Hi, this is my first X-Files fanfic. I hope that if anybody reads it that you enjoy it. I always like reviews. Also, this story contains some slight spoilers for season 5. Enjoy!
I don't own X-Files or any other characters: they belong to Chris Carter. I simply like to create adventures for them.
Like Shattered Glass
The voice over the PA system woke me out of my doze, and I sat up with a small yawn. I listened closely, but the flight that the female voice was announcing wasn't the one I wanted. After the voice went off the air, I looked around for my partner. He wasn't anywhere to be seen in the Dulles International Airport terminal. Just great: I doze off for a few minutes and he disappears on me. If he didn't be careful, he was going to make us miss our flight to Atlanta. For a moment I considered calling him on my cell phone, but then I changed my mind. Mulder was a grown man, and a Federal agent for Pete's sake - if he couldn't keep track of time, then he deserved to miss his flight.
"Hey Scully," Mulder said from directly behind me, and I turned around to look at him. He was holding a bag of sunflower seeds and another bag of chips.
"Where have you been?" I asked as he sat back down beside me.
"To get a snack. Here, I got the chips for you." Mulder held the bag of chips out to me.
"Do you have any idea how much grease and salt are in those things?"
"A lot; that's why they're good. But hey, if you don't want them, no skin off my nose."
My stomach grumbled, reminding me that we had been sitting here longer than we were supposed to have been, and that I had missed lunch. I grudgingly held out my hand and Mulder the dropped the bag into it with a grin.
We both sat in the terminal seats, crunching away on our snacks. Every once in a while, Mulder would glance at his watch in impatience. After about the fifth glance, his foot started tapping, and then his fingers started tapping on his knee.
"Mulder, would you quite fidgeting?" I half asked, half ordered. There were times when I found that twitching and moving very annoying, and this was one of those times. It made me want to fidget, and as a rule, I didn't fidget.
"Why?" he asked, with a cheeky grin.
"Because, it's distracting."
"Hey, why don't you try fidgeting? It'll help pass the time," he told me, and then looked at his watch again. He frowned and tapped it, then held it up to his ear. "It's not dead. Why aren't we on that plane yet?"
"Because the flight was delayed, Mulder," I explained to him, almost as if I was explaining the situation to a six year old.
"I just wanna get this case over with," he grumbled.
"Why?" I asked. "So we can go back to moonlighting?" My voice held a slightly peevish tone, and it didn't go unnoticed by Mulder.
"We are not moonlighting, Scully. We are doing a job that needs to be done. We're looking for the truth," he very quickly pointed out, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
Ever since the basement office had caught fire and we had been taken off the X-Files, we had been running around like two possessed fanatics whenever we weren't specifically assigned to something. It was starting to wear my nerves thin, but Mulder never got tired of it. It was my personal opinion that sometimes he liked it even better than just being permanently assigned to the X-Files. It was the thrill of the chase, or something like that. Mulder was determined to find the truth, no matter what, even if he had to break a few rules, and push a few boundaries.
"Mulder, we are moonlighting," I argued. "Moonlighting is when someone works another job in addition to the one he already has, and that is what we are doing."
Mulder gave a shrug, then said, "It's necessary Scully. Somebody's gotta do it, and that's us."
This time I couldn't resist rolling my eyes and sighing. Mulder wouldn't be convinced any other way, no matter what anyone said: I had resigned myself to that fact sometime ago.
The female voice again came on the air, and this time she was announcing our flight number, departing through Gate A-10, to Atlanta, Georgia. The first class passengers boarded first, and then it was our turn to board the Boeing 737. I knew Mulder didn't really care for economy class seating; there wasn't a lot of room for his long legs. Unfortunately, the FBI was quite convinced that agents don't require comfort.
We stuffed our carry-on bags into the overhead compartments, and then seated ourselves. Our seats were just in front of the wing, so at least if we looked out, we could see something other than the wing.
"Someday, just for the heck of it, I'm gonna fly first class," Mulder grumbled as he settled himself into his seat. "It's a lot more comfortable up there, and the food's a lot better. Plus you get better service."
"They serve the same food in economy as they do in first class," I said, but Mulder shook his head.
"No they don't. I've been in first class and it's better up there."
"Mulder, you're a psychologist. You should know that it's just a matter of the mind. You're paying more money, the seats are bigger, so therefore the food is better, but it's really not, it's just your imagination."
"I'm tellin' you Scully, it's not just a matter of the mind," Mulder protested.
"I've been in first class too, Mulder, and the food isn't any better," I countered.
"Yes it is."
This conversation was going to start getting ridiculous in about a minute, so I decided to end it.
"From my experience Mulder, it isn't any better. Maybe your experience was different."
"Yeah, it was."
I buckled my seat belt and looked out the window, as a sign that this conversation was over. Thankfully, Mulder got the hint.
During the whole time we were taxiing and taking off, I sat rigid in my seat. I never liked flying, and I always kept a tight grip on the armrests as the plane lifted off the ground into the air. Sometimes I felt myself actually pulling up on the armrest, trying to lift the plane off the ground. I knew it was absurd, but it made me feel a little better.
"Well, I guess we better look over the case file," Mulder said with a heavy sigh, and I looked over at him with surprise.
"You mean you haven't even looked at it yet?" I asked, my voice betraying my surprise. Usually, Mulder was the one who brought me up to speed on a case.
