"Misdirected"

Chapter One

Isabella Stewart Garden Museum of International Art, Boston, Massachusetts

March 30, 1999, 6:28 p.m.

"I didn't have to tell you to stop falling asleep for once," Oliver Nazinsky, a short, balding security officer remarked to his counterpart Hiram Bodniker. Bodniker was concentrating heavily on the monitoring system with his mouth hanging open unnaturally wide as Nazinsky journeyed into the small office. One of his hands rested on a mug of luke-warm coffee; the other propped up his head on the desk. "Hey, Bodniker, are we in the same universe?"

"Hmm, what?" Bodniker asked finally but did not make eye contact with Nazinsky, who sat down and tried to get a glimpse of what on earth was gluing the man's eyes to the screen. It did not take him too long.

She was a distraction, all right-a brunette with shoulder length, layered hair. The charcoal gray suit she wore highlighted a pair of lengthy and extensive legs fitted with black stilettos. Her eyes were as azure as a perfect day without a cloud in the sky, and her lips-were resoundingly full. The bronze statue she was studying was encompassing her complete attention despite the camera's invasive movements above her head.

"Wow. Nice way to end the day, huh?" Nazinsky inquired after a few silent moments.

"What time are we closing today?" Bodniker's fingers navigated the camera controls swiftly back to its original and proper wide establishing angle.

"7:00." Nazinsky's eyes left the highly attractive woman and snapped over to another wing's collection of camera angles. "You know what's really funny? I hate saying this, but well...art is a visual expression, right?"

"Usually, yeah," Bodniker replied curtly but kept his focus on his eye candy.

"Well, take your eyes off of that for a just a minute and take a look at this."

"Come on, man. The breaks we get on this job are just barely decent health benefits and a Maglite. It's not everyday I get to look at something like that."

"This isn't something I can just explain to you, you have to see it for yourself to get the irony." Bodniker grimaced and reluctantly drew his eyes over to the screen where Nazinsky was pointing. His eyes widened and a hearty snicker escaped his cool exterior.

A smartly dressed man with sunglasses and a white cane meandered his way into a temporary exhibition of Renoir and Monet paintings. He extended the cane on the floor and began to slide it across the wooden ground back and forth.

Nazinsky grinned cruelly. "Not a sight you see everyday, now, is it?"

"A blind art lover. That's comedy right there. And I thought today was just going to be another bore," Bodniker sighed amusingly to himself.

"You can't help but wonder...can you?" Nazinsky continued their conversation.

"Wonder about what?"

"The visually impaired-how they can enjoy art."

"Never gave it a thought, Mr. Politically Correct," Bodniker smirked and his clumsy arm knocked the coffee mug over the set of monitors he had been watching for eight hours. "Oh, crap." He bent down to pick the container from where it had fallen and set it upright. His gaze briefly shifted from the muddied bureau to the screens, and he took a double take.

"Nice going, Bodniker. That monitor's probably worth a week's salary. What's the matter?"

"Call 911. We've got a situation." Nazinsky's head snapped toward the stained monitor to visualize the once harmlessly beautiful brunette withdraw a .357 Glock from a hip holster and seize an elderly woman.

"What're you going to do?" Nazinsky questioned him.

"Bring in the other wings' officers and try to resolve this without contacting Mr. Stewart," Bodniker removed a stun gun from its charging station and attached it to his belt before disappearing from Nazinsky's sight.

6:35 p.m.

"Ma'am, we don't want anyone to get hurt. Please release your hostage, and we'll let you walk right out of here without pressing any charges." Bodniker held out his left hand whilst keeping the other rested on his only defense.

The small crowd of bystanders inched away from the be-spectacle. He swore that he saw the blind man from the impression exhibition gallery enter and then remain perfectly still. Four other guards surrounded the room and began to close in on the two women.

"I don't plan on doing any such thing anytime soon, slick. So keep walking right towards me, you stupid sons of bitches. You're placing her right on the brink of meeting St. Peter in two seconds," she hissed and pressed the gun into her captive's throat.

"Keep your distance. Do you really think you'll be able to just waltz out of here? The police will be here any minute now," Bodniker tried to patronize her, but instead, the younger woman just became more belligerent.

