Closing the Case
by bugs

Email: bugsfic@gmail.com 
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Casefile, MSR
Word Count: 11,000 
Summary: Mulder's tucked away in the country and Scully is
dedicated to her new career, but one last case calls for resolution. 

~*~

October 12, 2004: 
*Dead woman reported on bike path running along east parking
lot of Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital.* 

Detective Areti arrived at the same time as a pair of patrolmen. He'd
been at Casey's Saloon when the call came through on his walkie-
talkie. Popping a mint, he blundered into the dripping undergrowth, his
palm resting on his weapon. Flashlight beams cut through the wet
blackness, finding the narrow asphalt path, the looming trees, then red
hair twined in glistening dark grass, a shock of white skin with a smear
of mud on her earlobe. Dead, and from the still, unnatural position, murdered.

A little girl was hunched over the body, close enough to breathe on the
clammy skin. Her lank hair was three shades lighter than the body's,
glowing gold in their lights. 

"Step back," Detective Areti ordered.

The girl raised her face, a pale sphere with a slash of red lips. "I'm a
doctor," she insisted. She was not a child after all, but a slight woman,
bundled in a heavy trenchcoat. 

"But this lady's already dead," Sergeant Croft said, the senior patrolman.

"I just want to check something..." The woman did not touch the body,
but examined the stark purple ligature marks on the wrinkled neck with
her quick gaze. Then she inspected the hands, still wavering close, but
never touching.

Areti said again: "Doctor, you can't--"

"This wasn't the location of her death," she mused. "Her body's been
posed post-mortem. Please note that I did not move the body, or touch
it beyond checking for a pulse."

"So you didn't try to revive her?" the detective said, his bushy eyebrows
raised.

She finally looked up at him. "The moment I touched her wrist, I felt
from the skin texture that she was deceased for hours." She stood,
pushing her wet hair from her face. 

The detective found it unsettling that she referred to this dead woman as
a body, particularly when she added dispassionately, "It's Olivia
Hampton. She volunteered in the hospital's pediatrics' department,
fundraising, but had no meetings this week. I saw her last Tuesday but
had not seen her since."

"So you're a doctor here at Our Lady of Sorrows?" the detective asked.

"I have a fellowship there, yes," she said carefully. 

She looked around. "Olivia would ride her bicycle to the hospital along
this path. I'd have your men search, but I doubt they're going to find it.
It started raining this morning around six when I went outside the
hospital for fresh air but it's dry under the body. I passed here at eight
last night and she wasn't present then. With the rainy weather, it
appears that no one has come along today to find her--"

"Why are you on this path, Doctor?" asked Areti, digging out his
notebook. He gave some quick directives to the patrolmen as he
awaited her answer. 

She creased her brow. "I live in an apartment off Whipple." She waved
her arm down the path. "I used this shortcut to get home."

"At this time of night?" Croft asked.

"Why not?" 

"Women don't usually feel comfortable...Alone...At night in the dark..."
The patrolman floundered under her level gaze.

"I'm not afraid of bogeymen," she said.

"Murders and rapists aren't bogeymen," Croft said, looming over her.
"They're sons of bitches who just love little things like you."

She didn't back away, only tilted her head up to hold his gaze. Her
upper lip slowly curled into a sneer. Turning on his heel, the patrolman
stormed off without another word.

Areti broke the tension. "You were walking home. You found the
body. Did you see anyone suspicious around?"

"I told you. She's been here for hours." Moving to stand at Mrs.
Hampton's feet, she scanned the body again. "There's something
familiar about this one--"

"You said that you knew the victim," pointed out Areti. 

Croft returned with a bright tarp and a roll of caution tape. The
patrolmen covered the body and the doctor stepped back. 

"Somewhere else--" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. It's the husband."

"Excuse me?" said Areti. 

The doctor tucked her hands in her coat pockets. "When Olivia chatted
with me on Tuesday, she said that she believed her husband was going
to kill her."

"And you didn't report it?"

The woman shrugged but her face was contrite. "I just took it for the
ramblings of a woman with very little excitement in her terribly unhappy life."

"She's had some excitement now," Areti noted. "Your place is close?"

The doctor nodded. 

"Let's get inside out of this rain," Areti said, "I'll need your full statement."

"Of course," she said, sounding exhausted. When she passed him, he
heard a hitch in her breathing and knew that she had smelled the booze
on him. 

x

The apartment was only a studio, the sort of place interns and residents
rented. A fold-out couch on one wall, and a microwave, a mini fridge,
table and two chairs on the opposite, with a bathroom in a corner of the
room. All that was needed for the few hours off shift.

But this place was so coldly impersonal, it made Areti's skin rise in
goosebumps. There was no television, no pictures on the wall. The only
bookshelf held nothing but medical text books. One hardback novel
was on the side table; Lovely Bones. 

The woman hung up her coat and sat on the couch. She did not offer
refreshments. Before they could start, the doorbell rang again.

"My partner," Areti said and let Carl Tide in.

The doctor started her statement without being asked: "My name is
Dana Katherine Scully. S-C-U-L-L-Y. Date of birth, 2, 23,64. This is
my address. My phone number is 757-555-1231. I'm a physician in
residency at Our Lady, doing a fellowship in pediatric neurology
through De Paul University."

The detectives exchanged interested looks. She knew the drill.

"You're sure the victim was Olivia Hampton?" Areti asked. She
nodded. "Do you have a phone number for her husband?"

Doctor Scully flipped opened her cell phone and scrolled through the
names, then read a number off. "That's their house. I assume he can be
reached there."

Tide took it down. Areti told him, "The victim's purse wasn't around.
Patrol is checking the bushes. We'll call Avery Hampton and see if he's
noticed his wife is missing; take it from there."

He turned his attention back to the doctor. "You said that you believe
her husband killed her?"

"I said that *she* believed that her husband was going to kill her--" she
corrected him.

He repeated his earlier question: "And you didn't call the authorities?"

The doctor took a deep breath. "If you'd let me finish--I didn't believe
that he was really going to kill her. It was the sort of unhappiness she
exhibited. I didn't take it seriously."

"All right, she was unhappy. What does that mean, besides believing
her husband wanted to kill her?"

"She was a gossip. Always poking and prodding into people's personal
lives. She would snoop in police records online, search newspaper
archives--it went beyond salacious gossip. When I first saw her dead
and laid out as if sleeping, I thought she'd killed herself--"

"But it's not easy to manually strangle yourself."

She flexed her jaw but had no retort. 

"And had Mrs. Hampton gossiped about you?"

The pale eyes flicked up; they'd been focused on her clenching hands.
"She had a different interest in me."

"Oh?" said Tide silkily. 

"She wanted to be my friend."

"And you didn't want her as a friend," Areti suggested.

Doctor Scully shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I don't need any,
particularly someone like her." 

"Was she annoying about it?"

"Yes. She didn't have personal boundaries. She found out some things
about me and thought that would make me be her friend."

Areti leaned forward. "Blackmail?"

"She didn't seem to have the self-awareness to see it that way."

"But you felt threatened."

"I was concerned."

