David and Goliath

by Ruth Piwonka

Mulder and Scully travel to Las Vegas to assist the CSI team catch the interstate serial killer.

"David and Goliath"

Chapter One

Las Vegas, Nevada

December 6th, 1999, 1:30 a.m.

Gil Grissom pulled his Chevy Suburban up into the gravel driveway. The usual plethora of flashing lights greeted him and the rest of his crime scene investigation team. A stout and medium built man approached known as Detective John Brass of the homicide department. "What've we got tonight?" Grissom asked as he exited his vehicle and retrieved his briefcase of the 'do it yourself crime scene kit'.

"An alleged suicide," Brass replied and led the way towards the front of the house.

"Why do we say that?" Grissom wondered and gave Brass an odd facial expression.

"I'll let you be the judge." Grissom stepped inside and switched on his flashlight. "Sarah, would you mind taking some notes of my preliminary walkthrough, please?" he requested to his younger, auburn haired and brown eyed colleague.

"No problem, Gris," she responded and whipped out her notebook.

"Thank you. No forced entry." The two investigators along with Brass strolled carefully inside the foyer as Grissom continued his mental notes. "What do we know about the victim?" he finally questioned Brass.

"Late twenties caucasian female. A neighbor heard a gunshot and then called the cops. I say alleged suicide because it really looked like one, but I wasn't sure of course," Brass answered sincerely.

"Looks can be deceiving. Until I'm positively sure of it, I never rule anything out. Here we are." The trio stopped at a desk where the victim rested in perfect peace. Her head was slumped onto her left shoulder, and Grissom's flashlight found the gun adjacent to her right foot. "Murder or suicide weapon is a Beretta of a 9 mm calibre. Gunshot wound to the right temple. Bullet went clean through her head and..." he paused to don some latex gloves. "The casing is...hmm..."

Sarah followed his eyes to underneath the chair and the flashlight pursued his curiosity. "Underneath the chair. It's possible it could have rolled there," she remarked.

"True." At that moment, Brass' cell phone chirped and disturbed the investigation.

"Sorry about that," Brass announced and crept a few feet away to answer his call.

"Do you hear something?" Grissom wondered and cocked his head to the side.

"Music. Somebody left the stereo on," Sarah agreed and left to go find the music station.

"No, no. Don't disturb it. Just make a note of what radio station it's on or which cd was playing," Grissom instructed her.

"Sure. I'll have Warrick photograph it when you're done with your pre-lim."

"Sorry to interrupt you, but I have some news for you, Grissom," Brass stepped back into the den and secured the cell phone back to his belt.

"What kind of news?" Grissom asked.

"I'm not so sure it's good news. That was the FBI. They just got jurisdiction to come over here to Vegas and assist us with this case."

"Why the FBI?" Sarah was mystified.

"They don't think it was a suicide."

"Oh yeah, speaking of that, what's your preliminary determination for cause of death?" Sarah prodded Grissom.

"Her fingertips are blue. Even though she was shot, I'm going to say asphyxiation," Grissom stated. "All right. Let's bring everyone else to begin the fun. Unless we're not authorized by the FBI."

"Forensics belong to us. They're sending a couple of special agents to help match the killer's profile," Brass shook his head and turned to leave the room.

"Mind if I join you?" Catherine Willows, a middle aged but attractive blonde haired woman walked in with some supplies. "Ooh, this one's supposed to be a suicide?"

"Actually, Grissom just hypothesized murder. And that's what the reinforcements are here for," Sarah motioned behind Catherine to Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown.

"Strike a pose, Warrick. Make the scene look good," Grissom pointed to the surrounding area. "I'll be back in the office if anyone needs anything, filling out paperwork."

"What for?" Warrick asked in simple curiosity.

"We're working with the FBI on this case. They always expect a trail of paper to describe the evidence found at the scene rather than seeing it for themselves."

"The FBI? What do they want?" Nick piped in.

"The same thing we do. Now please start your work; they arrive here in four hours," Grissom answered and left the rest of his team as surprised as he first felt.

Washington, D.C.

3:30 a.m.

The phone woke Dana Scully up from a deep sleep, and she groaned as she rolled over to her bedside table to pick it up. "Hello?" she replied groggily.

"Scully? It's Mulder. Sorry to wake you, but I just saw a story on the news about an X-File I've been reading on."

"Mulder, can't it wait until morning?" Scully yawned and sighed.

"No, sorry. Skinner just got us a flight out to Las Vegas. We leave in two hours. You can sleep on the way over there if you want," his mid-atlantic accent droned.

"How generous of you."

"I'll pick you up in an hour and a half. Make sure you bring some change if you want to be betting."

"This had better be good, Mulder."

"This is a break that I've been waiting for. The only better crime lab than Las Vegas' is our Quantico, Scully."

"Mmmkay. I'll see you then," she mumbled and hung up. As she crawled out of her bed and hefted a carry-on suitcase onto her bed, she paused to think for a moment. "Las Vegas?"

Somewhere between Washington, D.C. and Las Vegas

6:25 a.m.