"I been busy," he mumbled.
"Yeah, I'll bet," I remarked rather sarcastically. "Are you going to get the file, or do I have to?"
"I'll get it." Mulder got the file out of his briefcase and flipped it open, causing papers to flutter to the floor of the airplane. "Sorry," he said, giving a rather sheepish grin and picking up the scattered papers. He started reading to himself, and then said out loud, "Well, it says here that we're going to investigate the shooting death of a man named Phillip Monterale. He was found dead in his suite at Peachtree Apartments. The official coroner's report shows that cause of death is six bullets from a .44 Magnum, and at the moment the Atlanta PD is unable to trace the gun to its owner," Mulder paused for breath and then said, "This is a cut and dry case. Why'd the PD call in the FBI?"
"Well," I began, "I did some checking on Mr. Monterale before we left, and it turns out that he has a record in the federal courts. Back in 1986, he was brought up on charges of drug trafficking and illegal liquor production, and -"
"Bootlegging?" Mulder interrupted, and I nodded.
"Yeah, bootlegging. He was charged with illegal sale of the liquor, but the charges were dropped because of insufficient evidence to tie him to the crimes. However, several of his buyers went down for buying illegal liquor, but none of them could testify that it was Monterale who was the seller.'
"What about the drug charges?"
"When the DEA arrested him, it was on the word of an informant, but when it came to the arraignment, they were unable to produce the informant, and those charges were dropped as well."
"Sounds like one lucky son of gun. Nobody could touch him."
"Well, until now."
"I still don't know why the PD called us."
"This could turn out to be an interstate investigation."
"If we find something to charge his killer federally on other than murder, is the city of Atlanta willing to give us the murderer?"
"They haven't made that clear as of right now."
"They better."
I had to smile at Mulder's vehemence, but I also had to agree with him. If we could put some criminal away on multiple federal charges that would keep him locked away longer than just a murder charge, then the city of Atlanta better let us charge federally.
Several hours later, we touched down in Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International, and the plane taxied to Concourse A, and then the passengers disembarked. Mulder and I made our way through the world's busiest airport to the baggage claim, but we had to wait about fifteen minutes before our bags came through.
"I wonder if we get anyone to meet us," said Mulder, looking through the swarms of people. "Or are they just gonna let us find our own way around Atlanta?"
"C'mon Mulder, let's go see if we can get a rental car," I suggested to my crabby partner. Why couldn't he just treat this like any other case? Oh wait, this wasn't any other case, this was a normal case.
"Excuse me, are you Agents Mulder and Scully?" came from a female voice behind us, and Mulder and I turned around to see a young woman looking at us.
Mulder smiled and stuck out his hand, saying, "Yeah, I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder and this is Special Agent Dana Scully."
The young woman returned the smile warmly and shook Mulder's hand, then mine. "Nice to meet you both. I'm APD Detective Nicole Beaumont. I'm the one who requested the FBI send some agents down to assist with the case."
"How'd you find us?" Mulder asked curiously. "And out of all these people, how'd you recognize us?"
"Gut hunch, plus the fact that you're both wearing those federal trench coats," Detective Beaumont replied with a grin that reached all the way to her warm brown eyes.
"Federal trench coats?" Mulder asked with a grin.
"Yeah, my dad used to say he could always tell who the Feds were because they all wore the same type of trench coats."
"Pretty good observation."
"Yeah, my dad was a pretty observant guy. So have you guys been briefed on the case, or at least read the file I faxed you?"
"We read the file," I answered, and Detective Beaumont smiled again.
"Good," she said. "How 'bout I take you out to the crime scene now, then you can get checked into a hotel. You both want to get a jump on this case, right?"
"Oh, definitely," responded Mulder, and I quickly glanced up at him. Something in his face told me that he wasn't going to hate this assignment anymore. I heaved a silent sigh. No matter how cranky Mulder got, he could always brighten up when he saw a good looking woman, and Detective Beaumont was a very attractive woman.
"So, how long have you two worked for the FBI?" Detective Beaumont asked as we drove through Atlanta to our crime scene.
"I've given eleven years of my life to the Federal government," Mulder replied with a grin.
"How 'bout you, Agent Scully?"
"Six years," I told Detective Beaumont.
"Do you guys like it? I mean, is it satisfying work?"
I almost had to laugh at her question. Was it satisfying? I hadn't done anything I expected to when I joined the FBI. For the last five years of my life, I had been assigned to the most bizarre unit I'd ever heard of, and I worked with a man driven by a mission. Just three weeks ago, all our work had gone up in flames, leaving behind nothing but ashes and what information that was in Mulder's photographic memory. Everything he'd worked for was gone, and now we couldn't even start over. Was the work satisfying? Was it even worth all that we'd been through; all that I'd been through?
"Scully?"
I jumped slightly when Mulder called my name. He was looking back at me from the front seat.
"What?" I asked.
"We're here," he told me, and I nodded as my mouth made a small, silent, "Oh". I hadn't heard even what Mulder had told Detective Beaumont. And maybe that was a good thing.
Mr. Monterale's suite in Peachtree Apartments was on the 17th floor of the building, but the elevator was a fast one and it didn't take us that long to reach our destination.
