
Janey.   Hal agreed. "Yeah. I see - I see tail lights leaving on 
the other side of the building."

"Jesus Christ," Mulder said, when he caught his breath.  "Shit."  
He sat up, rubbing his face. "You okay, Janey?" he asked again.

She nodded, blinking. There was a raw patch on her cheek, a cut 
on her forehead, and a rivulet of sweat ran down her face into 
her neck. "That wasn't-" She swallowed. "He was aiming at me, 
wasn't he?"

"I don't think he was trying to get me," Hal snapped as he 
rounded to their side of the vehicle, gun still drawn, still on 
the lookout. "You're bleeding, Janey. I'll call for am 
ambulance."

She shook her head. "It's just where I scraped the pavement," she 
said.  "I'm okay.  Really."

Hal frowned, then seemed to reach a decision.  "Fine. Mulder, you 
get her out of here now. We don't need anyone to know the Feds 
are here." 

Mulder stood up, and reached for Janey's sleeve. "Come on." 

Janey followed.

They walked quickly, almost race-walking, through the crowds in 
the mall parking lot. No one glanced twice at them, as the place 
was filled with shoppers  trying to get in and out of their cars 
before the rain started falling.  Mulder was aware that his hand 
had moved from the custodial grip on her wrist, to  clasping 
hers.  Her fingers opened and closed against his, the only 
outward sign  of agitation she had shown so far.

They were just outside the hotel as one and then another squad 
car passed.  Mulder tugged her inside, and she followed him 
through the lobby to the elevator.  Mulder stood with his free 
hand gripping hers, until they reached his floor. 

The room was just as he left it, which he found oddly reassuring.  
The thing about lone killers, even crazy lone killers, is that 
they just didn't have the same resources as say, the government.  
Now all he had to do was barricade the door, and call Hal. He sat 
down on the edge of the bed, turning on the television, looking 
for any sign of a breaking story.

The toilet flushed, and the bathroom door opened. Janey came out, 
having  washed her face. When she lifted her face from the towel, 
he suddenly knew who she looked like.  With no make-up, she had 
Scully's fair complexion and the same  shape of eyes, the same 
jut of jaw, just in darker tints.

"It's a cop, isn't it?" she asked. 

Mulder considered his answer for a moment.  "Yeah, it's a cop," 
he finally said.  He pulled the paper lid from a hotel glass, and 
put it under the tap. 

"But the others were all hookers.  Is it because I did decoy 
duty?"  Her tone was calm, but her hands were trembling.  Mulder 
took them in his own and guided her to sit down on the edge of 
his bed.

Mulder shook his head. "No. Janey, is there any one who wants to 
kill you?" he asked. "Like your husband?" 

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Mulder waited.

"Doug?  He's a cop, a detective.  He wouldn't kill me. He doesn't 
even want to divorce me. No, Mulder. No, he wouldn't kill me. 
This has got to be someone else.  I just, I just fit the victim 
profile.  You said it yourself." 

Mulder deliberately put on his most sincere expression, used his 
most neutral tone of voice. "Why are you separated?" Mulder 
asked. 

Janey closed her eyes, sighed. "I found some stuff on our home 
computer. Stuff he had encrypted. I was trying to get into it 
when he came home.  I think it was a woman. Doug said it wasn't, 
of course, but he wouldn't let me see it, either. Then he started 
acting suspicious of everything I said. He said I was trying to 
pry-" she caught herself. "It's just the same old tedious story, 
Mulder. We've been married seven years. We're not friends any 
more. Neither one of us is happy, but I asked for the divorce and 
I guess I wounded his pride. He says he wants me to come back, 
but-"  She sighed again.   

"Did he come clean?" Mulder asked.

Her face hardened, and Janey did look uncannily like Scully. 
"No." She stopped  picking at the scuffed skin of her palms, and 
looked directly at him. "Do you  see conspiracy and betrayal 
everywhere you go, Agent Mulder?"

"Pretty much." He shrugged. "I work the X-Files."

After a startled look, Janey laughed. She ran her hand over her 
face in  much the same gesture her partner had, and said, "Well, 
let's get back to the  salt mines. Our lieutenant will want to 
know what the hell happened." She  glanced at her reflection in 
the mirror. "It's more likely that he was after  you, you know. 
The outside investigator. Not me."