"What sort of threats did she make?"

"They weren't threats. She simply told me what she'd found out."

The older detective flipped to a fresh page on his palm-sized notebook.
"Would you care to share these threats of hers?"

"It's not relevant to the case."

"We are probably the best judges of that."

She pursed her mouth; her bowed lips kept drawing Areti's gaze. "I feel
my judgment is sound." 

He waited.

Finally, she spoke grudgingly. "One thing you'll find out soon enough...I
used to be an FBI agent. That's why I was checking the body...Old
habit, I guess."

"Quite a career change," he commented.

"I was a forensic pathologist for the Bureau as well. I have simply
changed specialties." She raised her chin, daring him to say something.

"This was your secret she was holding over you?"

"It's the past. It's not something that I want my coworkers to know."
She looked from one detective to the other. "It tends to make people
nervous." They shifted in their chairs.

Areti gave her his most endearing smile, showing all his tobacco-stained
teeth. "As one professional to another, who do you think killed her?"

"As much as I hate to feel that I was disregarding a true threat because
of my own discomfort with this woman's inappropriate behavior toward
me, I assume it's her husband. Statistics bear that out; she was an
upper-class white woman, found in her workplace. There's a very low
crime rate in the area. The last stranger on stranger murder was over
ten years ago. And the body was moved after she was killed; this was
no random crime like a purse snatching gone wrong."

"Did she say why her husband would have wanted to kill her?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"I mean, besides the usual reasons why men kill their wives."

"She said it was for her money. If he divorced her, he would get nothing."

Detective Tide finally broke into the questioning. "Her husband is a hot
shot defense attorney with Reese, Lester and Collins. He's not hurting
for money."

The doctor nodded. "Yes, but Olivia has a great deal of money. Ten
fold his income." She looked around her dumpy dwelling. "People
become accustomed to a lifestyle and aren't willing to give it up."

Areti rose and his partner followed. "I think that's all for now. We'll
probably be speaking to you again--"

Her face was grim. "I'm sure." 

She followed them to the door and they heard the deadbolt shoot
closed behind them. The detectives made their way down the stairs to
the parking lot. 

"Lesbians?" suggested Tide. "That would be hot news. They worked at
a Catholic hospital after all."

"Dykes don't usually kill each other," said Areti. "To use her statistical
measures," he added with a sneer.

"This old broad hits on our pretty doctor. Doctor pushes her off, she
keeps coming, doctor strangles her, repulsed by her attentions. Then
moves the body to the bike path--"

"You're thinking like a man," said Areti. "That's how a man would react
if some dude squeezed his dick."

Tide shrugged. "I'm a man. What can I say."

Areti looked up at the drab apartment building. The light was off in
Dana Scully's apartment already. "But there's definitely something not
kosher about our good doctor."

X

Mulder slowly opened his eyes and looked up into Scully's disgruntled
face. "When did you get home?" he rasped, rubbing his face.

"Just now. Glad to see your cat-like reflexes are on alert." She dumped
her purse on the table and stripped off her coat. "There's trouble."

He was immediately awake. Swinging his legs off the couch, he jumped
up. 

"I found a body at work. Murder."

"Just can't get away from the business, Agent Scully." He headed to the
kitchen to make coffee. He didn't like the depth of the dark circles
under her eyes.

She trailed after him. "I think it's just going to turn out to be the husband."

"You know her?"

"It's Olivia Hampton; that woman that I told you about."

"Interesting." He leaned against the counter beside the burbling
coffeemaker. "Are you the prime suspect?"

She poked him in the ribs with her elbow and got down two mugs from
the cupboard.

"But the odd thing is...Her body was posed...And it seemed familiar,
like an old case..." She passed a thin hand across her eyes. "My brain
can only hold so much information and with the upload I've had to do
during this peds residency, I seem to have overwritten some important data."

Sweeping aside her lank hair, he rubbed her neck, his strong thumbs
finding the hard knots. "Describe it to me."

"She was flat on her back. Legs together and straight, toes pointed up.
In fact, stones were used to keep her feet in position."

He made a noise in the back of his throat, but let her keep talking.

"One hand was flat on the heart, but other hand upright, and the fingers
folded to make the sign of blessing--"

"The Crucible Killer."

She leaned against him, tired to the depth of her bones. "Yes, that one."
Then she shook her head. "It can't be. He was last working in the late
nineties, had move up to New Jersey--"

"No, Scully. He's taken two victims within fifty miles of the hospital in
the past six months."

"What?" She furrowed her brow. "Had you told me?"

He filled the coffee cups. "No."

"Why not?"

Handing her the steaming mug, he stared at his feet, rubbing his loose
sock toe into the crack of the oak floor. "You've been working day and
night with your fellowship. I want you to relax when you come home.
Not think about the old job."

"But you've been following the case."

He quirked a smile. "I had to have something to cut out and stick to my walls."

She touched his arm. "Mulder, we can't get involved--you can't get
involved. Let the authorities do their job--"

He leaned against the counter. "You're going to let a killer keep
roaming free--"

"It's not the Crucible Killer. It's the husband; I'm sure of it." She sipped
her coffee, settling in for the old familiar discourse.

He rolled his head back in agitation right on cue.

"Mulder, you have this case in your head from the recent killings. I
describe a scene to you and you're filling in the blanks. It's a
straightforward case. Olivia was just one more woman who annoyed
her husband one day too many. It happens all the time."

He smiled again. "Now who's projecting?"

She squinted at him, not ready to concede defeat. "Olivia doesn't fit the
profile of the previous victims unless the new victims are different from
the previous ones. She would be the oldest, significantly. She was
wealthy; none of the other victims were so prominent--"

"But Scully, the bodies are posed in a very specific way--"

"Mulder, wouldn't you say the hardest crime to pull off is for a husband
to murder his wife? He's the first suspect; the crime is usually done in
the home which is notoriously difficult to clean. 

Avery Hampton is a criminal defense lawyer. He's defended everyone
from pro bono spree killers to drunk driving spoiled sons of friends.
He's seen all the mistakes; if anyone could plan the perfect crime, it's
him."

Mulder just gaped at her, incredulous. 

"He did it." She tossed out the dregs of her cup in the sink and washed
it out. "I've had this creep back me into corners at parties. He's an
arrogant asshole who believes he's exceptional, and I bet anything that
includes getting away with murder."

"You're going off your gut? Your intuition?" He made a show of looking
around the kitchen. "Laura Petrie, when did you take over for Dana Scully?"

"Shut up, Mulder." She folded her arms and glared up at him. "As a
matter of fact, since I don't need to give a damn about writing this up in
a report at the end of the day and I don't need supporting
evidence...yeah-- I can go with my gut feeling. And it feels good." She
gave a reflexive shimmy of her shoulders. She was no longer encased in
her dark wool armor, nor was her head weighed down by the hard red
helmet. 

Mulder grinned at her as he if read her thoughts. 

Wondering if he could sense her next one, she glanced at the clock on
the stove. "I'm going to bed. I have twenty-one precious hours until I'm
due for my next shift. I'd like to spend one hour in carnal indulgence
before sleeping for the other twenty." She went to the stairs. "If you're
interested..." she tossed over her shoulder.