There was yellow police tape across the door, and two of Atlanta's uniformed finest were standing on either side of it, making sure no one could entered and disturb any evidence that there might be.
It looked like Mr. Monterale had lived well. The living room of the suite was huge, and luxurious. The walls were a light brown color, with darker wood around the door frames, and the furniture was leather. There was a huge television on the one side of the room and a mini bar on the other.
I did a lot of quick observing as Detective Beaumont led us through the apartment to Mr. Monterale's bedroom. The bedroom was lighter in coloring, mostly creams and light golds. It had a decidedly feminine touch to it. The bed was large and surrounded by lacy, peach colored curtains, with lots of little pillows.
"I take it from the bed," Mulder said with a slight smirk, "that there was a woman who lived here."
"You would be correct Agent Mulder," replied Detective Beaumont, also smiling.
"You know, so long as we're working together, you might as well drop the Agent, and just call me Mulder," he offered.
"Well, you can call me Nicole," she told him. It seemed to me that she accented her speech a little more than it already was, but then, that was just me.
"Has a weapon been found yet?" I asked, interrupting the little look they were sharing. They both jumped slightly and looked over at me, and I raised an eyebrow, waiting for Nicole's reply.
"No, not as of yet. We do know that the bullets were .44 caliber, but we haven't been able to trace the gun," said Nicole, and I nodded. That much we already knew.
"So who's the woman in this story?" Mulder asked curiously.
"Alexis Monterale. She's Phillip Monterale's much younger wife," Nicole told us.
"How much younger?" I questioned.
"Thirty years difference."
Mulder gave a whistle, and I just shook my head. The woman must've married Monterale for money, that's all I could figure.
"So just how much was Mr. Monterale worth, anyway?" asked Mulder.
"Well, including the properties he owned, and the income from his businesses, he was worth about six hundred million,"
"Wow!" Mulder exclaimed. "And so, who all gets that money?"
"He left everything he owned to Alexis," Nicole stated with a pointed look.
"So you think that the wife is the murderer?" I asked. "You don't have any other suspects that you might be considering?"
"Well, there's a lot that leads the APD to believe that Mrs. Monterale is a possibility for a prime suspect," Nicole began to explain. "About two weeks ago, she and her husband were seen fighting in the hallway. It got so loud and vicious that their neighbors called us in. Of course, nobody pressed charges, and we assumed they made up. But two nights before Mr. Monterale was killed, their neighbors heard them fighting again in the elevator."
"That doesn't make Mrs. Monterale a prime suspect," I disagreed. "I read Mr. Monterale's file, and it seems to me that there are a lot of people that would want him dead. For instance, the buyers of the illegal liquor he was selling back in 1986. Many of them went down for charges, and they couldn't cut a deal with the Federal prosecutor because they weren't sure that it was him they bought from. Have you checked how many of them are out of prison by now?"
Nicole shook her head with a slight smile. "I know about Mr. Monterale's past record and business dealings, but I also know that Mrs. Monterale happens to own a .44 Magnum, which she says is out at the home she and Mr. Monterale owned near Bond Swamp."
"Do you have people looking for that gun?"
"Yes, we do, but they haven't turned anything up at the moment."
"Where is Mrs. Monterale at the moment? I'd like to talk to her."
"She's staying at a friend's apartment, about three blocks from here."
"After Agent Mulder and I are finished here, I would like it if you would take us to talk to her."
"I can do that," Nicole agreed.
As I turned to start looking over the room, I caught Mulder giving me a funny look, but I couldn't decipher it. So, I just decided to dismiss the look and get on with the investigation.
Beside a large bay window there was a dark red blood stain on the cream colored carpet, and the area where Monterale's body had been was taped out in the original position. It was about halfway between the window and the bed. From what I could tell, he had been lying on his face, with his arms and legs spread eagle when his body had been found. It looked like he had fallen that way when he had been shot, so he'd probably been shot in the back. There was blood spatter on the white chair in front of him, and also on the bedspread, near the head of the bed. It was also on the walls around the chair, and on the night stand and lamp.
"Hey, take a look at this Scully," Mulder motioned me over to the wall behind the chair. "See, I count four bullet holes in the wall."
"The file said six bullets were fired," I said, and then turned to Nicole. "Did your crime scene investigators recover the four bullets from the wall?"
"Yeah. Right now they're at the crime lab."
"Did the other two bullets stay in Mr. Monterale?" asked Mulder, and Nicole nodded in the affirmative. He went back to analyzing the wall. "It's an erratic pattern," he said to me. "See, it starts down, but then it goes up, then up a little bit more, then way down. It's weird."
"It is. I'd like to talk the coroner and see just how many bullets it took to kill Monterale."
"Okay, we'll do that after we talk to Mrs. Monterale."
We looked around the bedroom a little more, but other than the blood and bullet holes, there didn't seem to be a whole lot of interest or help. Mulder went through the nightstand drawers, and I went through the desk drawers to see if there was anything that the Atlanta PD had missed, but there wasn't, so we moved onto the bathroom.
The bathroom was about as big as the bedroom. The bathtub was built for two people, and big enough for me to swim in. There was also a separate shower stall, and 'his' and 'her' sinks in front of a lighted mirror.
As Mulder looked around, he let out another low whistle. "I'd say Monterale spent a lot of his money on his living arrangements," he remarked as he started to search the large chestnut colored armoire.