Mulder grimaced. "That had occurred me. That's why I thought it 
was someone in  the know, that heard I was here." He scratched 
his chin. "The local field office  was advised, too. That's 
standard."

"This case gets more complex," Janey grumbled, opening the door.

Or simpler, Mulder thought, eyeing her rigid shoulders.

 v.

"Isn't it a fact that there was a confession to the shooting?" 
the defense  attorney barked.

"Yes, someone walked in and confessed that he had shot at 
Detective Kerr, and  that he had shot all the victims."

"What led you to ignore this confession and go after someone 
else?"

"Well, he didn't have a weapon. No weapon was found where he had 
claimed he had dumped it. And nothing other than his confession 
linked him to the murders."

"Didn't he know substantial details of the shootings?"

"He was friends with a morgue attendant. The friend admitted that 
he discussed  details of the autopsies with him."

"Isn't it true that you preferred to lock my client into your 
preconceived  profile?"

"Since I was endeavoring not to have any preconceived ideas, no."



The homicide lieutenant was unhappy. "This guy walks in and you 
already don't  like him?" he asked Mulder.

"He doesn't really know anything. He can't articulate a reason 
why he's  doing it."  Mulder, the lieutenant, and Hal were 
standing behind the two way  mirror watching the interrogation, 
at the downtown precinct.  Janey was still at  homicide division, 
writing her report.

"He said he didn't like hookers." The lieutenant didn't try to 
sound hopeful. He  sighed after he said it.

"Come on, lieutenant. You know a lot of nuts walk in off the 
street. He came in  right after the evening news."

The news trucks had shown up, probably due to someone monitoring 
the police band  transmissions. Hal had refused to comment, 
looking red and angry as he wound  yellow crime scene tape around 
his car.  St. Louis crime scene investigators  were trying to 
determine the caliber of the slug they found in its dashboard. 
The news had run with it at every station break before the ten 
o'clock news,  and by ten thirty, the Christopher Richard Johnson 
had walked in off the street.

Johnson was the kind of middle aged man no one noticed.  Never 
married, no children, he had a small chin, a receding hairline, 
and watery, red rimmed eyes. He was wearing khaki pants, and a v-
necked sweater over a gray tee shirt. Mulder smiled to himself.  
At the rate I'm going, that could be me in a few years, he 
thought.

"That guy's probably never had a date on a Friday in his life," 
the lieutenant said. 

Inside the interrogation room, a Detective Cooke was quietly 
taking the man  through the details of his confession. Although 
it was an intellectual pleasure  to listen to him, the more they 
talked, the more obvious it was that the man had  come to confess 
the latest shooting, and didn't know about the connected cases.

"I'd rather go out on Saturday," Hal said morosely. "I'm too 
tired on Friday."

The lieutenant shrugged. "I'm married. I don't know the concept 
of date night."

"Apparently, that doesn't stop some guys," Mulder said, leaning 
against the wall  and eyeing Hal.

"Look, just because someone is running around on his wife doesn't 
make him a  killer," Hal said quickly.  The lieutenant slewed 
around in his seat, his  eyebrows raised. "Agent Mulder saw Doug 
Kerr at the steakhouse," Hal said  reluctantly.

"We all saw Doug Kerr at the steakhouse," Mulder corrected.

"Kerr? What? You think Kerr wanted to kill Janey, and was copying 
the sniper?" the lieutenant said quickly.

"You look at the person closest to the victim," Mulder said. 
"Sometimes  the easiest answer is the right one."

"Kerr's a cop," Hal said flatly. "He's a shit husband, but a good 
cop."

The lieutenant looked up at Mulder, and almost immediately looked 
away.

Mulder removed his shoulder from the wall, standing straight, all 
tiredness  gone. "I didn't mean to slander a friend of yours," he 
said.

The lieutenant grunted. After a moment, he said, "We might as 
well cut this guy  loose."



"He had a history of mental problems?" the defense attorney said.

"Yes, and he had been hospitalized at the time of one of the 
murders," Mulder replied.  

"But you didn't look further?"

The District Attorney was on her feet, her face as placid as 
ever. "Objection, your honor, asked and answered. Several times."

"Sustained. Move on, counselor," said the Judge.

"Weren't you sent to St. Louis because you thought the killer 
here was the same  one that you failed to catch in Colorado?"

First blood, Mulder thought, but what he said was, "No." He said 
it a little too  quickly for the district attorney, who was 
objecting again.