Her voice was flat and bland, but he found that twice as arousing as any
come-hither tone. He doused the kitchen lights and joined her at the
foot of the stairs. Dawn leaked in around the closed curtains. 

"You sure you weren't followed?" he asked.

"I waited a couple hours before driving out in case they were watching
the apartment. And took the long way here."

He draped his arm around her waist and they mounted the stairs
together. "You've still got it after all these years."

She laid her head on his shoulder, relaying her exhaustion. "I hope so. If
not, just fake it for me."

He chuckled and turned off the last light before closing their bedroom
door on the world.

X

Areti and Tide looked over the Feds who'd joined them in one of the
station's conference rooms. They were outnumbered. There was Tuttle,
the lead investigator, Jackson and Reynolds, his tactical team, and
some little blonde who was called a researcher, Harrison. Tuttle did the
talking for all of them, but he let Areti make his report first.

"We've taken a close look at the woman who found the body, a Doctor
Dana Scully. From the moment we talked to her, she's been throwing
suspicion on the husband, which looks pretty shady in itself. She
mentioned the victim had been snooping into her past and when we did
some looking, we saw why."

Areti held up his hand before Tuttle could speak. "Sir, I understand
she's one of your own, but she didn't exactly leave the Bureau with all
flags flying, did she?"

Jackson glared at them, but the other federal agents remained
impassive, even the young woman.

"And this Mrs. Hampton was obviously obsessed with Doctor Scully.
On Tuesday, when the doctor reported they last saw each other, Mrs.
Hampton had visited the same beauty parlor used by Scully. She
requested and received the exact hair dye that the doctor normally got.
Doctor Scully stormed into a different salon--" Areti consulted his
notes. "--Michelle's Cuts, the next day, and had her hair colored a
different shade."

"And this all means?" Tuttle asked, bored.

"Olivia Hampton was making Doctor Scully very uncomfortable."

"The husband? What's his recount of events?" Tuttle asked.

"He saw his wife at dinner on Wednesday. She seemed as usual. She
retired before him; he had a case he's preparing for. He admitted the no
longer share the marital bed; she uses one of those sleep apnea aides
and he can't stand the sound. But when he walked by her bedroom at
midnight, he heard it merrily churning away."

"The morning?"

"He rose later than she usually does and found her gone for the day. As
Doctor Scully told us, she often takes her bicycle to get around, even if
this rainy weather--it's one of those old ladies' sort, with the basket and
no gears. It was gone from the garage when he went to work, so he
assumed that she was out for coffee with friends; he says that she does
that often. So the previous night's dinner was the last time he saw her
alive and then he got our call to ID the body."

"House has been given the full forensic work up?"

"Yes, sir," gritted out Areti. "No forced entry. No signs of a struggle
anywhere in the house. She appears to have risen and prepared for the
day as usual. Pajamas hanging on the back of the bathroom door, bed
made, and that bicycle is gone. We've yet to find it, by the way."

"So the death appears to have taken place away from the house." Tuttle
didn't phrase it as a question.

"Correct, sir," replied Areti.

Tuttle stood. "Olivia Hampton's death and body follow the pattern of a
serial killer called The Crucible Killer. The FBI will be taking over the case."

"What the hell?" burst out Areti, exchanging furious looks with Tide.
"You let me go through all this--"

"I assumed you needed the practice. You don't get much society capital
crime cases, do you?"

Areti breathed heavily through his nose, then held up his hand when
he'd regained control. "Wait a damn minute. Doctor Scully is former
FBI. She may know about this killer. She was a forensic pathologist.
She'd know how to set up a murder scene to mimic the killer's work--"

Tuttle nodded his head at his fellow agents, signaling that it was time to
leave. "Good day, detectives. Stay out of our way from now on."

They left the door ajar as they exited. Tide was the one to go slam it
behind them. 

X

October 14, 2004: 
"Doctor Scully? Dana?"

Scully's head shot up from the pile of patient records that she'd been
reviewing in her corner of the residents' office. 

"Avery!" she stood, closing the top folder. "I'm so sorry for your loss,"
she said, unable to put any real emotion into the trite phrase.

There was a quality about Avery Hampton that reminded her of Alex
Krycek and that could never be a good thing. The plastic sheen to his
surface. The flat shark eyes. The pretty mouth. 

Before she could dodge away, he hugged her. Olivia had kept touching
her as well, making Scully's skin crawl. Perhaps being an investigator
and pathologist, and touching so many bodies without the person's
consent, had given her very strong personal boundaries. As a
pediatrician, she considered it one of her strongest qualities that she
always asked permission before beginning her examinations. 

She stepped out of his arms. "What can I do for you, Avery?"

"They told me..." He took a deep breath. She waited. She'd watched
many attorneys perform in court and he had all the familiar tics down.
The catch in the voice. The meeting of her eyes with his steady gaze.
"The police told me that you found poor Olivia."

She may have found him sincere if he hadn't tossed in the 'poor'. 

"Yes, Avery." 

"Did she...suffer?"

Scully wanted him to leave. She shifted toward the door, hoping to
herd him in the direction. He sat in her chair.

Folding her arms, she gazed down at him. "They told you how she died."

"Strangled..." He put his face in his hands.

""I'm afraid it's no painless," she said dryly, feeling cruel even as she
was certain of his guilt. Which meant she was alone in a room with a
killer, but she had no fear. 

"The police had a lot of questions for me." He looked up and his eyes
were dry. "An unpleasant sensation to be on that side of the table."

"I'm sure," she murmured. 

It was time to move him along. If she were going to investigate this
crime, she would have pumped him for information, but the less she
knew, the better. If he was covering up the evidence as poorly as he
was performing now, the police would be making an arrest by the end
of the week. 

"Is there anything I can help with?" she asked. "Of course, the hospital
will want to honor Olivia's in some way--"

He shot her a sharp look. He was probably assuming that she was
shaking him down for a donation in his wife's name. That got him going. 

"You're so kind," he said smarmily, moving in for another hug. 

She managed to sidestep him and took his hand instead, squeezing it.
The strength of the returning pressure was enough to snuff life from
Olivia Hampton's waddled neck. 

She closed the door firmly behind his well-tailored back.

X

October 15, 2004:

"Scully, come watch this."

She was shuffling around the kitchen, still in the grumpy first awakened
state when Mulder knew to leave her alone. This must be important.

He was on couch, leaned forward to watch the television intently. A
press conference was going on. She sat beside him.

"It's the Richmond FBI. They're in on your killing--"

"My killing?" she said.

"If the FBI's in on it, they're going to say it's the serial killer."

"I'm telling you, after talking to Avery Hampton, he definitely did it."

"Evidence points to Olivia Hampton being the latest victim of the
Crucible Killer," said the square-headed man behind the podium.

Mulder smirked at her over his shoulder. "Am I ever wrong?"

Squishing the throw pillow into the proper shape to nestle her head, she
worked pointedly at ignoring him. As she reclined, he snagged her feet
and rubbed them between his palms.