"And if you let them into the building, I'll kill her here and now. All I want is to speak with the owner. If my demands are met, I'll let her go. If not, you'll be scraping up human entrails from here to that wall." She briefly took the gun away from the hostage's neck and pointed to the distanced wall of about twenty paces. "It's up to you, sport. What's it gonna be?"

Bodniker's left hand reached for his radio and called to his colleague. "Nazinsky, come in, this is Bodniker."

"What's up?" a timid voice answered.

"Call the cops and tell them to wait outside. The kidnapper's ordered this-any deviation could mean a bad end for our hostage."

"I was just on the line with them. They just got here."

"She also wants to talk to Mr. Stewart," Bodniker sighed.

"And you've got exactly thirty seconds to get him on a radio, or she'll be pushing up daisies faster than you can get a twenty-dollar blow job," the brunette assured the rather shocked sentry. "Clock's ticking as of now."

"Please don't hurt me," the silver-haired woman pleaded.

"You've got ten seconds left before I pull the trigger, asshole. What's it gonna be?" The angry woman's gun suddenly flew back to the senior citizen's flesh. Bodniker's face was complete paranoia; he yelled into his walkie talkie to his partner. The other guards removed their stun guns, and before any of them could stop her, she shoved the captive to the ground and shot herself in the heart.

As the kidnapper collapsed into a bloody mess on the marbled floor, the power in the museum suddenly disappeared. The emergency floodlights didn't even come on. "Nazinsky, get those cops in here now!" Bodniker shouted. "Nazinsky?!"

I-90, Downtown Boston

March 30th, 1999, 11:18 p.m.

"So apparently, everyone understands the benefit that the pewter fish receives. And then he said next, 'but no one is exactly sure of what the sea cucumber gets out of it'," Mulder recounted his dangerous gutter humor to the annoyed but ever present Scully. When no laughter escaped her expression, he knew he had gone too far this time. "In case you missed it, Scully, that was a joke," he reminded her and switched lanes to pass a slower moving semi in front of them.

"I'm well aware of that, Mulder." She yawned and buried herself back into the map of Boston.

"It was even a scientific joke. I'd figure you of all people would be rolling over on the floor."

"Well, I'm not in the mood for jokes right now, Mulder."

"What are you in the mood for? How about some David Sanborn?" His right hand went to reach for the radio; but her perturbed scowl told him otherwise.

"What would I be in the mood for? Hmm...how about a full night's sleep? Or rather, a day off from trouncing about the country looking for conspiracies, monsters, and UFOs for once?"

"Hey, well, don't blame me this time. I'm wondering why this case could be warranted as an X-File. This looks like just another rip-off from a museum," Mulder shrugged. "Orders are orders from AD Skinner, you know."

"Orders that you follow so impetuously."

"I detect a slight hint of sardonic humor, Agent Scully. I thought you weren't in the mood for a joke."

"Savvy and satirical one liners can be tastefully inserted into intelligent conversations. Stories that last longer than two minutes and don't come to a point, however, are a lost cause."

"Just trying to keep you awake."

"Then maybe the music wasn't such a bad idea. And where is this museum, anyway?" Scully lamented to herself while trying to read the map with a flashlight.

"Oh, we're not headed there yet. While you were buying that map at the gas station, I got a call from the Lieutenant. He's got a couple of witnesses waiting to speak to us down at the police station first."

"And you were planning to tell me this when? I am supposed to be navigating you, aren't I?"

"We got to the topic eventually, didn't we?" Her silence was enough of a rebuke that he glanced over and gave her a sheepish, apologetic smile. "Okay, Scully, tell me your thoughts about the case. We always go over mine first and how ridiculous they might possibly be, so this time, it's your turn."

"Well, it sounded a little bit more heinous than a 'rip-off' to me, Mulder. Someone stole a painting-no wait, several paintings were stolen. 4 Impressionists from an exhibition." She double checked the X-File and subsequently dropped the map.

"Go on."

"And like you, I see no consequential evidence that makes this case paranormal whatsoever. Wait, scratch that...-" Scully turned a few pages of his handwritten notes and skimmed them over.

"Oh, that's Mozart to my ears, Scully."

"Are you gonna let me finish?"

"Sorry, go on, FBI woman."

"A suicide with no body." He made a short clicking sound with his tongue as if to say that she was right on the money. "According to the reports that Skinner has attached, the same incident has occurred both in New York and Chicago."

