"Mercury Falling" cslatton17@yahoo.com
Part 4 of 27: Be It Ever So Humble...

Tuesday, May 10, 1988. Wheeling, West Virginia. West Wheeling Precinct, Interrogation Room Two.

"Two vagrants and a prostitute. In the wrong place at the wrong time," Harris grimaced at the table full of files. "That's what we thought at first, anyway."

"Then you found victim number four," Mulder mused. He didn't look up from the pile of reports and photos, copies and then some of what hung on the bulletin boards above.

"Yeah," Harris frowned. "Well, you picked up on that, quick enough."

Purdue adjusted his butt against the old wooden office chair he'd claimed for himself and indulged in a told-you-so wink at his friend. Harris gave him a resigned shrug and a cup of coffee, cream, no sugar.

Once Albert had been hauled to Holding, the detective had tried to make his guests comfortable in the cramped quarters of the interrogation room: rookies trotted in coffee, sodas and-- "God help us," Purdue'd whispered -- donuts as quickly as Harris could snap fingers. Harris himself had disappeared into the office behind the one-way mirror and returned with stacks of files. They watched patiently as he culled out various items as unworthy, finally settling on the sordid mess they were looking at now: four apparently separate homicides perpetrated in the past few months.

Sauceda peered over Mulder's arm at the file his partner was perusing. "So what's the story on victim four, then?" he asked. "Different MO?"

"The three others were killed on the streets. The victims were indigents," Harris explained. "We figured it was some kind of hate crime or someone stumbling into the wrong gang turf, maybe drugs. But Four was a businessman, family man with no priors. He made regular stops here in Wheeling. Always the same hotel. Manager got so used to the schedule he usually kept the same room available for him. He was killed in that hotel room." Harris shook his head. "It was a slow night, not many people registered. No witnesses and no security cameras."

Harris set an ashtray in easy reach of both Purdue and Mulder. Reg noted it favored Mulder's side.

Harris shrugged at the profiler's raised brows. "Policy says you can't smoke in the car, son. It don't say jack about the office."

Mulder glanced away from the act of kindness, apparently not quite certain what to do with it. Purdue didn't really need a smoke just yet, but he fished out his cigarettes anyway. Tapping one out for himself, he offered the pack to the profiler; the agent accepted hesitantly. The ritual of lighting accomplished, Mulder took a few cursory puffs, and availed himself of the ashtray, scooting the little glass dish closer to Purdue in the process. The action was furtive, designed to look completely accidental, Mulder's attention clearly riveted on the folder in front of him. Mulder's covert peace offering, however, did not escape the ASAC's notice.

Harris had finally stopped fussing with his arrangements and took a seat across the table.

"So what links your victims?" Purdue asked him.

"Nothing. Except Ballistics says they were all killed with the same .22 semi-automatic. One shot, skin-touch range, through the back, through the heart--"

Purdue shrugged, eyeing Mulder as the profiler shuffled through the reports; he'd seen men less excited over nude women. "A number of professional killers favor a .22 Ruger at that range," the ASAC noted. "The weapon is easy to obtain, easy to dispose of. Then there's that nice messy ricochet damage the bullet leaves inside the body. Maybe there's a drug angle--"

"Drug killings don't usually involve mutilations," Mulder dissented. "Especially not this extensive."

Sauceda looked up from his collection of autopsy reports. "What's the perp using, a hunting knife?"

Harris nodded, swallowing a mouthful of coffee. "Looks like."

Mulder's brows were furrowed as he flipped through photographs. "No sign of sexual assault, no necrophilia, no cannibalism, no fetishism, at least not of body parts. Yet all the victims have been gutted with the intensity and brutality of lust murder." He shook his head, looking up at Harris. "All postmortem."

"You sound disappointed, Mr. G-man." It was Harris's turn to wink at Purdue.

Mulder frowned. "Amazed, actually," he admitted. "With most serials, mutilations of this intensity are done prior to the killing. It's a sexual thrill, a means of degrading and subjugating the victim. The fantasy role being played out to its logical conclusion."

"So what's the significance when it's postmortem?"

Mulder sat back and chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "That the killer feels so little control over the situation the victim must be killed immediately. Yet, he's in control well enough that he can get within several feet of his target, get him to turn his back, and then fire point blank."

Sauceda shrugged. "Hey, if a guy walks up to me in an alley, points a gun and tells me to turn around, I'm turning around, muchacho."

"Maybe," Mulder brought the cigarette to his mouth but didn't bother to complete the action, his attention absorbed by the photos collected before him. "These gunshot wounds are all clean shots, right? All pretty much in the exact same location..." Mulder balanced his chair on its rear legs, rocking. "And your businessman here had a gun on his nightstand, leaves it sitting to let our killer in?"

"So, maybe he knew the guy, Marty. I don't see the big deal." Sauceda shrugged at Harris. "You've checked the victim's local contacts, someone who might have known he knew someone, that kind of thing? Get any leads?"

Harris sighed. "Straight arrow police work, all the way. We've checked every contact, right down to the pharmacy on the corner. And all we've got is zip." Harris waved at the photo in Mulder's hand. "Mr. Businessman's so squeaky clean he makes me look like the Marquis de Sade."

Reggie was watching the struggle on the profiler's face. "Mulder." The agent's head remained bowed over the evidence, but he lifted his eyes to the ASAC. "You're working up a theory," Purdue noted. "It's what we're here for. Tell us what you've got so far."

Mulder regarded him, looked away to a bare spot on the wall and back again. He ran a nervous hand through his hair.

"Okay. Where were the bodies found?" he demanded. "Other than Four, I mean."

Harris shrugged. "On the streets--"

"No, specifically. Were these locations strongly associated with the victims?"

"You mean did they hang out there?"

"Sleep there."