"Wait, look at agent to the right. Isn't that Agent Harrison? Leyla Harrison."

Scully peered at the screen. Her glasses were in her purse. "I think
you're right."

Behind the Violent Crimes section head for the Richmond field office, a
short blonde woman stood, trying to keep the steely expression of her
fellow agents.

"You should give her a call. Find out what's going on."

With a groan, she sat up. "Are you crazy, Mulder? And bring more
attention to us?"

"Actually, I'm sure once the Fibbies review the original casefile and see
your name in there, they'll be calling you."

"I've got to stay out of this, Mulder," she pointed out. "If they keep
sniffing around me, eventually it leads back to you."

He pulled her easily into his lap and inhaled deeply. "You do still smell
of me--"

She struggled free. "You've reminded me. I need to shower before
heading back to the hospital."

"Scully--"

"No, Mulder," she tossed over her shoulder. 

He opened his mouth to continue the argument, but her light footfall on
the stairs gave her rebuke.

March 3, 1991: 

"Agent Mulder, a pathologist down at Quantico has just busted your
profile," William Patterson said smugly, tossing a report on Mulder's desk.

He snatched it up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Patterson leaned on the desk's corner. "I went there myself to challenge
her. She stood her ground. You know the type, one of those little girls
who started applying to the FBI after Silence of the Lambs hit the bookstores."

Mulder shot his superior an unfriendly look. Sometimes Patterson acted
like a man of his generation.

Four bodies had been found on or near the De Paul University campus
in an eight month period, murdered by strangulation. Three women and
one male, all students at the school, but with no discernible connection
to each other. All laid out in a stiff, almost formal pose, flat on their
backs and with special care to arranging the limbs. No sexual assault;
the victims were still fully clothed. 

Mulder had determined the killer was likely another student, possibly in
one of the sciences with a rigid and linear outlook. The killing was
secondary to the enjoyment he received from the control of possessing,
moving and arranging the body. He probably had sexual dysfunction
with late puberty triggering the urge to kill, but may also be an older
student to have reached this level of proficiency and care. 

Mulder and his small task force of two other agents had spent hours a
day, seven days a week, pouring over student records. They had even
found a primary suspect; Harold Schreiber, a PhD. candidate in
physics, unmarried and with no personal relationships, and two juvenile
arrests for arson. Mulder had interviewed him and although this did not
follow the analytical protocol, found him creepy. 

When the fourth body had appeared three weeks ago, it had given
Mulder pause. It was a male victim. Although no sexual assault was
present, he still felt the killer was displacing feelings toward women in
these crimes. The female victims had all had their long hair placed
carefully, almost like a wimple, and their clothes were arranged to
assure that the limbs were completely covered and modest. Their
eyelids were open, the eyes cast upward. The heads were tilted in such
a way as to make it appear that the victims were looking heavenward.
When Mulder laid the crime scene photographs out, side by side, the
image that popped to mind was the Virgin Mary. 

Although the latest victim had been male, he had a slight frame and
shoulder length hair. It could have been mistaken identification by the
killer and then faced with a dead male body, had continued with his
ritual. Mulder was sticking with his profile.

But now some teaching pathologist...Mulder opened the folder with a
snap...*Doctor Dana Scully*...had decided that the killer was a
laborer of some sort.

Although all the bodies had undergone forensic examinations initially,
Doctor Scully had been assigned the latest victim, Joseph Hartley, to
review in one of her classes. Once she found a certain substance, she'd
pulled the other victims' skin samples, looking for the same thing and
had found it--powdered masonry grout; not something a physics
scholar would have on his hands. 

"Son of a bitch--" Mulder slapped the folder closed. 

"Are you still going to pull Schreiber in?" Patterson asked, the small
smile playing on his thin lips. Mulder had been his prized student but he
enjoyed putting the younger man in his place when the rare opportunity arose.

"I want to talk to this Doctor Scully," Mulder grumbled. "Has she
confirmed that this substance is in quantities to suggest a laborer?
Maybe there's just some dust in the space where Schreiber stores the
bodies before placing them to be found."

"Fox, I wanted to go over that point with you. Have you identified
where Schreiber could be keeping the bodies?"

"That's why we need the search warrant," Mulder said, impatient.

"So the answer is no."

Mulder folded his arms and met his mentor's concerned gaze. "You
don't feel as though I have enough to bring this guy in?"

"He lives in university housing; spends his breaks at his parents' house,
but it's clear out in Pennsylvania. There's just no place to put a body."

"An empty laboratory--"

"Agents have done sweeps of all the science buildings with cadaver
dogs off of your profile, Fox. No sign that human remains have been present."

"So you think that I should start looking for laborers?"

Patterson tipped his head forward.

"Fine. But I still want to check in with this Doctor Scully."

Over the next few days, Mulder played phone tag with Dana Scully,
never getting more than her cool words on answering machines.

He learned that the university chapel was being remodeled on the
campus. Construction had been ongoing for two years, but the finish
workers had been applying stonework to the exterior for the past year.
The mortar used in the work matched Doctor Scully's findings. He left
one more message, grudgingly giving her that credit, but never heard
anything back.

The construction had been completed the day Hartley's body had been
found and the crew had dispersed. For this sort of skilled labor, few
local men had been used. 

Mulder and his team began to doggedly track down the men. Three
were found immediately and cleared of suspicion. Three more were
not. One appeared to have been an illegal Mexican immigrant using a
false identity and could not be tracked. 

In the next months, with no new deaths, Mulder was put on other cases
which took up his time. His girlfriend Diana Fowley left him. And then
he was finally assigned to the X-files section, and the Crucible Killer
slipped from his consciousness.

X

January 13, 1999: 

Mulder poked his head around Scully's hospital door. "You awake?"

Her eyelashes fluttered open. "If I wasn't, I am now."

Disregarding her tone, he entered and pulled a chair to her bedside.

"Bored yet?" he asked with the understanding of someone who'd been
in exactly her spot too many times.

"Out of my gourd." She looked up at the muted television with
discontentment. "I wish I could get into soaps."

"Who's Erica married this time?" he asked with a grin.

She ignored that. "Shouldn't you be back in DC by now? It's
Wednesday."

"Taking some vacation days," he said, rooting some sunflower seeds
out of his pocket. "Not like I've got anything important going on back at
headquarters." He popped a seed in his mouth.

"Personnel will be thrilled with you," she noted. "Finally using that
mandatory leave."

He snagged her slack hand nearest him and twined his fingers loosely
with hers. "See, you're good for something."

Blinking, she was finally able to focus clearly. "Mulder, what's that file
you have with you? It's not a vacation if you've brought work with you."

"Why would I have a casefile? Not on any cases." Nonetheless, he
tugged the thick folder from under his thigh.

Her rapid mind clicked. "Did you steal someone's case, Mulder?"

"Technically, it's my case. Or it was. And yours." The corner of his
mouth lifted with the irony.

She settled back in the pillows. This was going to be better than a soap opera.