"What works of art were stolen there?"

"Van Gogh, Picasso, Cezanne, and Manet. These people certainly like turn of the century artists."

"I bet they're worth a hefty chunk of change, too." Mulder eyed the exit sign marked 'Congress Ave' and pulled into the farthest right lane to do so. "I think it's kind of silly to steal stuff like that, don't you? I mean, as soon as they try to sell the paintings, they're busted."

"I don't know, Mulder. You're the one who's supposed to get into the criminal's head. I just slice 'em and dice 'em. Maybe I'm just along for the ride this time."

"Hey, don't talk like that. When's the last time you did some investigative work instead of 'slicing and dicing'?" Scully thought for a moment, but he didn't wait for a reply. "I always welcome your approaches to a case, Scully. I never know what you're going to say next. Ah...that wasn't too hard to find." The Buick Le Sabre slowed down and came to a halt half a block away from Boston Police Department Precinct #5.

"Get your goddamned mits off of me!" A common enough looking miscreant screamed at the two officers that shoved him up the granite stairs and into the building. Mulder and Scully followed them from a distance, and he caught the door for her, gently leading her in with a hand at the small of her back.

"What've we got here?" an African American sergeant with a true Bostonian accent asked the policemen as they made their way up to the desk. Their uncooperative suspect looked no older than twenty and spun around to spit on his arresting officers.

"Attempted robbery and resisting arrest. When we got him, we found a nice big stash of this on him, too," one of the officers announced and pulled out a Ziploc bag packed full of marijuana from his coat pocket.

"Better get yourself a good lawyer, kid. All right, sit him down while I start the paperwork," the sergeant nodded in acceptance and removed a stack of forms from a drawer right beneath him. The policemen yanked the young criminal and flanked themselves next to him while they waited.

"Excuse me, Sgt. Cook? We're Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI. I believe Lieutenant Ashcroft has been expecting us," Mulder introduced the both of them and offered his identification to the surly cop.

"Yeah, what do you want, applause? He's back in the interrogation room number two. Walk all the way past these desks and down the hall. You'll see a big silver coffee maker on your right. It's just a few feet away." Cook moved slightly to open the hatch door camouflaged by a banister for them and continued on with his work as if nothing had happened.

"I've heard of this famous New England hospitality, Scully. Guess we just experienced it," Mulder mumbled as they made their way toward the Lieutenant. Ashcroft was the classic bulky type of person Mulder would have picked to be a detective; his demeanor, however, was not exactly how he imagined it. Seconds after Ashcroft saw his company, he stopped the tape recorder and swiftly made his way to exit the room. "Lieutenant Ronald Ashcroft? Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully." Mulder again took the initiative.

"It's a pleasure, I'm sure. Thanks for coming up to humor me," Ashcroft sighed as he shook hands with both agents and unbuttoned his cuffs. The coarse timbre of his voice was nearly identical to that of the famous Inspector Harry Callahan. "I'm questioning a Dominic Williams as of this moment, witness number six to this lovely theft. And the worst part of it is that everyone thinks I'm wasting my time with him."

All three spectators took a moment away from the conversation to stare in at the man. He appeared to be about six one, was clean-shaven, dressed in a well-tailored brown suit, and sported a pair of sunglasses. "Regardless of what my colleagues say, I think they have something extra to make up for what they don't have. A sixth sense, if you will," Ashcroft continued.

"Technically, it'd be number five," Scully told him with a smirk. "What is it that this witness has to offer that's any different from say, the live hostage that was taken five and a half hours ago?"

"I'm not sure yet. I just barely got his name and residence when you guys got here. You're welcome to stay and listen if you'd like."

"Actually, Lieutenant, we'd like to participate," Mulder interjected, "if you don't mind."

"No problem. I did ask for some help from the feds, and I appreciate your willingness to come here so quickly." Ashcroft opened the wooden door, and Mulder and Scully got their first true look at Williams' face. "Mr. Williams, these are FBI agents Mulder and Scully."

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Williams," Mulder reached his hand toward the man, but he recoiled, much to both his and Scully's surprise.

"Flu season's still around, sorry," Dominic stated tersely and set his hands back into his lap. "I'd like to get this over with if you don't mind, Lieutenant."

