Chapter Four
Alexander Maddocks' Residence, Las Vegas, Nevada
7:03 p.m.
"All right, you've got your warrant, now what're we here for again?" Detective Jim Brass asked Gil Grissom as they stepped out of Brass' squad car.
"Evidence," Grissom stated curtly and knocked on the front door.
"You don't honestly think that some kid murdered that girl, do you?"
"That's why we're here."
Brass gave Grissom a queer expression. "I still can't figure you out, Grissom."
"Like I've been saying ever since I started in the science of forensics, evidence tells the truth. Not people. You've seen it time and time again. Why let your judgment cloud what you observe?"
"Due the fact that 8 year olds don't screw older women and leave them for dead."
The door opened and a man in his late thirties answered. "Who are you?"
"Las Vegas Police," Brass replied. "We've got a search warrant for these premises."
"Well, we're in the middle of dinner right now."
"We promise not to upset your stomachs. I'm going to need a DNA sample from Alex as well as something he put his hands on." Grissom's tone was flat.
"Come on in, I guess. What's wrong, did Alex do something?"
"We hope not, but sometimes we find things that prove us wrong," Brass sighed. "Can we talk to him for just a few minutes?"
"Yeah, let me go get him." The man disappeared and returned both with his wife and the blonde haired boy with blue eyes named Alex. "I'm Jeff and this is Patricia."
"Alex, we're trying to find out who killed this woman." Grissom withdrew a picture from his jacket pocket and showed it to the stoic child. His eyes stared straight at the dead victim for a few seconds and then glanced away. "Now for some reason, we saw you at that crime scene. Here's your picture. Why were you there?"
Alex shrugged and made eye contact with the floor. He knelt down to a set of Legos and started fitting the pieces together. "Can you remember?" Brass pressed him. When Alex failed to respond, his attention went to the foster parents. "Would either of you happen to know why Alex would be out at one o'clock in the morning?"
"I find that very hard to believe. He was here when we put him to bed, I checked on him, and he was fast asleep. There's no way that an 8 year old would know how to disarm our alarm system-if indeed he did get out. Or that he could reach it-the panel's five feet above the floor," Jeff exclaimed.
"Alex, would you mind if I borrowed some of those?" Grissom asked the boy and pointed to the Legos. Alex handed him a race car with a little man inside. Grissom accepted it with a latex glove, carefully, so as not to touch the evidence and slipped the toy into a plastic bag. "I'm going to need for you to open your mouth now, please." The child obeyed and watched him swab a Q-tip around his inner cheek.
"What's that for?" Alex finally spoke.
"Well, we take this Q-tip back to our lab where we then put it through a machine that breaks down all of the things that are in your cheekbone cells. It tells us then who you are-because everyone's makeup is different," Grissom told him.
"But I know who I am," Alex argued.
"We just want to make sure. You know, these tests can also be run to show who parents are. Those are usually done with taking blood, though. And we only do that with grownups."
"I've never heard of such a ludicrous accusation in my entire life. If you think that you have the right to arrest my son..." Jeff began.
"We don't. At least not yet," Brass interrupted him. "And we're not accusing Alex of having done anything. We're just ruling him out."
"Thank you for your cooperation," Grissom said as he packed his collection kit away. "If you can think of anything more to help us out, here's how you can get in touch with us," he directed a business card to Jeff and followed Brass out to the patrol car.
"What's next, Gil?"
"We find out who this kid is."
Hotel D'Angelo, Las Vegas, Nevada
10:17 p.m.
"Okay, now, as I understand it, this place was given a four star rating. What kind of scale was it-from a 100?" Scully lamented after they pulled up to the manager's office. "Where on earth did you find this dump?"
"It was the best I could do, Scully. It's the after Thanksgiving rush weekend." Mulder shut the engine off and unbuckled his seat belt.
"I hope the showers are warm."
"In that case, I don't suppose they'd have room service, do you?" Mulder opened the door for her as they walked inside.
"You'll be lucky to get the cable working," the manager said as he appeared from behind a curtain. "There have been a load of storms coming through here recently. We've only got it working in about half of our rooms."
"Fine, then we'll take two of them," Mulder removed his wallet from his pocket and handed the man a Visa card.
"Separate rooms, eh? Too bad you didn't book ahead, young man. I'm afraid that's not gonna happen tonight."
"Why's that?" Scully questioned him.
"After Thanksgiving rush. Lots of couples get married and spend the night."
"Spend the night-here? I think I'd be more comfortable in a sardine can," she snapped.
"Look, I'm sorry, Scully. I know it's not exactly the Plaza, but..."
"I'll get over it. I just need some sleep," she muttered and wandered out of the building back to the car.
"I know what you're thinking already, young man. And I'm warning you not to try anything. I got a 12 gauge shotgun back there that's loaded and ready in case I hear anything."
"Who, me? You think that I'd..." he pointed outside towards the car, " with her?"
"Just you behave yourself."
"I'd never dream of it." Mulder smiled roguishly and accepted the key gladly. "Want to order out some Chinese?" he offered Scully after unlocking the door. "I'll buy it this time since I screwed up with the motel arrangements."
"All right. You're on," she sighed and lugged her belongings inside. "What's with this Norman Blake character?"
"Well, you heard most of the type of video collection he has over the phone," Mulder chuckled and started to hang up a few of his suits in the closet.