"Yeah, he did spend a lot of money on his living arrangements, and his vehicles," Nicole said, leaning against the door frame. "He also spent a lot of money on Alexis; you know, clothes, jewelry, cars, trips, shopping sprees, stuff of that nature."
"Did Alexis get an allowance?" Mulder questioned.
"No," replied Nicole, "she didn't. She had her own account that a part of the profits of his businesses went into, and if she ever needed more money for any reason, she could draw from his accounts at any time."
"But now that her husband is gone it's all her's," said Mulder.
The Atlanta PD had done a good job of finding anything that might be evidence, so it didn't take us very long to go over the bathroom, or the rest of the apartment for that matter. All told, the time we spent at the apartment came to about an hour.
Nicole suggested that we just drive up to see Mrs. Monterale, even though the place she was staying was only three blocks away. It would save us from having to walk back to the car, and it would also save us time. Mulder and I both agreed to the idea, so about ten minutes later, we were heading up to the 20th floor residence of Tiffany Perkins, the friend Mrs. Monterale was staying with.
A willowy young woman answered Nicole's sharp rap on the door, and stood looking at us with a rather haughty expression on her face.
"Yes?" she asked, and we all got out our badges as Nicole introduced us and told her we wanted to speak with Mrs. Monterale.
"I believe you've bothered Mrs. Monterale quite enough," said the young woman, and began to close the door, but Nicole stuck her foot in it.
"Miss Perkins, this is a murder investigation, and Mrs. Monterale is the widow of the victim. She might be able to tell us something now that she wasn't able to tell us on the night of her husband's death. We need to get all the information we possibly can."
Miss Perkins narrowed her blue eyes at us slightly: she seemed to be considering whether or not to let us in. Finally, she sighed, opened the door and motioned for us to come.
"Thanks," said Mulder with one of his most charming smiles, and Miss Perkins seemed to relax slightly. In fact, she even smiled at us. Well, mostly at Mulder.
"It might be a few minutes before you can talk to Mrs. Monterale. She's lying down right now, but I'll go get her," Miss Perkins told us, and then she disappeared back a long hallway. Almost immediately she came hurrying back.
"Please excuse my poor manners," she said, smiling sheepishly. "Why don't you all have a seat in the living room? It's right in here."
I thanked her as she led us into the living room, and then she went to get Mrs. Monterale.
"Well, you certainly know how to charm people," Nicole remarked to Mulder and he grinned.
"It's one of my better qualities," he said, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. He was definitely trying to charm Nicole, and so far it looked like she wasn't immune to his charm.
"Detective Beaumont, I thought you'd gotten everything you needed when you talked to me the other night," a cool voice interrupted the interaction between Mulder and Nicole, and we all looked up to see a tall, pale young woman standing in the doorway of the living room.
"Mrs. Monterale, this is Special Agent Mulder and Special Agent Scully from the FBI," Nicole explained. "I called them down here to help me with the case, and they'd like to talk to you, if that's alright."
Mrs. Monterale sat down on the light blue sofa, and studied us with sad green eyes. Then she spoke: "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to catch my husband's killer, and if that means more talking, so be it."
"Thank you," said Nicole, then she and Mulder looked over at me. I supposed that it was going to be me doing the main questioning, since I was the one who had suggested it in the first place.
"Mrs. Monterale, I'm sure you've already gone over the night your husband was murdered with Detective Beaumont, but if you can handle it, I'd like to go over it again," I said to her.
"I'll be alright," she assured me.
"Well, just run me through whatever you can remember."
"Well, I went out with my friend Tiffany, along with two other of my girlfriends. We were celebrating Tiffany's birthday, so we went to the restaurant in the Westin Hotel, because that's where Heather had booked the party. We got there about seven-thirty and we didn't leave until about twelve midnight," Mrs. Monterale recited.
"Did you have anything to drink?" I asked.
"No, I didn't. Tiffany and Heather and Karen did, but I didn't."
I thought that was a little strange, and I could see that Mulder thought so too when I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, but I decided not to question her about it, at least not for the moment.
"Anyway, I got home around twelve-thirty. It was dark, and everything was quiet when I got in." At this point her voice started to break, and a few tears slipped down her cheeks, but she managed to keep herself under control. "I went into the bedroom and I turned on the light, but Phil wasn't in bed, he wasn't in the bathroom. And then I smelled something metallic, and I don't know, I guess I started to panic. I'd always heard that's what a lot of blood smells like, metallic. But I didn't see any blood, but then I looked on the other side of the bed, and, and, and I saw Phil. He was just laying there, and there was all this blood. I started screaming, and I couldn't stop screaming. It had to be some sort of nightmare, b-b-but it wasn't," she whimpered, and then she started crying softly.
Tiffany crossed over to the sofa and took Alexis in her arms, gently stroking her back and comforting her.
After a few minutes, Alexis had herself back under control, and Mulder asked, "Can you remember which way the, what position Phil was in when you saw him on the floor."
"He was lying on his face, and his arms and legs were spread eagle," Alexis sniffed, wiping her eyes.
"Thanks, that helps," he said.
"Well, that's all I have for now," I said, looking at Nicole and Mulder to see if they had anything. They both shook their heads, and I said, "If we have any more questions, can we reach you here?"