"Agent Mulder has already explained why he came here," she said.

"Opened the door on direct, your honor," responded the defense 
attorney.  They  went closer to the bench, and Mulder realized 
that it would be some time.

"This would be a good time to take a recess," the judge said 
finally. After he cautioned the jury, he took the lawyers into 
his chambers with him, and Mulder stood down and went out to the 
hallway outside the courtroom, to stretch his legs.  He saw Hal, 
sitting on a bench reading the newspaper. They started to speak, 
and then saw a woman with the large yellow "JUROR" stick-on badge 
on her blouse and fell silent.  Hal folded the newspaper so the 
front page was hidden.

"I still haven't seen the Mississippi," Mulder said, just to say 
something. Hal  looked like he had lost ten pounds since they 
first met. 

"By day, you mean. We took you by the riverfront," Hal said, his 
expression  lightening momentarily.



In the end, the powers that be were reluctant to let the 
confession go too  suddenly. A lawyer was called, and the suspect 
was taken to a holding cell.  The  Captain of homicide was coming 
in to look over the transcript of the confession.

"Yeah, that's gonna impress him," Hal grumbled. "Captain Walker 
prob'ly had an  early tee time tomorrow."  He stretched and 
yawned.  "Well, we're off the clock,  Mulder.  Third watch came 
on at eleven. Let's go grab a beer." At Mulder's look  of 
surprise, Hal said, "It's Friday night. Most of my shift has beer 
call at a  bar. Not a big drinking thing, but kind of winding 
down."

"Were you going anyway?" Mulder asked.

"Yeah, but I can take you to the hotel, first, it's no big."

"No, I'll ride with you to beer call," Mulder said. "Knicks are 
playing the  Lakers tonight. I was going to watch it."

They went to a tavern at the restored riverfront along the 
Mississippi. It was  filled with customers watching hockey on all 
the televisions. Somehow, Mulder  didn't think he was going to 
get to watch the basketball game from the west  coast. He took 
his bottle of beer and wandered out through a glass door to the  
deck. He had it practically to himself, although a couple was 
sitting and  smoking, talking in low voices, just beside the 
door.

Mulder leaned on the deck rail, his untouched beer clasped in 
both hands. He wondered what Scully was doing.  Funny how he 
hadn't heard from her. It used to be that if one of them was off 
on vacation or solo on a case, they would call constantly.  

That had stopped after they got back from Black Mountain.

Unbidden, the memory of Scully's hot hands on him came back so 
that he could almost feel her, almost smell her.  He was grateful 
that he was leaning into the dark, facing the river.

He had rambled like he was in a porn movie. He hadn't known  what 
he was saying to her, because he was so startled to wake to find 
Scully crawling on top of him. He had thought he was having one 
of his dreams, until she put her teeth on his nipple.  That was  
when he usually just woke with a hard-on.  The hard-on was there, 
but  this time, Scully was stroking it.

When he actually was inside her, he had blurted out that he loved 
her. She had ignored what he said, and ridden him like he was a 
rodeo pony, the whole encounter more raw and animal that his 
soft-porn fantasies.

The fact is, he told himself, you're a hopeless romantic, and 
Scully is far more earthy and practical.  She wasn't mooning 
around.  He probably was getting on her nerves. That's why she 
was all business, now. He was her best friend - shit, he knew she 
was his - and he was messing up the dynamic.

The wind from the river, a vast, deeper darkness in the moonless 
night, was too  chilly to be pleasant. It kept him from getting a 
hard-on, which was what  usually happened when he let himself 
think about having sex with Scully.

I could be her fuck buddy, he thought.

No, you can't.  She's backed off so far you're afraid to touch 
her. Better leave it all alone, and try to act like it never 
happened.

Like that's worked so well before.

A door opened behind him. 

"Mulder," Hal called. "Your game's on." 

Mulder turned, setting the beer bottle on a table.

He was so cold and he had so much to do.

vi.

"Didn't you lose the suspect in Colorado?"

"We didn't capture him, no."

"But you summarily rejected the Colorado suspect in these cases?"

"The Colorado suspect liked to kidnap women and rape them." 
Mulder said  quickly, trying to get it all out before the 
attorney cut him short. "This  killer wasn't interested in rape."

"Well, didn't that suspect attack an agent in Colorado?"

"Yes, he attacked a female decoy agent."