"Of course. Thanks for your help, by the way." Ashcroft started the tape machine once again, and Mulder meandered his way into the chair across from Williams.

"Please describe the incident for us, Mr. Williams," Mulder began the interrogation.

"I believe it occurred just north of the exhibition hall...I heard yelling and shouting. So I traveled into the room, completely unaware of the altercation betwixt a woman and what probably was security."

"And then what happened?" Lt. Ashcroft pressed.

Dominic's eyes were hidden behind the glasses, but Scully swore that she could have seen them peering right into hers. "She demanded to speak with the owner or else she'd kill her captive. The woman sounded quite disturbed, like she had been through hell in the previous day. And now, thanks to her, I'm arguably experiencing the same emotion right now." He fidgeted around in the seat and folded his fingers together.

"Could you explain this disturbance in her tone?" Mulder inquired as both Ashcroft and Scully gave him curious expressions.

"Are you going to hog the whole interrogation for yourself, or are you going to let her ask some questions?" Dominic motioned his head directly over to Scully, to which she was incredulous. "No need to ask why or how I knew, Agents, I'll tell you. Simply put, I know what a lady smells like. Three distinct scents walked into the room just a few moments ago, and only one of them was pleasant. And unfortunately, it's not right in front of me."

Mulder cringed and made a fleeting glance over to Scully, who now seemed intent upon analyzing the features of Dominic Williams' face as he spoke with a soothing tone. Her expression had flared up for a few seconds while he described his observations, but now it was the usual scrutinizing stare. He lost himself into her stormy irises and commenced to wonder to himself why he hadn't noticed which perfume she was wearing today until Williams snapped him out of his reverie.

"Yes, it's true that I can't see. But I can sense things where sighted people cannot."

"Can you elaborate on that, Mr. Williams?" Scully finally spoke dubiously.

"Alas, it's never quite been something that I could...put my thumb on. To be honest, I'm quite happy not to be able to see. I'm an observer, and I like to assimilate pieces of the puzzle together to get a complete picture in order to understand that person. That way, I won't get any nasty surprises along the way-and that's where being sighted can be a person's downfall. To answer Agent Mulder's previous question, there was more fear than anything else in this woman's voice. She was spiteful, perhaps because of a fallout with an employer. I had a feeling that she wasn't going to execute her hostage from the last few sentences she spoke. There was a desperation, a plea for help there."

"So could you smell this 'so-called suicide victim's' perfume, too?" Ashcroft sneered.

"Of course. She was probably on the brink of bankruptcy, too-Elizabeth Taylor, White Diamonds. Very strong, very striking for a woman to wear-shows that she's not afraid of her femininity. Perhaps that was why she was wearing it today-she wanted to be noticed."

"Pardon be for being frank, Mr. Williams, but do you have a degree in psychology?" Mulder questioned him, to which Dominic gave a wide smile.

"Or rather, a bachelor's of fragrances?" Ashcroft joked.

"I told you before, I'm an observer. That is why you asked for me to remain, Lieutenant, isn't it? Very few police officers would take my testimony into consideration for some rather obvious reasons."

"Let's get back to those reasons, Mr. Williams," Scully pressed on firmly.

"I can tell you that she was wearing heels. And that she dyed her hair recently. There were a couple of other things that I can tell you about her voice, now that I remember. She had a Midwestern accent, which was highly educated and fully mature."

Great, that only narrows down our suspect list to age 26 and up, Scully thought.

"And to six states," Williams murmured to himself.

"Excuse me?" Mulder interjected. A knock to the questioning room drew Ashcroft outside for a few moments while both FBI agents continued on with Williams. "What were you saying, Mr. Williams?"

"Nothing, I was just...finishing up a thought," Dominic answered ruefully and reached for the white baton resting on the table. He squeezed the bottom and whipped out a full length cane.

"Neat trick. Do you think I could find one of those on E-bay?" Mulder quipped, looking to Scully for some support. She merely rolled her eyes and strolled over to stop the recorder.

"If you look hard enough, I'm sure you will. And like I said, sometimes not being able to see can be a blessing. I saw some things occurring today that will probably take years for some people to realize. Good day to you, Agent Mulder...Agent Scully." Williams arose from his seat, felt his way for the door, and brushed past a very aesthetically pleasing woman. "My apologies," he said curtly and continued on down the hallway.