"Yes, yes of course."
"Thanks for you help. And we're very sorry for your loss."
Mrs. Monterale nodded, and then Nicole said we'd show ourselves out.
"If I were you," said Mulder as we stepped out into the warm afternoon sunshine, "I'd put Mrs. Monterale at the top of my suspect list."
"Because she could tell us what position the body was in," Nicole declared.
"Yep. People who have a traumatic experience usually can't remember specific details without some sort of help, and she could remember specific details about the body."
"Mulder, just because she could remember those details doesn't mean she killed her husband," I disagreed and both Mulder and Nicole looked at me questioningly. "It's not a given standard that everyone can't remember specific details."
"Look Scully, she had motive, means, and opportunity," Mulder reasoned.
"Also, the fact that Monterale was in the bedroom, and lying face down beside the bed suggests that he knew his killer, and that he wouldn't ever suspect the person if he was in the same room with them," added Nicole. "He was facing away from the killer when he was shot."
I studied Mulder's face, and his expression told me that was the position he took. I gave a silent sigh. Once again, he and I were on opposite sides of a theory, and this time he had all the evidence to support his theory. But didn't my gut feeling count for something? Maybe all the evidence was against Mrs. Monterale, but I didn't believe she had killed her husband. However, I wasn't going to stand on a hot, sunny sidewalk in the middle of down town Atlanta and argue with my partner about who might be right.
"I'd like to talk the coroner who performed the autopsy," was the only thing I said.
"Sure, definitely," Nicole motioned for us to get into the car, and we headed through the afternoon traffic to the city morgue.
It never failed to amaze me that no matter where I went, every morgue was basically the same. They all had the same basic interior design, the same lighting. They all sounded the same, and basically the same type of people worked there. And they all had the same smell: antiseptically sterile. There actually wasn't a whole lot to smell except chemicals, but there in a way you could almost smell death. It was more psychological than anything.
Nicole told us the chief medical examiner had done the autopsy, and that he was waiting to talk to us. She led us down the quiet halls to his office, and a short, round man answered the door at her knock.
"Dr. Burke, Special Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI," she introduced us, and the man held out his hand with a smile.
"Agents, I'm Dr. Cal Burke. Nice to meet you both. I presume you want to look at the body and the autopsy report?" he asked as he pumped our hands rapidly.
"Yes, we would," I replied, and he smiled again.
"Follow me please."
The truth be told, Dr. Burke reminded me a little of Frohike, except he wasn't as, well, crude. He actually seemed a little shy.
He was very quick with his hands though, I noticed, as he pulled out the drawer Mr. Monterale was on. Very quick, but very precise.
Dr. Burke handed me the folder with the autopsy report, and then stood back and watched us as we looked at the body. He stood there, blinking owlishly from behind huge, thick-rimmed glasses, and every once in a while he would point out something he thought was of importance.
"So according to your report," Mulder said, "Mr. Monterale was killed sometime between twelve and twelve-thirty?"
"That's right," Dr. Burke stated. "And every one of those six bullets hit him. One of the bullets nicked his left lung; the second one nicked his esophagus and shattered his breastbone on its exit from his body. The third bullet passed through his back and chest muscles, and the fourth bullet grazed his right kidney. The fifth bullet actually lodged in his right shoulder socket. By all rights, the man should've been dead by that fifth bullet, but he wasn't. It was the sixth and final bullet that killed him. It passed through the right side of his thigh, just about in the middle, hitting the femoral artery, and lodging in the femur. The blood loss is what killed him, and it was several minutes before he died."
Both Mulder and Nicole's eyes were wide, and I was even rather amazed. The man had been one tough guy.
"Just from what you told me, that shooting is pretty erratic, all over the place," Mulder said, and Nicole nodded in agreement.
"Well, I don't profile killers, I just find out what type of damage they did. But I'd hazard a guess to say whoever killed Mr. Monterale didn't have very good aim, or they didn't know what they were doing," Dr. Burke remarked dryly.
"I'd have to agree," I said.
We asked a few more questions, and then we all headed outside. Mulder was shaking his head, and Nicole raised an eyebrow quizzically.
"What?" she asked.
"This doesn't look good for Mrs. Monterale," he replied.
"No it doesn't," she agreed. "But I don't want to do anything until I have some more evidence."
"That's fine by me, but how much more evidence do we need?"
"Well, a murder weapon would be nice."
"Yeah, it would."
As they were talking, a thought suddenly struck me, and I asked almost sharply: "Did you test Mrs. Monterale's hand for gun shot residue?"
"Our forensics team did," Nicole informed me.
"Was the test positive?"
"No, it wasn't."
My eyes widened at this news. It hadn't been positive? And Nicole was just about ready to arrest Mrs. Monterale? Suddenly, certain things weren't making any sense to me.
"It wasn't positive?" I repeated incredousley. "Then how can you make all these assumptions?"
"I'm not making assumptions, Agent Scully. She probably washed her hands before calling the police. She certainly had time to hide the weapon in a place we haven't found. There's enough crime shows on television for her to realize that we would probably test for GSR when we got there, so she washed her hands."
"Did you test her clothing?"
"We took the clothes she was wearing back to the lab, and they tested."
"Did you find any GSR?"
"The lab hasn't called us yet."