"I know I'm not speaking out of turn when I say that that's not a typical psychotic trait, Mulder." Scully strolled into the bathroom and closed the door.
"I'll take that as a compliment, thanks. All joking aside, I think he's got nothing but sex on the brain and murder for dessert. I don't think he really lives in his condo. He had very little furniture or decorations."
"Okay, then where does he live?"
"By day, I think he lives with his foster parents Jeff and Patricia Kovach. By night, he transforms into Norman Blake the ultimate 'chick magnet'. He leaves just after he's been put to bed and sneaks out to satisfy his carnal desires." He heard the sound of the shower and sat down onto the bed. After trying a various amount of different positions, the only one that seemed to be the most comfortable was his back propped up against the pillows and head against the cracked drywall. Mulder reached for the TV remote on the night stand and found it chained one foot away. Just after he had found a station with reception, Scully screamed. Immediately in the spirit of manhood and chivalry, he leapt up and ran to the door. "Scully, are you okay? Scully?"
"This water is freezing cold! That Chinese had better be damn good, Mulder!" Minutes later, Scully's cell phone rang just as she stepped out of the shower. "This is Scully. Yes. You don't say," she gave Mulder a triumphant 'I told you so' look. "You do say. Um, okay...well, that's probably not enough evidence to get an arresting warrant in your state, is it?"
A knock came to the door, and Mulder answered to the delivery man. Scully mopped her hair with a towel as she listened to Grissom speak on the other end. "Fine. I would suggest putting him under surveillance around the clock. Yes, the boy first. Then after 9 o'clock the man. Hopefully, you'll find something to at least put him under arrest for if not murder. I'll ask him and see what he thinks about what to do after that. Call you back in half an hour." She hung up and fastened her terry cloth robe tightly about her waist.
"I know you like sesame chicken the best, but they didn't have any on the takeout menu. So I hope sweet and sour shrimp's the next best thing." Mulder removed her box first and humbly placed it onto the night stand.
"Swing and a miss. I would've liked the cashew chicken that you're now eating." She motioned to his food, and he held the box out to her. Scully shook her wet head and sat down on the bed. "That was Grissom on the phone. He...took your idea under some consideration. And he collected some DNA from Alex Maddocks, the eight year old boy from Seattle, Washington. They're a match to what was found at the crime scene."
"I was afraid of that," Mulder said with his mouth full. "So you're having both personalities being watched?"
"Yes. Mulder, I'm still having a hard time with this-from a scientific standpoint of view."
"The forensic evidence is there, Scully. That's pretty hard science. What else do you need?"
"Maybe to be there when it happens. This is an unprecedented event, Mulder. I-I can't even think of how a boy can change into a man overnight, and then simply by morning, change himself back without difficulties or trauma."
"Who says that trauma isn't there? I bet that he's not a very talkative young man. He probably has problems in school and secretly hates his life. Maybe that's a log onto the fire that fuels his motivation for killing as an adult. And who says that this happens to him by will? His transformation, I mean?"
"Mulder, if you're suggesting that aliens are doing this to him from afar..."
"I'm not saying that aliens have anything to do with this boy. I'm thinking that by some chemical imbalance given to him at birth, he is changed once the sun goes down. The sex that he gets helps him create some kind of stability between the aging processes. Endorphins...among various other things are released during the act, right?"
"But endorphins don't stimulate growth, Mulder. They're just a...a...feel good chemical for the body."
"I know, I know. But maybe, just maybe, there's another use for them that we haven't discovered until now. Until Alex Maddocks, i.e., Norman Blake."
Scully finished her meal and tossed the remains into the wastebasket. "Thanks for the Chinese, Mulder."
"No problem." He also disposed of his garbage and removed his suit coat and tie. "What do you think of the CSI team, Scully?"
"Well, they're very thorough. It's been a good while since I've...well, we've worked so closely with a forensics department." She noticed him start to strip with his back turned, so she averted her eyes. "They're a good group of people very dedicated to their work. They're a tightly bonded team. Mulder, there's still something I don't understand among all of this."
"What's that?"
"Well, even if Alex could change into Norman, how does that relate to the actual homicide? How could he have killed her without touching her? If it was an act of passion or in the heat of the moment deranged pleasure, I seriously doubt that he'd have been wearing gloves."
"That's a very valid theory. Especially since we found his prints all over the CD that was playing. Speaking of the music, did we ever find a significance in that song?"
"Not that I've been informed of. The CSI was in the middle of his analysis when I saw him last." Scully pulled the covers of her bed back and slipped underneath them.
"Oh yeah, what was that guy's name?" Mulder pretended not to notice her warm reaction and smile.
"Nick. Nick Stokes." Immediately after his period of analytical silence, she came back to the real world.
"I think you ought to go for it," he whispered and switched out the lights before she could read the comical expression on his face.
"Go for what?"
"Oh, come on. You two have been playing cat and mouse long enough. I saw the look on your face after you met him. Your eyes were on stalks."
"Oh really?"
"Yes. And no matter what inhibitions you feel, he'd probably be a real stud."
"We are NOT having this conversation. I've been up since 3 o'clock in the morning, Mulder. I want some sleep now, and that's what's going to happen. Good night, Mulder."
"Sweet dreams, Scully."