The woman wore a black pin striped suit, and Mulder had to admit to himself that that wasn't the only remarkable thing about her. Her chestnut eyes almost beckoned him to completely truncate himself from reality, but her face told him that her priorities were business before pleasure. The closed mouth beam she gave him was almost too much for him to bear.

"Agent Fox Mulder." He held out his hand quickly to the woman; she accepted it warmly.

"Katherine Lloyd, Chesapeake Bay Mutual. How do you do?" She had a rich and sensuous texture in her voice, that which Scully found extremely irritating. She already was forming ideas in her head about this woman-but she shrugged them away to introduce herself.

"Agent Scully." Scully found herself neglecting to mention her first name, but that did not seem to bother Lloyd one bit. Neither female moved towards the other for a further greeting; the primitive instinct of territoriality and alpha domination had begun through awkward stares.

"Nice to meet you, I'm sure. Well, to get all the formalities out of the way, I'm here to investigate this third hit on a relatively profitable museum. And I could actually use some assistance from the FBI, if you don't mind."

"No, we don't mind at all," Mulder replied hastily with a flashy but partially goofy smile. "Have you been to the museum yet?"

"Uh, I just flew in from Pittsburgh. Hence the business suit-didn't have time to change on the plane. I've been following this chain of burglaries from Chicago. We specialize in insurance for timeless art as well as of all things, vintage automobiles. I hope we'll be able to help each other out." Lloyd retrieved an electronic piece of equipment about the size of a large paperclip from her leather attaché case and let Mulder examine it. Scully moved closer to the table but kept her distance. "I'm not exactly sure of what it is, but all of the paintings missing had these things attached to the back of the frames."

"They left the frames?" Scully wondered in astonishment.

"Well, obviously, those aren't the original ones. It's a common practice for a piece of art, especially if it's being shipped around the world for exhibitions. It's hard enough for the original canvases to be transported. Sure the boxes are labeled 'handle with care' and 'fragile', but accidents do happen," Lloyd sighed and crossed her legs.

"I know where I can have this checked out, but I'd need to have it for a couple of days. Is that okay?" Mulder held up the little device while still musing over it.

"Not a problem, Agent Mulder. Now, I'm not exactly a detective, but never the less, I have a theory about how these miraculous robberies occur...during daylight hours even. It's all done through misdirection."

"These thieves were able to hoodwink the security guards and even the police. All right, I'll buy that. How do they do it?" Mulder's digits gave the telltale sign that he was honestly thinking; he started to stroke his upper lip with his middle and index fingers.

"I haven't been able to take a look at the security footage because, well, I'm not an official investigator. Even though both of those museums are our biggest clients, they claim that I'm not authorized. Oh, those were some really nasty phone calls." She glanced away from the agents and bit her lip. "But they certainly couldn't refuse the FBI, could they?" Lloyd turned and gave Mulder another inside melting grin. His partner closed her eyes and pursed her lips with disdain. The peevish stare came back again as her arms folded across her white blouse.

"I'm still waiting to hear this theory, Ms. Lloyd." Scully nearly spat those words out and caught control of herself...to behave like a lady should.

"Well, obviously, this last time, it was a kidnapping and a suicide. In New York, it was a bomb threat. In Chicago, a seizure and the fire alarm. They're getting better. And our clients have threatened to report us against the Better Business Bureaus if we don't pay up immediately. Well, time's running out for me; I have forty eight hours to find out who did this."

"We weren't previously on a time constraint, Ms. Lloyd. But we'll do everything in our power that we can, and move as humanly fast as possible," Mulder assured her.

"Not to be rude, Agent Mulder, but Assistant Director Skinner's waiting for our progress field report. A private report," Scully cut in just when things were about to become interesting for Mulder. "And we do need to check into our hotel before it's too late."

"Can we offer you a lift to yours?" Mulder arose and walked over to the door. He opened it and held it as Lloyd stood. She collected a white trench coat from a rack nearby and began to slide it on when Mulder took hold of the coat to help her.

"Oh, how kind, Agent Mulder. No, I've got a rental, but thank you just the same. Good evening to you both," Lloyd picked up her attaché case and nearly collided with Scully on the way out. "Oh, excuse me."

"Excuse me," Scully mumbled harshly and backed out of her way into the door.