Fletcher2: Rollercoaster By: Dana Starbuck Feedback: dks_starbuck@yahoo.com Disclaimers: See Chapter 1 WARNING: The next few chapters contain some violence and "ick". THANKS: Once again, big thanks to Athos, Selena & Rad (welcome back, Rad). Your help, feedback, patience and friendship is greatly appreciated. I can't do it without you. And a special thanks to my cyberbro deejay. Words can't express my thanks and gratitude. <> 57th Street and 8th Avenue Tuesday, December 8th, 7:22 AM As usual, Dave McHugh kept an eye out for slick spots on the subway station's concrete steps. He also watched for any commuters ahead of him who might miss an icy patch because they were too busy talking to their cell phones. He got up the stairs without incident, turning up his collar as he hit street level. There was no snow yet, but winter had truly arrived in New York City, making everyone hunch their shoulders just a little bit more. Steam poured from the manhole covers, enveloping the taxis in white shrouds as they dodged through morning. Every third taxi seemed to be honking at the pedestrians, who were exhibiting the Manhattanite sense of invulnerability by crossing either against the light or in the middle of the street -- usually both. McHugh couldn't help but grin. He loved New York, no matter how overused that phrase may have been. He'd grown up in Queens, gotten his Criminal Justice degree at Fordham, and he'd missed the Apple like fire the entire time he was stationed in Phoenix. Even his first serious post-adolescent relationship couldn't dull that ache. So when the chance to transfer to his hometown office came up, he'd jumped at it; the break-up was messy, but so was the relationship, when you got right down to it. he thought philosophically as he fell in step with the rest of the crowd. It was worth sharing a fourth-floor walk-up in Hell's Kitchen with his best friend from high school. It was worth putting up with Bill Crocker, an incurable Yankees fan who could be hell in a bucket until he had his third cup of coffee. ( Dave told himself for the hundredth time. It was even worth dealing with the condescension of Hiram Keith, the New York SAC. Keith was an old-school taskmaster who saw Crocker and McHugh's work with ISU as "joining the circus", and had said on more than one occasion, "I'll take one Melvin Purvis over a dozen Fletcher Buchanans!" In his nastier moments, Dave swore the man had to be Jeff Spender's daddy. Spender had been an all-World jackass with a Gibralter-sized chip on his shoulder all the way through Quantico. The son of a bitch practically snickered when McHugh mentioned where he grew up. Another grin spread over his face when he remembered the mock award certificate Jeannie Spicer had made up on her computer and glued onto the door of Spender's dorm room: "MOST LIKELY TO BE KILLED BY FRIENDLY FIRE." "Well, well, well," a hearty voice boomed out. "Misss-terr Secret Agent Man!" "That's _Special_ Agent Man to you," McHugh shot back, automatically searching for quarters as he came up to the green wooden kiosk festooned with magazines. He nodded at the ageless black man who had been tending this corner since John Lindsay was mayor. "How's it goin', Jamal?" "How's it _s'pose_ t'be goin'?" Jamal returned, ever irascible. He was bundled under two scarves, a Russian Army greatcoat, and an orange hunting cap with earflaps. "They ain't no b-ball, the Giants can't suck enough, an' Giuliani's tryin' t' shoot us all!" "He'd never shoot _you_, Jamal," McHugh said wryly, scanning the stacks of papers for his daily addiction, the New York Post. "You're a beloved figure in the metropolitan area." "Yeah, right," Jamal snorted. "When ah liquidate one'a mah noo'mruss truss funs an' ree-loh-cate tuh Palm Beach, you suckers'll drown yo-selves cryin' in sorrow!" Dave started to laugh, but it got caught somewhere between his throat and his mouth. He'd found the Post; the front-page photo showed Fletcher bleeding out onto the ground, her mouth open and her eyes closed. "SNEAK ATTACK!" the headline screamed. The Daily News sat next to it, with a full-page photo of the note Fletcher had found on the door. There was no headline. Algernon's chilling message was more than enough. It was what was on the front page of New York's third tabloid, the Ledger -- the one tabloid Brian Hedges _hadn't_ sold anything to -- that had McHugh searching for his cell phone. Fletcher's House Tuesday, 7:43 AM When Mulder opened the door, Karrin was standing on the step with a briefcase in one hand and a Dunkin Donuts box in the other. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," she said, holding up the box. "Bless you, my child," Mulder said gratefully, opening the door wide. Karrin walked past him and went into the kitchen, smiling when she saw the coffeemaker was already fired up. "How are you, Mulder?" "Okay, I guess," he ventured, running fingers through his damp hair. He'd only just gotten out of the shower when Karrin rang the gate buzzer. "Trying to keep my head down." "I'll bet." She got up on tiptoe and took a Peet's Coffee & Tea mug out of the cupboard. "Did he shoot at you, too?" "No. He only fired once." Mulder's cup was on the kitchen table. He picked it up and took a sip, adding, "I was in the car, out of the line of fire." Karrin gave him a searching look as she poured herself some coffee, reaching for the Equal with her free hand. "How do you feel about that?" Mulder smiled into his coffee cup. "I thought _I_ was the psychologist." "I'm not a psychologist," Karrin smiled. "I just play one on TV." She stirred the Equal into her coffee with a long-handled spoon she found by the sink. "The question stands." He was slightly miffed at the question. "I'm not going through Survivor's Guilt, if that's what you're asking," he said evenly. "Fletcher survived, too. She's still alive. And I _have_ been shot at before. It's not a great sensation, but it's not a new one, either." She nodded, sipping her coffee. She also took note of Mulder's tone, so she took a new tack. "How bad is this one? I mean, I know they're _all_ bad ones, but... Well, _how_ bad...?" "Scale of one to ten?" She considered, then nodded. He thought a moment. "Eight-and-a-half. Easy to dance to, no melody." "I don't know how you can joke about dealing with these animals," she said, shaking her head. "You've _got_ to joke... a little bit, anyway. You don't, it eats you like an h'ors d'ouevre." He thought about Stu Hendricks, and how he looked like he'd aged about a hundred years since Mulder's last tour with ISU. Scully padded into the kitchen, rubbing the sand out of her eyes. Fletcher's bathrobe trailed on the floor as she walked. "Morning," she yawned. "Hey, sleepyhead," Mulder grinned. "Coffee?" "Gallons." Mulder nodded, moving to get her a cup. The first thing Scully saw when she opened her eyes was the Dunkin Donuts box. "Please tell me there's a jelly donut in there." "With or without sugar?" Karrin asked. "Without?" Scully asked hopefully. Karrin smiled. She walked over to the box and pulled out a large donut, entirely empty of sugar. "The ones with sugar are _so_ unhealthy for you." Scully practically snatched it out of Karrin's hand. "If I weren't so madly in love, I'd kiss you." "I'll keep that in mind," Karrin said, not sure whether to laugh or be shocked. She saw the look Mulder gave Dana; he looked like he didn't have any eyebrows, they were so close to his hairline. "How's the patient?" "Stable, I guess," Scully said around a mouthful of donut. "No headaches, no dizziness, at least none she'll admit to. I've been waking her up every two hours or so. She's sleeping right now. I'd give her another half-hour before rousing her again, and she can probably do with another dose of meds. Tylenol with codeine, in the bathroom next to the sink." She gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Mulder and washed the donut down. Karrin nodded. "Did _you_ get any sleep?" "I caught a few winks here and there," she returned, trying to sound casual. "Jeez, Scully, I could have spelled you," Mulder pointed out. "I was just down the hall." "You'd had a full day yourself, Mulder. You needed the rest more than I did. I was napping when you guys came in last night, remember?" "Dana, I've seen coma patients who look more awake than you," Karrin said compassionately. "Can't you call in sick, take the day yourself?" "Uh unh." Scully shook her head. "We've _both_ got a nine o'clock meeting we can't miss. I'll just keep sucking down caffeine and see if I can sneak out early." She gave Karrin a grateful smile. "Thanks for coming in on such short notice." Karrin waved her off. "I can only stay for the morning, but Marva's closing the store at lunchtime. She'll spell me this afternoon." "Great." She glanced up at the clock. "I've got to jump in the shower. There're notes back at the office I've got to review." Before she could leave, a cell phone chirped. Scully looked around to find where she'd put hers, but the noise was coming from Mulder's raincoat, which was draped over one of the kitchen chairs. He pulled it out and turned it on. "Mulder... Hey, Roy." He looked at the clock himself. "Yeah, I'm at Fletcher's... She's sleeping now. She's stable," he added, giving Scully a wink as he listened. Then his face fell. "You're kidding." Roy Tupper's Office, Quantico Tuesday 9:06 AM "Unbelievable," Mulder said again. He just stared at the newspaper sitting in the middle of the conference table. "Believe it. It's sitting right there." Crocker was tired and angry, and the combination offset the fear-charged