"In March, 1991, you shattered the profile done by a brilliant young
investigator for a serial killer labeled the Crucible Killer--"

She cocked her eyebrow; no amount of opiate medication could keep
it down. 

"With dirt--"

"Mortar grout powder," she corrected. 

"Whatever."

"Are there more victims?"

He was obviously going to take his time. He started with: "After you
blew away my main suspect, I followed your lead and checked the
construction workers on a campus renovation project. But the trail
went cold and I--" He leaned over her hand and spoke his words like a
kiss across her skin. "I...Went in another direction with my career."

"1991," she said slowly.

He straightened in the chair. "It was in part your fault."

"Me?" Her eyebrow shot back up. 

"I was pissed off when I got your report. And right then I saw that
profiling had become a game. It wasn't about the victims anymore but
being the smartest guy in the room. I was going to come down to
Quantico and kick your ass--"

"Too bad you didn't. When I saw your name on the initial report, I'd
wanted to get a look at the FBI Golden Boy," she said drowsily, "heard
you were hot."

He snorted. "Did you just take a hit off your pain meds pump and I
didn't notice?"

She lolled her head on the pile of pillows and looked his lean body
over. "I think it's remotely plausible that someone would find you hot,
Agent Mulder."

Embarrassed, he slumped down in the chair. Sipping out of his shoes,
he put his feet up on the bed.

She wasn't finished teasing him. "I was always surprised that you didn't
mention this case when we first met. I assumed that you'd forgotten it."

"Do I forget anything?" he challenged her. "When you didn't bring it up,
I thought you didn't want to talk about it, like some one night stand
gone wrong."

She started to laugh, but then grimaced in pain. He stared at the ceiling
rather than watch. With a groan, she rolled on her side and squeezed
one of his feet. 

"More bodies?" she prompted.

"Two; the most recent one last week. I wouldn't have even known, but
I had some time to read the back pages of the Metro section in the
Times while hanging out in the waiting room."

She made a throaty huff and rubbed her thumb along the ball of his
foot. He hunched his shoulders in delight.

"Remind me of the particulars on his modus operandi," she asked.

He flipped open the file. "Victims are of both sexes, ranging in age from
eighteen to thirty-one. The original four victims were all college students
at De Paul University, suggesting the killer either attended or worked at
the institution. The deaths stopped after the completion of a chapel
restoration at the school, also suggesting a connection. That was in 1991."

He turned over a separator in the thick file. "Two new deaths, showing
the same posing of the victims. Both located in Hoboken, New Jersey,
just across the Hudson from New York," he said, nodding toward the
window. "Hannah Morton, a twenty-seven year old clerk at an art
supply store. The second victim, found last Saturday, was Rick
Bedford, nineteen year old student who lived in his mother's basement.
Had the same long straight hair as the sole male victim in the De Paul
killings, as well as a slight frame that may be mistaken for a female if the
perpetrator makes impulsive selections rather than stalking a possible victim."

Scully broke in, "But the crimes suggest a deliberate, well-planned orchestration."

He waved her off and continued, "When I last worked the case, we
had three laborers connected to the De Paul chapel construction as
persons of interest that my team wasn't able to locate. Outside of the
incredibly restrictive visiting hours here, I've slipped into the Newark
office and led them to believe that I'm on the case--"

"Mulder--"

He went on unheeded. "Seeing if we could track these last three men
down. And I think I have my guy." His eyes were bright. 

"You thought you had your man seven years ago." She was playing
piggy with his toes through his sock. 

He pushed his cheek out with his tongue. "You wanna hear the
evidence or not?"

She watched him from under her drooping eyelids. "If you only could
do a slideshow here."

He swung down his feet and started laying out photographs on her bed.
"Here are the original four victims and our two new ones. I'll bet there's
more out there, but these are the six we have."

She became more alert as she looked carefully at each one. "The
deliberate posing--"

"Yes. But I think there's something more specific to it."

She slowly nodded. "Something..."

He waited. But she only asked, "Your suspect?"

"Jesus Montero, or at least, that's the identity that he stole in 1987
when he started working for construction companies that report to the IRS."

"Are you seeing a religious angle?" 

He grinned with excitement. She was going down the same route as he
for once. "Yes. I see them as saint-like figures with these poses. That
was the main component of my initial profile of the killer--"

Motioning for the folder, she furrowed her brow. "Do you have a list of
the dates of the deaths?"

"Right here." He reached over and flipped through until he found the
right page.

"Show me one of the most recent victim's pictures."

The body was posed with the left hand raised and it was folded with
the ring finger and pinkie folded to meet the thumb in the sign of a
blessing. 

"Just like the others To create these elaborate poses before advanced
rigor set in, he'd have to have complete privacy," she mused, "once the
body was rigid, he could then place it where he wanted it to be discovered."

"My team searched for a house or building on the campus, but I
wonder...A construction worker, traveling in a van?"

"I could see that. But " she said, still looking at Rick's photo. "The
date on this one?"

"January fourth."

"Damn, not what I expected."

"What do you mean?"

"That date of the Catholic calendar is for Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton."

He raised his eyebrow. "I knew you were attending church more
regularly, but to the point that you have the saints days memorized?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Find my bag in the closet. Ritter brought
my things over from my hotel."

Mulder's lip curled at the unfortunate agent's name, but he retrieved her
well-worn overnight bag from the hospital room's closet. 

"I should have a calendar in there," she said, pushing her hair back from
her damp forehead. "My mother gave it to me this Christmas in my
stocking--"

"Don't work on this if you're too tired--"

"The calendar, Mulder."

"You still get a stocking from your mom?" he asked as he carefully
picked through her underwear. 

"Don't knock it until you have it," she said, then looked sorry that she had.

Ignoring the tense moment, he found the leather-covered booklet and
gave it to her. She flipped to December 1998. "When was the female
victim killed?"

"December eighteenth."

"No saint celebrated on that day." 

"The killer could still have a religious fixation without going to that depth
of detail. Perhaps he kills the victim on the correct saint day," Mulder suggested.

She shook her head slowly. "No. If he's going to this amount of effort,
I expect him to have every detail in place and it's for public display. It's
as though he's creating his own icons, but they can't just be a generic
saint. They have to fulfill a role." She wasn't put off her trail. "Do you
have copies of the crime scene mapping?"

He dug through Rick Bedford's file and found the drawing from the
crime scene.

Squinting at the crude map, she said, "East. The head is facing east."

"Does that mean anything?" 

"Eastern Orthodox face the east to pray. Catholics don't." She lay the
paper down and stared at the ceiling. "What if the dates match the
Orthodox Christian Julian calendar and not the Gregorian one?"

Revitalized, he stood. "I want to check this out. Find a Julian calendar
first--"

She urged him to go right then: "It's New York. You can get anything
within a block of wherever you are."

He shrugged into his jacket. 

"Not to rub it in, but I think I just blew away your profile again."

He straightened his tie. "What?" 

"I assume Montero is Catholic. If this killer is an Eastern Orthodox
follower, it's not him."

Her sly smile made his heart twist. "You haven't won yet," he
murmured, leaning over to kiss her temple.