"Weren't you attacked here? And put in the hospital?"

Mulder kept the sarcasm out of his voice. "I wasn't dressed as a 
decoy."

"Wasn't that agent attacked at the hotel? And weren't you 
attacked at the hotel?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that part of the same profile?"

"No, since I wasn't raped and killed."  Several jury members 
stifled snickers,  and the judge snorted. The prosecutor raised 
her eyes from her legal pad.

"Asked and answered, your honor. Agent Mulder has explained the 
profile and he's  said why it's not the same suspect."

"Sustained."



Mulder had typed up his recommendations on his laptop, and was 
sitting on the  bed, fully dressed with his zippered folder and 
raincoat in his lap, surfing  through the early morning news 
shows, when the phone rang.

"Agent Mulder, your ride is here," said a voice.

"Okay," he said. He had that familiar feeling of being hung-over 
from nights without sleeping. 

He never actually got any sleep in hotel rooms. Except-

No, don't think about sleeping with Scully, and how amazing it 
felt to have her  relying on him to keep the nightmares away.  

That was it, wasn't it, Mulder?  That why you felt like a hero. 
Scully  hated relying on anyone, but she'd come crawling to you-

Stop it. 

He scooped up his raincoat and portfolio, and went out to catch 
his  ride.

He was standing at the end of the hall, waiting for the elevator, 
when he felt  rather than heard someone come around the corner 
into the alcove. He had  automatically turned to see, but was 
blindsided by a blow on the head. He lost  his vision for a 
second, and flung himself at his attacker, clawing for his  
weapon as he threw a punch. Something smashed into his hand, 
making him drop the  Glock, but he felt fabric tearing as he fell 
glancingly against the  man. He tried to get up, to avoid the 
next blow, when the elevator bell rang. Something thudded by his 
head, and then there was the whoosh of the doors  opening by his 
head.

"What the hell?" someone said above him, as he lay on the carpet, 
and far away  he heard the slam of a metal door. The darkness 
swallowed him up.



 A long while later, after he opened his eyes to see the ceiling 
of an ambulance,  then closed them, then to reopened them again 
in an emergency room, he was very close to the surface.  He was 
in a hospital bed, and someone was talking.

"-ur boss is here," someone---the lieutenant? a doctor? said to 
him. "He called  in from the airport."

"Mguh," Mulder said, coughing.

Skinner silently followed the resident to Mulder's bedside. "We 
put him out to  set the bones," the resident explained, gesturing 
at Mulder's swollen hand. "He  broke the fingers."

"Yes," the A.D. said. "Any problems?"

"No, pretty clean fractures, no bone splinters. He shouldn't be 
coming around  for a while yet."  The young man closed the chart, 
and dropped it into the  pocket at the end of the bed. "I'll 
check back with you later."

Skinner stepped to Mulder's bed.  

"Sir," Mulder said in a thready voice, fighting the anesthetic. 
He tried to smile at his boss. "Why you here?"

"I have a four hour layover. I'm going to Los Angeles for a 
conference. The ASAC  called my office, and they called me on the 
plane. You can go home after you're  discharged, Mulder," Skinner 
said awkwardly. "You've been made, obviously, and  they tell me 
that you've done the profile."

Mulder closed his eyes, nodding, and sank back into the sedative.



 When Mulder awoke, he was conscious of the scent of a woman's 
hair beside his  pillow. "Scully?" he whispered. 

He felt the brush of long hair, and opened his eyes. Jane was 
sitting close  beside the bed, leaning over him, her hands 
holding his good hand.

"It was a baseball bat," she said, as if they had been having a 
conversation.  "We found it beside you. Handle taped. No prints."

"Does-" Mulder couldn't remember the name. "Does your ex play 
baseball?"

"No. Doug was a running back at Illinois."

Jesus, his hand and his head hurt like motherfuckers.

"Did he get my folder?" Mulder asked. "The profile is in there."

"All your stuff is in here," she said, gesturing at the closet. 
"I went back and  packed you up. Your suit is pretty messed up, 
with the blood and all. I brought  your other clothes. All you 
brought was two suits, and a leather jacket and  jeans?" She 
pursed her lips. "Very butch, Mulder."

"I should have clean boxers," he said primly. "Where's my Glock?"  
As a reply,  she held up what would look like a grocery sack to the 
uninitiated, but  which Mulder recognized as a standard evidence bag.