I shook my head again in disbelief. This was all moving too fast in one direction and without enough evidence. Nicole was ready to be judge, jury and executioner, as well as investigator. And I was afraid Mulder was buying into the whole thing too.
"Look," I said slowly. "I know a lot of evidence points to Mrs. Monterale, but I would be more comfortable if we slowed down a little, and weren't so hasty in our judgments."
"Sure, we can slow down. And I'll be the first to admit that we are being hasty with the investigation, but there are a lot of reasons for that," Nicole admitted. "We don't want the press getting a hold of this and running away with it. I want it to be a clean investigation, but you're right, it does need to slow down and look at other possibilities."
Now I was even more disbelieving. In all the years I had ever worked with local law enforcement, I think this was the first time someone actually agreed that a federal agent was right without an argument. I managed to recover myself quickly though.
"Thank you," I said politely.
"Now, what happens next?" asked Mulder.
"Well, I think you two should probably get checked into your rooms and get yourselves a rental car."
"That's sound like a plan," Mulder agreed, and I nodded too.
So Nicole drove us to the hotel where we would be staying for the remainder of our time in Atlanta. It was more like a motel, but since it was just outside of downtown Atlanta it was about ten stories high.
Mulder and I checked in and were told we had adjoining rooms on the tenth floors. Nicole followed us up to our rooms, and sat in the chair in Mulder's room while we got settled in. Every once in a while, as I unpacked, I would glance through the open door at Mulder and Nicole. It seemed to me that they were discussing things other than the case because they were smiling, and occasionally, Nicole would laugh softly. At one point it looked like Mulder told her one of his jokes, and she found it funny. Yep, they were flirting. If a woman found one of Mulder's jokes funny enough to laugh at, then she had at least a small crush on him. I had seen enough of that over the years to know the signs and symptoms.
"Hey Mulder," I said coming into his room, "we need to get a rental car so that it won't cause problems when we need to split up."
"Yeah, we do. Nicole, do you know where the car rental is?"
"Sure. If you want, I'll take you guys there," she offered.
"That'd be great."
Nicole drove us out to a car rental shop, and we picked out our standard sedan, and signed for it. Then we had a little meeting in the parking lot.
"So, what next?" Mulder asked.
"Well, you guys are the Feds; do you wanna call the shots?" Nicole countered.
"Well, it's your town and investigation."
"But I called you guys into help."
"You tell us what you want our help with."
Now I couldn't help but roll my eyes. This was one of those sappy, "You hang up, No you hang up first" conversations. I decided that if neither of them were going to call it, I was.
"If Mr. Monterale had any business offices here in Atlanta, I'd like to take a look around in them," I told them. "Actually, while I'm at it, I'd like to go over his business transactions from the last month."
"Well, the only office Mr. Monterale has in Atlanta is his headquarters for his import/export business; Impo-Expo Inc," Nicole informed me.
"Then let's start there. I'd also like to talk to some of his associates and employees."
"That can be arranged."
"Good. Let's go."
"Uh, Scully," Mulder interrupted, and he looked at his watch rather pointedly. "It's already going on seven in the evening, and it's been a long day. Most people have probably gone home by now, or they're getting ready to. Maybe we should check Impo-Expo in the morning. 'Sides, I'm getting hungry."
I sighed, but I knew Mulder was right. People would have probably already gone home, and the ones still there would most likely be more open to talking in the morning, not when they were getting ready to go home.
"Yeah. We can go there first thing in the morning," I agreed.
"Sounds like a good plan to me," said Nicole. "Now, how about I take ya'll to get something to eat. I know this really nice restaurant near the precinct house; it's mostly cops there. It has a buffet, plus it's near your motel. And they serve breakfast."
"Alright. We'll follow you in our car," Mulder told her.
"I'm driving," I said, taking the keys off the hood of the car before he could. If I drove, I could concentrate on that instead of Mulder trying to convince me that Mrs. Monterale was the killer.
As soon as I was driving, Mulder started talking about everything that pointed towards Mrs. Monterale, but all I did was nod occasionally and give a brief, "Mm-hmm." Fortunately, it wasn't that long of a drive to the restaurant Nicole was taking us too, so I didn't have to do too much nodding and mumbling.
Nicole was right about the restaurant being nice. It was clean, and it didn't have a bad smell like some of the other restaurants I had been in before. There were tables and booths, and stools at the counter. The place had a cozy atmosphere.
"Do you want a booth or a table?" Nicole asked.
"Booth." "Table." Mulder and I spoke simultaneously, and Nicole chuckled.
"I think we should get a table," I said. "That way someone won't be in somebody else's way."
"Scully, I think a booth would be more private. That way we can discuss the case," Mulder disagreed.
"Well, it kinda looks like we have no choice but to get a booth," Nicole interjected, as she looked around. "I think all the tables are full."
Mulder was standing right next to me, and when it turned out that we had to get a booth anyway, I felt his whole body smile. But when he sat down on one side of the table, Nicole sat opposite of him. When I sat next to him, I could feel his disappointment. I knew his disappointment wasn't visible to Nicole, but it was to me, and that was because of all the time we spent together.