"Of all the places in the U.S., Las Vegas has the best crime lab? Mulder? Mulder, wake up!" Scully shook her colleague gently beside her as she examined the red striped X-Files herself. He slumped down even farther into his leather seat and gave a low growl. "I thought I was the one that was supposed to be sleeping on the plane," she reminded him and poked him in the arm.

"I've already read the case files, Scully. Why disturb a man in peace?" Mulder slurred and grabbed hold of her hand to stop her incessant finger jabbing. "Stop that."

"Because I want to know more about why we're going to the middle of nowhere."

"All right, all right." He let go of her and sat up. "The first murder, as you read, was up in Spokane, Washington."

"Murder? Mulder, the police and coroners all list these as suicides."

"But look at the forensic evidence. The photos all appear to be as if these women shot themselves, but I don't think they did. And that's why we're going out to Vegas--because they have the best forensic equipment available to us. There's also something else that makes this an X-File."

"What's that?"

"The murders-"

"Mulder, we haven't proven anything yet," Scully patronized him and they made eye contact.

"Bear with me, Scully. The murders all move in a southwestern pattern. This makes number six in three consecutive years."

"Excuse me, sir...madam, would you like something to drink this morning?" A middle aged flight attendant asked as he brought the beverage cart down the first class aisle.

"Two coffees, please. One black with sugar, the other, no sugar, but with cream," Mulder answered.

"We've been working together for way too long, Mulder," she marveled and sat back as the attendant served them their drinks.

"Well, people have sometimes asked me if we're married," he whispered and began to stir his coffee briskly.

"I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that last comment." She blew on her coffee and sipped it slowly.

"No prints were found at the scenes--not even on the gun. Wouldn't you call that strange?"

"Strange, yes, and now I am beginning to lean towards the suspicion of murder. But what makes this case an X-File, Mulder?"

"The fact that our suspect was seen entering as a man and leaving the scene hours later as a boy." Scully stopped in the middle of a sip, turned her head, and raised her eyebrows.

"I know what you're thinking already, but, let's see what the local forensics have to say about it," Mulder continued.

"Actually, my thoughts go to wonder more than skepticism at this point, Mulder. We've seen a lot of odd things throughout our cases together--and I think this one takes the cake should it be remotely plausible."

Chapter Two

Las Vegas Police Department, Forensics Lab

5:38 a.m.

Grissom's attention flew to the three short but assertive knocks on his door. His train of thought onto his legal pad had been interrupted twice in the past hour now. First it was the county sheriff asking for his complete cooperation with the FBI and reminding him of the last time they were there. Grissom didn't know whom to expect, so he tossed his pen down onto his desk in surrender. "Come in, it's open," he announced.

In walked the most unlikely people he would have picked to be FBI agents. He analyzed their physical features while the man introduced the both of them. "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder. This is Special Agent Dana Scully. I believe you've been expecting us." The agents retrieved their identification cards and held them up for Grissom to behold.

"That's right," Grissom replied and went back to his notes.

"You must be Gil Grissom," Scully surmised aloud to let Grissom begin the conversation. When he did not answer, she pushed on. "I've been reading up on some of your cases. Is this true that you're an entomologist?"

"Yes, it's true. Could you...give me a minute please to finish up?" Mulder and Scully eyed one another with curiosity as if either had done something to infuriate him. After a few silent and uncomfortable moments had passed, Mulder broke the silence.

"Could we at least see the crime scene?"

"My fellow scientists are there right now breaking it down for you. All right, I didn't get to type these up yet, but here is my preliminary examination of the scene," Grissom handed his notes to Mulder.

"Umm...this is kind of unorthodox. We would have met you there at the scene, but no one informed us of where the body was," Scully said slowly and diplomatically.

"My understanding was that from my evidence, you are here to build a profile. And though this is not much, this is all I have for you for now. Please give me some time," Grissom's tone bordered on angst.

"Please understand, we don't mean to offend you or try to take over the investigation. We're just here to help," Mulder pleaded with him. "Can we please go to the scene of the crime?"

"Excuse me," Grissom pointed to him with a finger as his office phone rang. "Yes? They're here at the lab. Are we all finished up there yet, Catherine? Excellent. I'm going to order out for breakfast. Anything special that anyone wants other than the usual? Right. Okay, report back here as soon as possible."

"While I'm reading yours, why don't you read mine?" Mulder withdrew his illustrious X-Files folder and threw it onto Grissom's bureau. "I already have a profile. That's why I've been kind of itching to see the crime scene and look at fresh evidence."

Grissom nodded coyly as he dialed another number on the phone.

"Yeah, this is Gil Grissom. I'm going to need 2 dozen. All the usual. No, we have plenty of coffee here, thanks. How much do I owe you? Uh-huh, and this is to be delivered to-"

"Look. This...is why we are here. Look familiar?" Mulder ripped his file open and shoved an 8 x 10 photo of a victim shot in the exact same way as the one Grissom had found. She was also a red-head, just like the most recent victim. Grissom finished his sentence less firmly as he stared at the picture.