adrenaline rush that came with his third helicopter flight in three days. The New York Ledger was only nine months old. It was a liberal tabloid that tried to combine the best elements of the Post and the Village Voice. Most people thought it failed, and the paper was already deep in red ink. But today's edition was going to sell more than its usual market share, thanks to the headline that blared out from the front page: "'THERE WILL BE MORE': NOTES FROM A SERIAL KILLER." A box in the upper right hand corner of the page promoted an eyewitness account of Fletcher being shot, as reported by the Ledger's new star reporter, Margo Joseph. "At least we know now how the press got to the crime scene when you did, Mulder," Tupper said gravely. "Algernon sent _her_ a letter, too." He looked angry enough to bite the table in half, even if his suspicions about a leak in ISU had been quashed. "What about the deal we made?" Scully asked, incredulous. "What happened to our seventy-two hours?" Elly sat next to her, sneaking peeks around the room. This was the biggest case she'd ever worked on, and being part of this meeting was akin to a week's vacation at Disney World, all rides included. "It went up in smoke about five seconds after CNN started doing cut-ins from Cambridge County," Roy informed her, his tones clipped razor-cut short. "The editor said this was one of the biggest stories to hit the metropolitan area this year, and he was not about to fall behind his competitors just because he'd made us a promise." He put on a fairly convincing Australian accent. "'After all, mate, it's not like we put it in writing.'" "He printed _everything_" McHugh objected. He seemed unaffected by the rough ride down from New York. "Including things we wanted held back! Can't we nail him for Obstruction? Aiding and Abetting? Maybe even Accessory?" "I threatened him with everything but the electric chair. He had a one-word response." "Which was?" "'Nuts.'" "World War Two buff," Mulder murmured, his smirk faint with fatigue. "And a man of few words," Gabe added, desperately wanting to light up his pipe. "The phone's already ringing off the hook in the New York office," Crocker told Roy. "The press liaison's hiding under the desk, and the Jersey State Police are pissed we didn't let them in on the note." "They've got no room to complain," Tupper said bitterly. "They've been about as helpful as life jackets in the Sahara." "True enough," Crocker agreed. "Keith wanted me to pass on a message to you. Quote, 'We are not amused,' unquote." "Fuck Keith," Roy spat. "Not on a bet," Crocker deadpanned. "But I can get behind the sentiment." Tupper ignored him, shifting to address the room. "All right," he declared. "It's out, and there's nothing we can do about it. Our margin is down to hours." He took a deep breath. "The UNSUB also took a shot at one of us. That cuts _his_ margin down to nil." He tapped the table with the point of an index finger. "This bastard's pelt _will_ be drying on the smokehouse wall by the end of the week, or I will know the reason why! Are we clear on this point?" There were nods around the table. He let out the breath. "Okay, that's what we're going to do. How are we going to do it?" "I'm afraid the autopsy results aren't much help," Scully said apologetically. "Except Fletcher was right: The killings _did_ happen later than the official time of death. I make the _actual_ time between two and three a.m.." "Makes sense," Mulder nodded. "Less chance of a neighbor being awake, hearing any screams or shots, or seeing Algernon enter the house." "And there were no other anomalies you could find?" Roy asked her. "No... extracurricular activities?" Crocker added. Scully shook her head at both questions. She was surprisingly alert, even though she'd had only one cup of coffee. "The Cambridge County coroner _did_ do a good job of cataloguing the victim's various organs, and their condition. Nothing was missing or mutilated. And according to his report, there were no fluids or damage that would suggest any kind of sexual activity, pre- or post-mortem." "So why cut them open at all?" McHugh wanted to know. "Algernon's already told us that," Mulder intoned. "Because he _can_. When he killed them, they weren't human any more. They were his playthings. Dolls. He could have done a lot more with them then just open them up. He didn't, but he _could_ have. By cutting them open and leaving them there, he's demonstrating the power he had over them." "Hell of a demonstration," Bill muttered. Dave made a sound that might have been a chuckle. Elly shivered, unsettled by Mulder's matter-of-fact tone. "I wish I could have seen the bodies myself," Scully continued. "If the coroner screwed up the time of death, he might have missed something else. Are the Kennedy