"Hal and I took charge of your stuff.  It looked like he hit you 
from behind,  but you were able to draw. I guess he broke your 
fingers knocking it out of your  hand."  She opened the bag, and 
began to methodically array his possessions on  his sheet: 
shoulder holster, gun, ammunition clip, wallet, checkbook, keys,  
badge, pack of chewing gum, sunglasses, reading glasses, belt, 
and watch.

"What's this?" she frowned, picking up the watch. 

Mulder squinted at her. There was something dark snagged in the 
links of the  watchband. 

"I swung at him." He found the control for the bed, and raised 
it so he was sitting up. "Do you have a baggie?"

Janey swung the bed table up from the foot of the bed, and put 
the watch on it. She felt around in the pockets of her jacket, 
and pulled out a couple of  evidence bags, and a small zippered 
cosmetic bag. She opened it, and shook out a  pair of latex 
gloves and tweezers. She stepped to the door and opened it.

"Jim, can you come in here a second?" A serious young uniformed 
officer followed  her back to the bedside. "Watch me do this, 
please. This is Agent Mulder's  watch."

"Nice to do business with a professional," Mulder said. "Get that 
chain of  custody nailed."

She smiled grimly, pulling one glove on and slowly teasing the 
piece of material  out of the link. She dropped it in the bag, 
and sealed it, initialing the label  and having the officer 
initial it.  "Get someone else to take it to forensics," Mulder 
said. "We don't want anything  to happen to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," she said, but she nodded at 
the officer, and  he keyed in his shoulder mike. 

"Sergeant, can we get someone to run some evidence to the lab? 
It's from  Detective Kerr, and you told me---yes ma'am." He 
raised his eyebrows at Janey.

Janey said, "I can stay here until your relief comes." She turned 
to Mulder.  "The local Special Agent in Charge is breathing fire 
and brimstone about an  attack on a federal agent. Must be nice 
to be so important," she added, as the  officer left the room.

"Aagh, they just don't want anyone to think federal officers are 
pussies,"  Mulder. "Can you give me some water?"

"Sure."  Her back to him as she busied herself with the water 
pitcher, Janey's  voice came out strained. "Can I talk to you 
about something?"

"Are you ready to tell me about why you don't think anything is 
going to happen  to you?" He raised the bed until he was sitting 
up. With his good hand, he took the cup of water and drank it. 
Janey reached for the empty cup, and Mulder caught her wrist. 
"Talk to me."

She sat on the bed next to his knee. "It's kind of complicated."

"I've got all night."

 vii.



Washington, D.C. Two days later

Mulder's telephone rang just as he entered the office, and 
Scully, who was sitting at his desk, answered it. "Agent Scully," 
she said automatically.  "Sure," she said, reaching for a pen. 
"Give me the number and I'll give it to  him as soon as he comes 
in." 

She carefully wrote out the message and hung up.   "Hey," Mulder 
said. 

Scully looked up.  "Hey, yourself." She picked up the message 
slip and thrust it at him as he walked to her side, as if to 
touch her shoulder.  Mulder, after a moment when he looked at her 
outstretched hand, the message between two fingers, took it and 
turned away to the other chair.

Missouri forensics lab, he read.  Fabric results.

Mulder sat down heavily, good hand buried in his jacket pocket. 
He  propped his bandaged hand on the edge of the desk.  "They 
thanked me kindly  for my time and trouble, and took the 
description of my assailant, and sent me  home, Scully," he said. 
He stretched his legs out, and crossed one ankle over  the other.  
"I---shit." He sat up, peering at the sole of one shoe.  
"There's a nail imbedded in the sole," he said, flicking at it 
with his  fingertip. "I wonder if it has anything to do with the 
subject? I should get the  lab---"

"Let go of it, Mulder. You just said they sent you home. So go 
home."

Mulder stared at her, still holding one ankle. "What?"

"You can let some of them go, Mulder," Scully said, staring him 
down. 

He set his foot carefully on the floor, and hesitated, lips 
parting to speak, then thinking better of it.  "Yeah," he said. 
"Guess I will," he said, and gracelessly shambled out of the 
chair.

He really should go home, he thought. Now that he had seen her, 
alive and  apparently well, wearing her hair in yet another way, 
he should just go home. Once, he thought, just once, he would 
like to put his hand out and brush the hair behind her ears, 
without first having to go through the ten minutes of  
calculation that always ending in him not doing it.  Just once. 