She snared his ear, holding him close for a moment. "Yes, I have," she
whispered back.

The dates of all the victims did match saint days of the Eastern
Orthodox calendar. However, when Mulder tracked down the two
remaining stone masons, neither was practiced an Orthodox Christian
faith. He typed up a report nonetheless, recommending that the entire
construction crew's backgrounds be checked and sent it to the tactical
team leader currently assigned to the Crucible Killer case. 

Scully was transferred back to D.C. for her rehabilitation. Mulder
joined her one afternoon at the physical therapist's, supposedly to be
her cheering section but he just slumped on a roll of mats, chewing on
the straw of his now empty soda cup and made her uncomfortable with
his brooding silence.

Carefully lifting a small weight in an arm curl, she finally gave him a
virtual shove. "What is it, Mulder?"

"What's what?"

"What's bothering you?"

"Nothin'." The straw switched to the other side of his mouth.

"What're you working on these days?"

He snorted. "Working "

"What did you hear back from  Bain, was it? Agent in charge on the
Crucible case?"

"Nothin'," he repeated.

"Nothing? As in, no credit when they made the arrest?"

"Nothing as in, not a word."

"Did you follow up?" 

He glowered from under his brows. "Yes. And was told to fuck off.
The pathologist assigned to the case was able to find a partial palm
print on Hannah Morton's back and they think they're going to be able
to find a match in the national database without any fancypants profile,
to quote Bain directly."

"Mulder--"

"They have the report. They have to follow up."

They looked at each other, defeat etched on their faces. 

"When do you think that you'll be back to work?" he asked.

"Work," she snorted. "Another week until desk duty."

"Good. We can get back to our game of paperclip checkers." Mulder
finally smiled and she smile back.

Scully returned to work but then they received the phone call that
Cassandra Spender had reappeared. The Crucible Killer case was
forgotten for more important matters.

X

October 17, 2004: 

Scully let Leyla Harrison into her apartment with a sense of dread.

The younger woman fought tears as she looked at Scully. "It's so
wonderful to see you again, Agent...That is Doctor Scully."

"I'm happy to see you too, Agent Harrison," Scully said flatly. "It's been
a long time."

Leyla stood in the middle of the studio rather than sitting anywhere.
"Only a few years, but it's felt like a lifetime."

Scully decided to play dumb. "What are you doing here, Agent
Harrison? Surely you haven't run across some stray receipts that you
need me to code properly?"

"No, Doctor. I work out of the Richmond field office now. I've moved
to research. The FBI found new uses for my encyclopedic memory."

Going to the kitchenette, Scully offered to make tea.

"That would be great. It's another cold night."

"I always called it morgue weather," Scully said as she started her
electric teapot. "Mulder never even noticed, but it was the exact
temperature for keeping bodies refrigerated."

Leyla bit her lower lip. "Doctor Scully, I want to extend my
sympathies--"

It took Scully a moment to realize what the young agent meant. "Thank you."

"I've been assigned to a current case and was asked to pull all previous
files. When I saw your names, it was a jolt from the past."

"A lifetime," Scully echoed as she placed two teabags in two mugs. She
forced on a smile and invited Leyla to sit at the small dining table against
the wall. "When were you transferred to Richmond?"

"I requested it last year. I got married, you see." 

"Jeffrey?"

"Oh no. His name's Kyle." The young woman dropped her head. "He's
a programmer at one of the software companies in the area. We
wanted to live in a quieter place, more family-oriented..."

Of course. A young woman would want children, a house with a yard
and a two car garage. Scully had thought about such things at one point
of her life..."We all have to grow up sometime," Scully said briskly,
moving to turn off the screaming teapot.

After placing the steaming mugs on the table, she asked, "Are you here
to interview me on the Hampton case? Is that your new case?"

"I haven't been assigned to do interviews." Harrison dug through her
soft-sided briefcase. "In fact, the lead investigator has been told
specifically not to interview you. Orders from DC."

So Mulder wasn't the only one who was dead to the Bureau. Scully
pulled the teabag from her mug and forced on a puzzled expression.
"That may cost them the case. I'm a suspect with the police, after all.
Surely I have some information that they can use."

"Doctor Scully, no one could suspect you--"

Scully stared unseeingly at the blank wall, her pale hands wrapped
tightly around the hot mug. "Olivia Hampton found out about Agent
Mulder...His death sentence...That I'd had a child and now it was gone.
She put two and two together and got five. That my son had been
taken away by Child Protective Services. Hardly the background a
Catholic facility is looking for in a pediatrician. She could have ruined
my career before it even started."

"You didn't tell her the truth?" breathed Leyla.

Scully gave a mirthless laugh. "No."

"None of that matters though. Tuttle, the agent in charge, is certain that
Mrs. Hampton was killed by the Crucible Killer."

"But I'm convinced it's the husband," said Scully. "He could have seen
the other killings in the news, and patterned the murder of his wife after
those," she suggested.

"No, Doctor Scully. You remember that palm print from '99?"

"Yes."

"It matched one found on her shoe. That hasn't been released to the
public of course--" Leyla opened the folder and slide across two copies
of palm prints. 

Scully looked at them. The best fingerprint expert at the Quantico lab,
Tom Slater, had signed off on the verifications. 

"It can't be..." she said slowly. "I guess..." She passed a hand across
her eyes. "Agent Mulder had urged that the rest of the construction
crew be checked - if any were Orthodox Christians. It wasn't done in
1999..."

"No," Leyla said, her eyes bright. "But I've done it now."

"And?"

"Nothing," the young agent said, her shoulders slumping. "There were
two, one Ukrainian and one Lithuanian. But the Ukrainian returned to
his country in 2000, and the other was permanently disabled in an
accident in 1995."

"They're both out." Thoughtful, Scully removed the teabag from her mug.

"I'm going to leave a copy of the files," Leyla said, rising from her chair.
"If you could take the time to review them and see if there's anything
we're missing--"

Scully stared up at her in shock. "You can't do this, Agent Harrison.
Your career--"

Leyla gave a bitter chuff. "They chose to ignore your work once before
and it's allowed a killer to remain free to murder again. It's worth the
risk. You left the Bureau in good standing. I trust you, Doctor Scully. I
trust you to solve this case."

Scully stayed at the table, too weak to stand, as the agent let herself out
of the apartment.

X

"A present for you." Scully tossed the files on the coffee table in front
of Mulder.

He started pawing through them and she turned away from the way his
face lit up with excitement. She'd just become one of his secret sources.

"Who gave you these?"

"Leyla Harrison showed up today." She explained that their work had
never been followed up in 1999, and the dead end at which the case stood.

"Agent Harrison thinks that we That I can see something that the
Bureau missed," she told him. 

Mulder began to divide the papers within the folders into neat piles.
"We need to start over then."

Scully rubbed her eyes. She'd come off a twenty-four hour shift, and
had given up two hours of precious sleep to bring Mulder the files. It
didn't look as though any was coming her way soon. She sat at the end
of the couch.

"The first victims were associated with the university," he mused. "The
New Jersey victims were not tied together in any way... But only two,
then nothing until now." 