We ordered our food, and it didn't surprise me that Mulder picked the most artery-clogging meal on the menu. But it surprised me when Nicole ordered the same thing as he had: a double cheeseburger with bacon and fried onions and mushrooms, and fries. I always thought his choice of food was a little disgusting, but apparently Nicole shared his penchant for such things.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mulder raise an eyebrow when he heard me order a salad with chicken on it, and it irked me a little. He teased me about my decision to eat healthy food, but if he knew what was good for him, he'd better keep his mouth shut around Nicole.
While we waited for our food to arrive, Mulder asked Nicole how long she had been a detective.
"Almost seven years," she replied. "I was a patrol cop for three years before I became a detective."
"Do you have a partner?" I asked.
"No, not at the moment. My last partner was two years ago, but he got married and moved to Tallahassee. Since then I decided it was just easier to fly solo."
"I've always thought it was good to have a partner," I said. "You know, someone to watch your back."
"Well, it's probably best to have one in the FBI, but here, I can call for backup. When you guys are on assignment, it's generally just you," she commented. "By the way, how long have you two worked together?"
"Five years," Mulder replied, and Nicole's eyes widened.
"Five years? So, Agent Scully, Mulder's been your partner for almost the entire time you've been in the FBI?"
"Yes."
"You know, I don't think I've ever heard of anyone wanting to stay partnered together for that long. Anybody I've ever known has split up after about a couple of years."
"I guess it's different with me and Scully," said Mulder.
"Different? How so?" asked Nicole, and I groaned inwardly. I had just known she would be one of these people that once they start asking questions, they just can't stop.
"Scully and me, well, we've been through a lot together; I guess we've learned to trust each other. And once you learn to trust someone, you just want to keep that part of your life as a known quantity," Mulder explained.
"I can see what you mean. So, I guess then you've always worked in Violent Crimes?"
Mulder and I looked at each other, silently wondering together if we should tell her that we had worked another unit before this. We could just tell her that we worked a different unit, without saying what that unit was, but we both knew she would ask what unit. Mulder shrugged, and I figured he would just tell her.
"We worked in a unit called the X-Files, up until a couple weeks ago," he told her, and her eyes widened.
"You worked in the X-Files? I know about that unit. It investigates the paranormal," she exclaimed excitedly, and then her eyes widened even more. "Wait a minute! You're the Agent Fox Mulder? I've heard so much about you."
My eyebrow went up as right before our very eyes, Nicole turned from a calm, collected detective to an excited girl. I couldn't believe anybody would get that excited about meeting Spooky Mulder.
"Yeah, I'm Fox Mulder and I work in the X-Files," he said as if he was announcing to a therapy group that he was some sort of addict. "Well, I did until about three weeks ago. The X-Files was closed down when our office caught fire."
"Oh, I'm sorry, that's terrible."
"So how do you know about me and the X-Files anyway?"
"I've always been very interested in the paranormal, and I'm always on the lookout for UFOs and things like that. I've actually done quite a bit of research on aliens and things like that. I have both official reports from the Air Force on the Roswell crash. I'm always interested in any information about the paranormal, and anything like that," she explained. While she had been talking, a small grin had slowly spread across Mulder's face, and I felt my heart sink. It seemed like where ever we went, there was always something that connected us to the X-Files. I knew what the rest of the conversation was going to be about: little green men and flying saucers. Oh, right, little gray men.
"You seem like you have a pretty big interest in this sort of thing," Mulder remarked, still grinning. "Why?"
"Well, when I was a kid, I lived down near the Okefenokee Swamp with my brother, and we used to go play out in the swamp." As Nicole began to talk to us about her childhood, Mulder seemed to grow more and more interested. "Anyway, one night, Mike and I were going out to fish for crawdads, and we saw this really bright light through the woods. At first we thought it was maybe somebody in the swamp with a light on their boat, but then it started to rise up through the trees. And then it got windy, sorta like a tornado. Leaves and sticks swirled around, and we heard this loud, well the only way to describe it is like a roar. Unfortunately, that's about all we got to see, because of the trees, but I'll always remember that. That's when I started to get interested in UFOs and aliens, and ever since then, researching them has been something like a hobby for me."
"Wow," Mulder exclaimed when Nicole had stopped. "Man, that's something else. Do you think maybe after this case is over I could take a look at the information you have?"
"Sure, I'd be glad to show it to you."
Mulder and Nicole continued to talk about all the paranormal things that I had learned about the past five years. It almost felt like I was back in the X-Files. And from what I heard, it sounded like Nicole was more qualified to work in the X-Files than I was. She and Mulder were discussing things I hadn't heard of. For someone who made a hobby out of this, she knew an awful lot about it.
We actually took about an hour to eat, because Nicole and Mulder were talking. I glanced at my watch discreetly. It was going on nine in the evening: time flew even when you weren't having fun. I looked at my watch again, only not as inconspicuously, and Mulder got the hint.
"Well, I think it's time we got back to the hotel. Thanks for showing us this place; they have good food and pretty good prices," he said.
"You're welcome. So, we meet here at eight in the morning, get breakfast and then head over to Impo-Expo?" Nicole asked.
"Sounds like a plan. Night Nicole."
"Night Mulder, Agent Scully."
"Goodnight," I said, picking up my purse and following Mulder to the counter. He paid for his food, I paid for mine, and then we headed back to the motel. It was a silent drive over, and the silence wasn't the most comfortable one.