"Well," Harris searched through his notes. "Rene Reynolds' pimp had dumped her and a witness said she'd been living in the alley she was found in." He flipped back a few pages. "The first victim was killed under an underpass where he'd apparently taken up housekeeping. The second was found in a cardboard box. Probably called it home from the look of the lot it was in." He looked up at the profiler expectantly.

Mulder was nodding. "I think that if these people were not transient you'd be calling these home invasions. And that includes Mr. Business in his home-away- from-home hotel room." Mulder tapped vacantly on a file, watching his diet soda sweat a ring of water onto the table. "How far apart are the murders?"

"They average about one a month since the second one," the detective answered. "The first was November 26. The second, January 4. Then February 27, and March 29. It's been quiet since."

Sauceda was looking from Purdue to his partner. "Look, Marty, if you're speculating a serial killer, the guy's gone overdue, don't you think?"

"Or, he's gone to less frequently visited housing locations."

"Meaning there's a body waiting to be found somewhere?" Harris frowned.

"It won't be on a street or in an alley," Mulder advised. "Not a hotel room, either."

"Maybe someone's actual bonafide home?" Purdue suggested quietly.

Mulder nodded. "I think that's the next step in the progression. I also think the mutilations will be worse." He was staring at that bare spot on the wall again, his vision distant and unfocused. "The hotel victim's carving is more... intricate. The killer took his time. The position of the body, the face uncovered... He enjoyed this one more than the others. Probably because he felt no pressure to hurry." The eyes refocused and he glanced from his ASAC to the detective. "These are not hate crimes. They're not drug killings. And they're not random. And your victim profile is about to take a dramatic turn. Our guy's moving from the fringes and freaks. And into the heartland, into the home. Mr. and Mrs. America are next on the entree. Then it's going to get messy because Mr. and Mrs. America have relatives and friends; you don't find him quick, you're going to have a political hot button on your hands."

"Great," Harris sighed.

There was a tap at the door. A uniformed officer popped his head in and Harris waved him frantically back out the door, rising to join him in the hall. The detective held the door partly closed and Purdue caught only muffled voices.

Sauceda finished scanning the last of the autopsy reports and tossed it on the table. He gave the ASAC a rueful smirk.

"Well, hell, Reg," he quipped, sotto voice. "Not here four hours and you've found us another serial killer. So much for expanding the kid's repertoire."

Purdue didn't answer, taking his frustrations out on his cigarette, mashing it methodically into the ashtray.

Mulder stared at the violence the ASAC wrought, stared without focusing, lost in thoughts Purdue would have paid good money to hear. Mulder glanced up though as the door rattled.

Harris stood there a minute, the officer behind him straining to see over his shoulder. The detective stepped in, however, and slammed the door in the man's face, oblivious to all else but the profiler across the table. Mulder frowned at Harris' sudden interest and glanced away, momentarily intrigued by the nutritional disclosure of his soda can.

Purdue was more interested in the paper sack Harris was carrying. The detective's eyes were too bright, too cold and too damned hungry; Purdue licked his lips nervously.

Harris caught the look in his friend's eye and grinned. The expression managed to be both genuine and begrudged. "Well, well, Reggie," he quipped, nodding his head in Mulder's direction. "Just what *did* you bring me here?" Purdue assumed his accustomed mask of deliberate calm. "Just what you deserve, Nat," he replied. "A round trip ticket to hell." Harris swung a coolly delighted face to the profiler. "I bet he is, too," he mused.

Mulder shifted uncomfortably but said nothing; a nerve in his jaw twitched angrily.

Harris' grin broadened at the reaction and he turned back to the ASAC. "So where were we? We've got four victims found and a fifth hypothetical victim unaccounted for. Don't suppose your criminal virtuoso over here can tell me where this missing body might be?"

Purdue shrugged off the challenge, irritated that Harris felt like he had some kind of right to talk about his agent like the man wasn't even there. "Look, Nat, like I told you, we'll be staying a few days--"

"I'll let you know in the morning," Mulder said quietly.

Harris and Purdue eyed the profiler with identical expressions. Sauceda took a sudden interest in the linoleum. Mulder's eyes never waved from Harris' face; they were cold and hard and piercingly green under the flickering fluorescent bulb above him.

"Excuse me?" Harris glanced from the young agent to the ASAC like he'd missed the punch line of a long joke. "You see something else in those photos I didn't?"

"No," Purdue barked. Mulder opened his mouth, closed it again under his ASAC's glare and instead, busied himself straightening evidence back into folders. Purdue leveled an equally uncompromising squint at Harris. "We'll let you know how long we'll be staying by morning." Purdue said it like it was the obvious explanation. Said it like he'd cut Harris' throat if the man had the balls to question it. Harris didn't take him up on the threat. Purdue continued. "In any event, you'll have a workable profile before we head back to Washington. Meantime, it's getting late--"

Purdue stood and the detective looked around the room: Sauceda and Mulder had the table in order and the younger man was doodling on an empty Styrofoam cup. Harris' attention roamed back to the ASAC. Purdue's face said, *Yeah, this is how we're playing it.*

"Fine," Harris nodded reasonably. He smiled at Mulder and called out "Heads up, kiddo," tossing the paper sack to the profiler before the warning was halfway out.

Mulder didn't disappoint by missing the catch. The look he gave Harris bespoke crimes way beyond misdemeanor and Harris shrugged a relatively sincere apology.

The detective nodded at the bag. "A gift from your pal Albert," he said.

Mulder unrolled the top of the sack and dumped the contents onto the table: a white button down shirt, long sleeved. Soaked in blood.

Harris grinned at Purdue. "I'll look forward to seeing you guys in the morning." For once, Harris sounded sincere.

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Photo courtesy of TexxasRose's Fox Mulder Gallery

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