He peered up at Scully, who'd been allowing her eyelids to drift shut.
"What does that spacing suggest to you?"

"Our perp has spent time in jail. Or perhaps didn't have the opportunity
to stage these elaborate killings."

He nodded. "It does require space, solitude..." He placed a crime
scene photo before Scully. "Hannah Morton. The first New Jersey
victim. A sales clerk in an arts supply store..."

Scully visualized the chapel on the De Paul campus. She'd visited it
while attending a class last year, as though she'd somehow sensed this
old case would rise again. She had examined the sculptures in the
stations of the cross, done in a Byzantine style, much like Orthodox icons...

"An artist," she suggested. "A sculptor." 

"Harrison could check the art department student list for '91, see if any
happen to have criminal records--"

"Back to your original profile?"

"Wrong major though," he grumbled.

Scully slowly pulled out her cell phone. "I'll get Harrison on it."

She took a deep breath as she waited for the agent to pick up,
preparing her performance. Fortunately, the best lies were rooted in the
truth. She mentioned visiting the chapel, noticing the sculptures, and
was now wondering if they'd been affixed with the same grout--
perhaps the artists should be checked. All the while, Mulder hovered at
her shoulder and she resisted the urge to slap him, knowing his yelp
would alert Harrison. 

"Doctor Scully, you're amazing!" gushed Leyla.

"No, just a fresh set of brain cells," Scully said, cutting off the younger
woman's enthusiasm. 

"I'll call you back as soon as soon as I have some names," Harrison
said. 

Mulder was close enough to hear and his face beamed. Scully nailed
him with a quelling stare. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said to
both Mulder and Harrison. "You should keep me out of it."

When she hung up, she told Mulder that she was going to bed, and to
have her dinner ready at five o'clock. Leaving him slumped on the
couch, flipping dejectedly through the files, she went upstairs to their bed.

Of course she couldn't sleep. Lying in the dim room, her mind kept
replaying conversations with Olivia Hampton. How the woman always
stood six inches too close. The way the older woman's eager gaze held
Scully's until she was forced to look away, her skin chilled. 

It had been so long since Scully had had female friends. She'd hoped in
her new life that would return, but of course, in the irony of careful what
you wish for, she'd been dogged by this woman's grasping and forced
intimacy. In constantly pushing her away, had Scully missed the signs of
a killer in the shadows, stalking Olivia Hampton?

Olivia Hampton administered the grant which funded Scully's position,
and she'd been able to coerce Scully into attending parties and events
at her home. Scully visualized the family estate that the Hamptons lived
on, the deep woods around it, where a man could lurk. The many
outbuildings that sat out at the edges, perfect cover for someone to
observe the home. The silent servants and sullen twenty year old son,
who spent as little time in Olivia's presence as possible, not watching
out for her either. 

The woman's chatter, her armor against others' contempt and
indifference, washing over Scully, who had so many more important
things to think about Caught between sleep and dreams, Scully
forced herself to hear Olivia's banal chatter and actually listen to the words.

"Val in our resident artist Val is so talented Val will be famous
someday "

Tossing the covers aside, Scully struggled out of the bed. But when she
opened the bedroom door, Mulder was hovering there, clutching the
evidence file from the Hampton's home. "Scully, did Olivia Hampton
ever mention a Valentin Azarov?"

"Val. Val is a man?" Scully combed back her hair behind her ears as
though to clear her mind. She didn't even bother to note that they'd
arrived at the same conclusion at the same time. They were back in the
Taurus, heading down the dark road once again.

"He's a small-time burglar that Avery Hampton represented pro bono.
Recently paroled from a two year stint on a parole violation for his
original sentence, served 1992 to 1998," Mulder told her, his eyes
bright with excitement. 

She tugged him over to sit on the bed and took the file from him. "Any
idea if he attended De Paul?"

Mulder peered over her shoulder at the paperwork that she was leafing
through. "That wasn't asked in his interview on Thursday. But he's
living on her estate in a guesthouse--"

"Yes, she mentioned him a lot but I just wasn't listening," Scully said
with a sigh. "Yet I can't see how such a deliberate killer would take a
victim that could be tied to him so easily--"

"I'd have Agent Harrison check him out."

Scully pulled on her robe, then headed back downstairs to find her cell
phone, Mulder in close pursuit. She tried Harrison's work number and
got her voicemail. Her cell phone had the same result. She called the
work number again and after leaving a message, pressed the pound key
to reach the receptionist. "I'm trying to reach Agent Harrison."

Mulder stood close, his head cocked to listen.

"I was expecting a call from her," Scully explained. "Is she in a
meeting?" She tried to put authority in her voice, as though she may be
another agent, but all the while, hearing the shake in her bad liar voice,
knowing her name was showing up on caller I.D. for the operator.

"Agent Harrison is signed out for the day, ma'am," the receptionist said blandly.

Scully hung up. "Dammit," she growled.

"She just went home?" Mulder said, incredulous.

"No, she's gone to the Hampton estate to check on Azarov. I bet she
got a hit from the student list."

"Why would she do that instead of taking it to the lead agent?"

"Because that's what Mulder and Scully would do."

"So what are Mulder and Scully going to do?" Mulder was already
putting on his coat, answering his own question.

"Mulder, you can't come--"

"But you're going, Doctor Scully?"

She was getting her handgun from the lock box in the closet. "I can't let
that girl go in with no backup--"

"Just call the police, Scully."

She quickly loaded the weapon. "And say what? What happens when
they start to look closely at Dana Scully? Find this house? And you in
it?"

"I just keep getting in your way," Mulder said, shoving his hands in his
coat pockets.

She just shook her head and found a dark jacket in the closet to wear,
slipping the gun in one of the pockets. 

"Let me drive then."

"You don't have a license."

"Fine, I'll ride shotgun."

Scully never had liked working cases without Mulder. Not that she was
afraid but because he'd just always been there and knew her moves.
His hand would be there to give her support when she rose from a
body, or push over the locked doors. Now he could only be her ghost
partner without an identity, let alone the carry permit that she had.

"Okay, but you stay in the car."

X

When Scully pulled her car to a halt under the trees by the Hampton's
guest cottage, Mulder tried again: "Scully, I'm not just going to stay in
this car--"

"I should have left you at home. Hang onto this cell phone and if
necessary, dial 911." She pressed the phone into his tense hand. 

She got out of the car and leaned in through her open door. "Stay
here," she repeated, low and hard. 

Mulder watched her bright head bob around in the encroaching dusk,
then disappear into the shrubs by the cottage, his fingers of one hand
dancing on the car door handle while the other clutched the phone. 

Approaching the small house, Scully checked through the windows, but
it was dark and silent in that ominous way that always made the hairs
stand up on the back of her neck. She considered knocking, but saw a
large shed with sliding barn doors, one standing half open. She noticed
a FBI issue Ford Taurus parked on the other side. Keeping her ear
cocked for any movement, she checked the car, finding it empty and locked.

That just left the shed. Groping in her pockets, she found her weapon
and a flashlight. Slipping the safety off on the gun, she held her the
flashlight above the barrel and entered the inky darkness, snapping the
light on.