He turned and stared at the closed door.

God, he was like a dog that wasn't sure of his home, he thought, 
bitterly amused at his own pathetic behavior. He could go to 
sleep now that he had his head-pat and been told to lie down.

After a long moment, he got into the elevator, feeling in his 
pocket for his car  keys.  He found the message, and read it 
twice.  Okay, so he would sleep on the  plane back to St. Louis.



St. Louis, Missouri, the next day

 Mulder had had just enough time to go home, dump out his dirty 
clothes and throw in some clean boxers and socks in his carry-on 
before his flight. He didn't dare go to sleep, or take the pain 
prescriptions he had. He was tired verging on  exhausted, but 
while he was in the hunt, he felt like life was worth living.

After leaving before dawn, flying forever with nothing but crappy 
connections, he finally landed. He didn't want to let anyone know 
he was there yet, so, groaning to himself at the expense, he 
hired a cab, and spent the entire ride to the homicide division 
trying to raise either Hal or Janey on their cell phones.

They had just gone to lunch at a downtown cafe, the desk officer 
told him. "You  can walk there, it's a straight shot. They just 
now got out of a meeting."

"Thanks," Mulder said. He loped through the crowded lunchtime 
sidewalks, his broken fingers and concussed skull protested at 
every hard jog.

He finally saw Hal's broad shoulders, his hand at Janey's elbow.

"Barnes! Kerr!"  he shouted.  They turned, the surprise in their 
faces turning  into grins.  Slowing his run, he pushed past a 
sidewalk newspaper stand, and  caught up with them.

Janey looked up at him, her grin fading and an expression of 
grief filling her face.

"Mulder! 'The X-Files' can suddenly spare you? We're honored," 
Hal said.

"The X-Files can get along fine without me for a while," Mulder 
replied.  He wanted to get Janey and Hal someplace private, and 
looked around to see if they were near any restaurant.  "I need 
to talk to you. Privately."

The pedestrians battered them, standing as the were in the middle 
of the  sidewalk. "Let's go in here-" Mulder began.

A man in a barn coat brushed past them, his head down, almost  
running into Janey. Mulder heard something like a plastic bag 
popping.

Janey looked surprised, and put her hand on her chest. Her palm 
was bloody, and as she stared at it, she dropped on one knee. Hal 
caught her, his mouth  contorting.

"Mulder," she breathed, falling on the other knee. She struggled 
to  hold his gaze.

"Call 9-1-1!" Mulder left her drooping in Hal's arms, and ran 
back, his eyes on the man with the barn coat. "FBI! Stop!" he 
yelled, but he knew he couldn't fire on him in this crowd, not 
with a bad hand. The man began to run, and he was swallowed up in 
the traffic, behind a commuter bus.  

"Shitfuckgoddamn," Mulder said to himself, defeated. He swung 
around and ran back, dropped to one knee. 

"Hang on, Janey." He took her hand. 

Hal was frantically trying to apply pressure to the wound. Blood 
was welling up, flowing between his fingers. Someone from the 
crowd passed them a handkerchief, and Hal pressed it into the 
spreading ooze of red, and Mulder took over, adding his own two 
pocket handkerchiefs, which he knew wouldn't be enough.  He knew 
gunshot wounds.

"X---" Janey gasped. "Mulder," her lips said soundlessly.

"Hold on," Mulder said. "The ambulance is coming." 

She was trying to talk, her lips moving again, her eyes frantic. 
Her fingers gripped his bloody ones, and he put his ear to her 
lips. "X--," she whispered. 

He raised his head, and was looking into her eyes as the light 
went out of them. Her hand released his.

"Was that an ID?" Hal shouted. "Did she make him? Jesus, Mulder, 
is she---"

"Yes," Mulder said, and smoothed the dark hair from Janey's 
forehead. With the same gesture, he closed her eyelids. He sat, 
holding her, shielding her  from the staring eyes of the crowd, 
until the ambulance came. 

The paramedics gently tapped on his hands.  "Let's get her out of 
here," one said, in his ear. Mulder let them drag her out of his 
arms.  

He felt Hal's hand on his shoulder.  Mulder peered up at him; he 
was weeping steadily. "She's dead, isn't she?" Hal said. 

viii.