victims still on ice?" "We _wanted_ the county to hold them longer," Tupper groaned. "But the victims were Jewish. The wife's relatives went to court so they could inter the remains in accordance with their laws. They got supportive press and a sympathetic judge. Burial was on Friday." "Can we get an exhumation order?" Mulder asked, ever hopeful. "We could try," Crocker said. "But it's a crapshoot, depending on what judge _we_ get. And the victims' families will fight any order. The father of the bride's a state legislator, and his wife owns whatever land in New Jersey Christie Whitman's family _doesn't_ own. If that's not enough, she and Christie are old riding-school buddies." He looked like he'd drunk a glass of lemon juice, then ate the lemon the juice came from. "So the latest bodies are out," Roy said, ending the conversation. He looked down the table at Elly. "You're sure about the results you found?" "Definitely," she said immediately. "I put in a call to the Department of Public Works in D.C., and they confirmed those chemicals could only be found in a sewer." She looked at some handwritten notes. "I called Cambridge County DPW, too. They say the victims' house was on the county system, so they didn't have a septic tank in their back yard." Gabe smiled around his pipe, pleased she had shown so much initiative. "There's no way the stuff could have come from a leaky pipe in the basement?" Dave asked. "Maybe stepped in it coming in, and stepped in it again going out?" Mulder shook his head. "Basement was bone-dry. No leaks anywhere. Plus he only _went in_ through the basement. He probably made his exit through the back door. The knob was locked, but the door wasn't chained." "There was no pathway near the window," Crocker said, thinking aloud. "So Algernon had to walk on grass to get there. Even if he walked through sewers on a regular basis, he wouldn't leave tracks _all_ the time." "Which means his shoes must have been wet when he entered the basement," Mulder said, finishing Crocker's thought. "Very wet, since we found traces in other parts of the house." Scully's eyebrow did its thing. "Are you saying this man went into the sewer and _waited_ for the right time to come out and kill?" "Or he parked his car on another street, entered the sewers _there_, and made his way to the entrance nearest the victim's house." "Pretty hard-core," Elly marveled, her stomach turning at the thought of walking through a sewer for more than five seconds. "If that's the case," McHugh put in, "then he knew his way around the system. We're talking a county worker here, either present or past..." "Shit!" Mulder exclaimed. "You have something?" Roy asked, raising his own eyebrow at Mulder's outburst. "At the second site, in Blenheim," Mulder said, eyes blazing. "There was a county public works truck about half a block away. The guy had cones up around a manhole cover. We drove right by him." "Did you get a look at him?" Tupper was leaning forward like a skier about to take a jump. "Maybe a license number on the truck?" Mulder shook his head, cursing himself. "Didn't even look. He was trying to clear a storm grate, or so I thought. I didn't pay any attention to him." "That makes sense," Crocker said morosely. "Who looks at city or county workers?" Scully felt her ears pin back. "That's how he cases his victims." Everyone looked at her like she'd just given them the secret of life. "Son of a bitch," Gabe breathed. "He could stay in one spot all day," Crocker croaked, picking up on the thought. "He might even be doing his job, so he'd have a legitimate reason for being there." "That's _perfect_," McHugh said, his excitement building. "It's like in New York when Con Ed's working on lines. Even if the techs are sitting around doing nothing, people just go right on by. You just figure they're on one of their ten union-mandated coffee breaks." Tupper turned to Crocker. "You and Dave get back to Jersey. Check Cambridge County DPW to see who had trucks out Monday morning. Cross-reference any public-works activity in and around the crime scenes. Give special attention to the area that reporter's old newspaper appears. He wrote to her, so he must be familiar with her work. Coordinate with Mulder; he's running this investigation while Fletcher recovers." "Fletcher's going to want to be kept in the loop," Mulder said uneasily. "That's your job," Roy said quickly. "Pick her brain, if she's up to it, but make it clear to her: She's out of the game until a doctor says she's one hundred percent. If she has a problem with that, I'll explain it to her. And I _don't_ want to have to explain it to her." He stood, picking up the folders as he did. Everyone else stood, too. "Like I said, people: By the end of the week. I'll accept nothing less. Get to work." -end-