"Federal agent!" she called out. The lying was coming easier and easier
today. 

A dozen faces stared back at her and her breath caught in her throat as
she tried to cover them all at once. Busts in stone, all in the style of
Byzantine icons. She was getting closer to Val. Then she heard the faint
sound of a struggle coming from the back of the building. She eased
between pedestals holding half-done creations in stone, their solemn
eyes following her as she sought the missing agent and the killer. 

"Freeze!" she barked as her cold blue light shone on two bodies
brawling. One had fair hair and a high voice rasping for help. The other
was larger, stronger, and huffed like a bull goring the fallen agent. But
she was fighting back. In the flashlight's beam, two hands were
wrestling over a gun held in one. Suddenly, it was torn free and hurled
past Scully into the darkness behind her.

"Azarov, I said freeze!"

Leyla Harrison's terrified features looked beseechingly at Scully and
her mouth gaped, unable to speak. An arm was wrapped around her
neck and a gun was pressed to her temple. The killer was hiding even
now, lurking behind the woman's head. He peered out, and snarled,
"Stop right there or I'll kill her."

It is not an Eastern European voice; it's the sneering drawl of Avery
Hampton. 

The bogeyman was in the dark, he did want pretty young women. The
smooth face of the lawyer contorted and morphed, becoming Donnie
Pfaster's bland death mask, then the grimacing demon visage she'd
seen right before she pulled the trigger.

She'd do it again, but she knew that she was no longer the shot that
she'd once been. Her fine motor skills were being honed for another
area now. The shadowed right socket of his skull was her bullseye, but
Leyla's pale face kept sliding across her vision.

"I'm sorry, Harrison," she offered--was it that she may kill the young
woman? That her hero worship was so misplaced? 

Leyla panted: "Agent Scully, do what you have to do."

"Shut up, you two bitches! No one's gonna do anything!" 

There was the roar of a gunshot and Scully blinked. Her own weapon
was still cold in her hand. Harrison was falling toward her, her pretty
face splattered with blood, but she was screaming, loud and true, not
the gurgle of a headshot victim.

Avery was the one curling to the ground like a burning leaf, then lost in
the darkness.

Scully took Leyla to her, holding her shaking body close and swung her
flashlight around the black barn.

The beam found a tall man and his white face with his wide mouth in a
shy smile.

"Hey Boo," Scully said, her voice shaky.

"Hey Scout," came a reply and Fox Mulder stepped out the shadows,
the thrown away gun hanging at his side. 

Leyla gasped, "Agent Mulder--" 

He smiled down at Harrison. "Not Agent anymore. Just plain old Fox."

She thought for a long moment, then shook her head. "No, I couldn't
possibly call you Fox."

"Okay, Mulder it is," he said.

"We don't have much time," said Scully, "before you need to call this
in." She took the gun from Mulder and wiped it clean of his prints.
"Here, let me show you how to hold your gun so the fingerprints are
correct for the shot angle," she told Leyla.

Mulder was already checking Hampton's body. "It's going to be tough,
but thankfully he's not much taller than you, Harrison."

"I came to check on Valentin Azarov and when there was no answer at
the cottage, looked in this shed," Harrison said, beginning to form her
report already. "I found a freezer at the back--" She motioned into the
darkness. 

Scully pointed her flashlight and spotlighted a large standing freezer.

"I had my own flashlight " Obviously still in shock, Leyla looked
around numbly. When she found it, she turned it back on as well,
adding to the illumination.

"There's a body in the freezer Male, mid-thirties, resembles the mug
shot for Azarov."

Mulder moved to the freezer and after pulling his sleeve over his hand,
opened it. "Looks like he's been here about a week."

Scully joined him. "He couldn't have been Olivia's killer."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't kill the other recent victims,"
Mulder said. "You were right, Scully."

"Avery killed them? To create a cover to murder his wife?" 

Even though it had been her original theory, she couldn't believe the
cold-bloodedness necessary to perpetuate this sort of crime.

"We'll let the F.B.I. pull together all the details and finally close the
case," Mulder told the women. "But Scully and I better get out of
here." 

They were at the doorway when Harrison called after them. "Thank
you."

"It wasn't anything--" Scully started to say.

"Of course, thank you for saving my life," Harrison said. "But thank you
for giving my faith back. It's been tough to go to work some days."

"I know the feeling," Mulder said with a humorless laugh. "I'm just
sorry that it came to this. I let this case go too many times in the past."
He looked down at Scully. "There just seemed to always be something
more important to do."

Scully furrowed her brow, worried at his tone. "It was important,
Mulder. It still is."

Unsure, Harrison raised a hand. "I don't suppose that I'll see you
again..."

"We'll be here if you need our help," Mulder assured her. "Think of us
as your secret agents." Now his laugh was filled with joy.

Scully tugged his hand. "We've got to go, Mulder." 

Harrison watched them walk into the darkness, swallowed by the night.
The last thing she heard was, "Admit it, Mulder. You've always wanted
to live in the Bat Cave--"

X

Leyla Harrison skimmed details of the final report on the case of
Crucible Killer. 

*Valentin Azarov, an art student at De Paul University in 1991,
was credited with murdering four fellow students. After serving a
sentence for burglary, he had two more victims while living in
Hoboken, New Jersey before being returned to prison on a parole
violation in Richmond, Virginia when he was found loitering
outside a young woman's home in possession of burglaring tools.
It's assumed that he was targeting her for his next victim. He was
represented by Avery Hampton, who was shown to have visited
Azarov numerous times while he served the two year sentence. It's
believed that Azarov confessed his murders to Hampton who
began to formulate a plan to murder his wife. Subsequent
investigations by the local police detective, Areti, discovered
Hampton had numerous profiles on websites for anonymous sexual
encounters. His wife was aware of his activities and had
threatened him with divorce if he did not stop. 

Wanting to retain his financial and social position, Hampton
planned the murder, using Azarov as a cover. After Azarov was
released from prison, Hampton invited him to stay at their estate,
encouraging his wife to see the artist as a prot‚g‚e. Whether
Hampton first tried to induce Azarov into killing his wife can't be
known. But the two murders which occurred after Azarov's release
both deviate enough from the original crimes that it's appears that
Hampton carried them out, including the death of his wife, which
happened four days after Azarov's death happened. Hampton
planted the palm print on his wife's shoe using the dead man's
hand. By retaining the body, it seems as though he planned to
stage a suicide with Azarov's body on their property, but would
assure that it would not be found until decomposition was
advanced enough to make pinpointing the time of death impossible.

Special Agent Leyla Harrison earned special commendation for her
role in uncovering Avery Hampton's conspiracy *

Checking over her shoulder, Leyla saw that none of the other
researchers were watching her. Rising, she went to the copier and
made copies of the final report. Sliding the pages into an envelope, she
addressed it to Doctor Dana Scully, care of Our Lady of Sorrows
Hospital. Regardless of their new lives, or the quest they were still on,
she knew that Mulder and Scully would want to see the case through to
the end.


~ The End ~