"I was standing there when Jane Kerr was shot with a silenced 
handgun," Mulder told the jury.



Mulder stood at the washroom sink watching Janey's blood rinse 
off Hal's fingers and swirl down the drain. 

"Janey used to talk about all this New Age stuff about karma and 
dharma and soul  mates. She said we were soul mates." His eyes 
were bloodshot and swollen and he folded the paper towel stained 
with Janey's blood, as if it were a memento, then looked up. "I 
guess that's what you say now instead of 'I think of you like a 
brother.'"  

"Karma," Mulder said, just to say something. How much luckier I 
am, he thought,  that at least I'm usually the one getting shot.

"She told me that I was in her life for a purpose." Hal stared 
down at the tap  water, and after a second, turned it off. 

"That's what you say to a guy so he doesn't lose hope while you 
sort out your divorce, Hal," he said as gently as he could.

"Maybe," Hal said, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. "We were 
partners. You know  how it is with your partner. I would have 
taken that bullet for her."

"I know," Mulder said. "You loved her."   "She died in your 
arms," Hal said desolately. "I never even got to hold her. She 
died in your arms."

"She was trying to tell me something," Mulder said. "Janey was a 
good cop. She saw him. I know who it is."



"And you thought the killer was Douglas Kerr because he was 
separated from his  wife?"  sneered the defense attorney. "Isn't 
it true that he didn't want a  divorce? That Jane Kerr told you 
that, herself? Isn't that in your own report?"  "Janey Kerr 
discovered that her husband had been selling drugs that he did 
not  turn in to the evidence room. She discovered that her 
husband was gambling, and  was in debt."

"Your honor, unresponsive."

"Answer the question, Agent Mulder."

"Doug Kerr killed Janey because, as his ex-wife, she could 
testify against him.  Once she filed for divorce, he lost the 
privilege that keeps a wife from  testifying against her 
husband," Mulder said. "That's why he didn't want a  divorce. 
Janey Kerr discovered that her husband was a bad cop. There were 
two  killers; the man that killed the first woman, who looked 
like Jane Kerr, and the  man who decided to hide his wife's 
murder as a the work of a serial killer."

There was a silent moment in the courtroom.

"Nothing more at this time," said the defense attorney.

"Re-direct?" asked the judge.

"Just a couple, your honor. Agent Mulder, once again, when you 
were assaulted,  were you able to gather any evidence on the 
assailant?"

"Yes, there was a clothing fragment caught in my watch band, from 
a police issue  windbreaker."

The defense attorney stood up again, objecting. The judge allowed 
it in because  the forensic technician had already testified.

"And were you the closest to Jane Kerr when she died from a 
gunshot wound?"

"Yes, she died in my arms."

"Did she say anything?" Foreseeing an objection, the prosecutor 
said quickly, looking up at the bench, "Dying declarations are 
allowed, your honor."

The defense attorney was on her feet, but just shrugged as the 
judge looked at  her and said, "Yes, they are. You may answer."

"She said, 'ex'," Mulder said levelly, looking at the jury. "As 
in  ex-husband."



The jury only stayed out forty minutes before coming back with 
guilty verdicts on all counts.

 ix.

Hal took Mulder to the airport. He didn't say much, until Mulder 
got out of the  car, and got his suit bag from the back seat. "Go 
back and tell your partner you  love her, Mulder," he said. 
"Life's too short."

Mulder was too surprised to say anything for a moment. He closed 
the car door,  and decided to tell the truth. "I did," he said, 
bending over to look at Hal  through the passenger window. "She 
ignored me."

Hal smiled sadly. "Where's there's life, there's hope."

Mulder shook his head. "No," he said, "not really," and waved 
good-bye. 





Expect Nothing 
By Robert Graves



Give, ask for nothing, hope for nothing 
Subsist on crumbs, though scattered casually
 Not for you (she smiles) but for the birds. 
Though only a thief's diet, it staves off 
Dire starvation, nor does she grow fat 
On the bread she crumbles, while the lonely truth 
Of love is honoured, and her word pledged.



Note: This story was begun long before the Washington, D.C. area 
sniper shootings of fall of 2002. Thanks to MaybeAmanda for her
most excellent beta, done with the DemonArm (tm). Also thanks to
Sybils, Jennifer, Fran the Wonderhorse, Cindy, bcfan,the X-OK crowd, 
and the Havenites for encouraging me to keep writing.