We didn't say anything to each other as we stood in the elevator on the way up to our rooms, but somehow Mulder got the idea that he was invited into my room because he followed me inside.
"You're in the wrong room, Mulder," I said bluntly, but he just grinned and sprawled out on my bed.
"Well, our first real case outside of the X-Files and we still have something to connect us to the unknown," he remarked, and I rolled my eyes.
"I noticed," I said dryly. "It's my personal opinion that Detective Beaumont was trying to impress you."
Mulder frowned and raised himself up on his elbows. "Why do you say that?" he asked.
"Please Mulder. First she fed your ego, and then she started spouting off everything she knew about the paranormal. Notice she did most of the talking this evening."
"She was just excited about being able to talk to someone who knew a lot about her hobby."
"Well, Detective Beaumont sure knows a lot about her hobby."
"She said we could call her Nicole," Mulder pointed out.
"Mulder, she said you could call her Nicole; she never said anything about me calling her Nicole. Notice she still calls me Agent Scully."
"Well, Scully, it's not like you told her she could call you anything else."
"That's right, I didn't. I think relations between people involved in investigations should be kept as professional as possible. And if that means calling people by their last name, then so be it," I stated firmly.
"Wow Scully, that's cold. What about you and me then? Should we call each other Agent Mulder and Agent Scully?"
I closed my eyes briefly and shook my head with a sigh. Now Mulder was acting like a kid, testing his limits.
"Mulder, you and I are friends. I'm talking about people we've just met. We should keep everything as professional as possible."
"You're starting to sound like some type of rule book, Scully. I know we should keep everything as professional as possible, but that doesn't mean we have to be formal and stiff. You work better with a person if you're both responding to a name you're comfortable with. There's nothing that says you can't be friends with the people you're working with."
"I know that Mulder, but there's a fine line between friendly and flirty."
Mulder sat up and studied me with a quizzical look, and then he cocked an eyebrow.
"Scully, I'm not flirting with Nicole. She and I are just being… friendly," he said, and flopped back down on the bed.
"I've seen flirting and I've seen friendly, and I know the difference. And this is flirting."
"Oh really. I was under the impression that flirting was a game that involved a lot of innuendo and talk that had two meanings."
"It might with you, Mulder, but with most people it just involves a little look here, a smile there, mostly just innocent friendly teasing."
"I think that's your version of flirting. And besides, flirting can't hurt anything. It doesn't mean anything."
I sighed softly and turned away. I knew it didn't mean anything, it never did, but that wasn't to say that it couldn't escalate to something more with Nicole and Mulder.
"Look," I said, turning back to face him, "please don't carried away. We're here to solve a case, not…"
"Not what?" Mulder asked me as I trailed off.
"Not get involved with a woman you probably won't see again after this case is over."
Mulder sat back up and ran a hand through his hair, sighing. He was looking at me, and a myriad of emotions were running across his face. I couldn't tell what they were, but one of them was definitely confusion.
"Scully, why are you so worried if I get involved with her?" he asked.
"I just want this to be as clean as possible. I don't want anything to tie us to this place after this case is over," I told him.
Mulder got off the bed and walked over to the window. He stood there for a few minutes, looking out at Atlanta. I heard him sigh softly, and then he looked back at me.
"Is something bothering you, Scully?"
The question caught me by surprise and my eyes widened. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"You've been edgy all day. It's like there's something bugging you. Are you alright?"
I could feel all my defenses going on red alert. Sure, a lot of things were bothering me, but I didn't want to discuss them with Mulder. I couldn't discuss them with Mulder.
"I'm fine Mulder," I said evenly, and Mulder gave a tired frustrated groan.
"You could be in outer space without any oxygen, and you'd still say 'I'm fine, Mulder," he retorted.
"I am fine. I just don't want to talk about this anymore tonight. I'd like to get some sleep because we're going to have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."
"Hey, I wasn't the one who said Nicole was trying to impress me, that was you."
"Look, let's just drop it for the night."
"Fine by me."
Mulder headed for the door that connected our two rooms, but he stopped halfway to the door and looked back at me.
"Are you sure you're okay, Scully?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine. Goodnight Mulder."
"Night, Scully." He closed the door behind him and I gave a sigh. It was almost like we'd had a fight, but it was a really weird fight. I sank down on my bed with another heavy sigh. I was so tired. That was one of the things that bothered me. Well, it didn't bother me mentally, it just bothered me physically. Even though my cancer was in remission, I still hadn't fully recovered from it and the effects of the chemo. I tired easily, especially if I took long flights or didn't eat right.
I slowly started my preparations for bed, doing most of my rituals by rote. I was thinking about the case some, but mostly my mind was occupied by the exchange between Mulder and myself. There were so many reasons I didn't want Mulder to get involved with Nicole: and it was true that I wanted this to be as clean as possible, without any ties when we were finished. But there were other reasons that I hadn't shared with Mulder. A lot of those reasons I didn't even like to discuss with myself, but tonight my own words had made me realize that, well, I got jealous of the women Mulder got involved with. I guess, all along I knew that I was rather jealous, but I still didn't like to admit it to myself.
As I curled up in bed, I wondered what Mulder was doing. Probably watching television, or recording what he and Nicole had talked about during the evening. He never did sleep a whole lot.
I set my little travel alarm and drifted off to sleep, hoping I would wake rested in the morning.