"Delivered to the Las Vegas crime lab," Grissom trailed off and hung up. "Who was this?"

"Victoria Brady of Boise, Idaho. She was killed not two months ago. She was about 26. How old is this new victim?" Scully questioned Grissom.

"Probably around the same age. So we have an interstate serial killer. I'll know when the coroner finishes his examination with the body," Grissom replied grimly.

"Ah, where is his office? I'd like to be able to examine the body as well. I am a doctor."

"Dr. Robbins usually performs the autopsies by himself. He's very good. Don't worry, you're in good hands," Grissom assured her. Scully gave him a determined look and a tight lipped smile.

"Two minds are better than one, Mr. Grissom. I'm sure we'll get along fine."

"Turn right outside my office and go down the hallway. The morgue is at the end on the right," Grissom agreed and motioned with his hand as he gave directions.

"You've had a bad run-in with the FBI before, haven't you?" Mulder insinuated quietly.

"What gives you that impression?"

"I'll admit that I usually don't like outsiders in on a case assigned to myself and Scully either. But I know that when I'm in over my head on certain matters, I ask for help."

"Who says I'm in over my head? I'm a scientist, Agent Mulder. Evidence tells the truth, not people. It's just a matter of finding the right parts to the puzzle to bring everything into focus."

"And what if the evidence points to something that defies the laws of our science?" Grissom gave him a cold stare; when he noticed Mulder's sincerity, he went back to the X-File. "You see, Mr. Grissom--not everything in the world is explainable. There are some things that we cannot comprehend. And if the evidence is a complete and logical puzzle, then we'll know."

Las Vegas Police Department Morgue

6:08 a.m.

Scully pushed the swinging doors open to discover the coroner Dr. Robbins head banging and playing air guitar to an arrangement of 'Sunshine of Your Love'. He was setting up his recording equipment as well. "Excuse me, Dr. Robbins?" she observed and nearly shocked him to death.

"Who's asking?" he wondered and turned to face her.

"Special Agent Dana Scully, FBI." Dr. Robbins strolled over to his boom box and paused the CD. "Sorry that I gave you a scare. Is this our victim?" She cocked her head to her left, and his eyes followed her to the table.

"I knew that the crime lab was working with the FBI, but I didn't think that I'd be caught up in this mess, too," he grumbled and turned on the operating lamp above his head.

"I'm a qualified pathologist, if that's what's worrying you. I'm used to seeing the dead."

"I'm not worried about that. I don't like federal agents who crowd themselves into my work and usurp my theories."

"And I'm not here to do that. What is it with this place? First we got resistance from Grissom and now you. Is it going to be like this with everyone?" Scully rolled her eyes and huffed. "Believe me, it's going to take a lot more than some nasty local law enforcement officials and coroners to shake me and Mulder from this case, Dr. Robbins. I'm here to help--not give orders. We might as well do the autopsy together. Two pathologists are better than one."

"You're right. Do you want to do the dissecting or shall I?" he agreed as she donned some safety goggles, gloves, and a medical gown.

"It's your lab," she offered and shrugged.

"Okay. First of all, at a first look," Robbins removed the sheet from the head and tucked it around her cleavage, " she appears to be about twenty-six or twenty-seven."

"The gunshot wound is possibly self inflicted. No exit. So this could mean that she was shot post mordem."

"Hmm...good theory. Gil did think that she was strangled to death. I'm also beginning to agree with him, however, there are no markings on her neck to correspond with his guess."

"You're right. No striations or ligature marks are present. I don't see any bruising either."

"I'll just make an incision here to get to the stomach. Um...if you don't mind..." Robbins pointed to the instrument cart behind her, and she handed him the scalpel fluidly in one wrist motion from across the table.

"Are we thinking poison? Because that's what I'm guessing," Scully leaned herself farther in to watch Robbins cut the body open.

"So what brings the FBI here? I'm assuming that you two aren't from the local Vegas branch."

"We have records of 5 other cases just like this. But the coroners all listed them as suicides. Either we have lazy police departments or our killer's just getting sloppy," she surmised.

"You obviously have some definite medical knowledge. Something tells me that you're not just trained as an agent. Did you go to school to be a doctor?"

"Originally, yes. I quit the med program and traded in my stethoscope for a badge in Washington."

"Seems like a much more glamorous life than being a doctor."

"Not really, with the kind of work that Mulder and I do."

"Who's Mulder?"

"Special Agent Fox Mulder...my partner at the FBI."

"Oh wait. I've heard that name before." Scully's eyes rolled again, and Robbins finished pulling out the stomach. "Yes. Now I know. I subscribe to that magazine that he writes for at time to time."

"Oh brother, which one?"

"NICAP. Very interesting stuff. Your partner's brilliant. Probably too smart for his own good." He opened the organ further and dumped the contents into a beaker. "You don't believe him?"

"Let's just say that I try to keep his head screwed on straight," Scully groaned.

Las Vegas Police Department Forensics Breakroom

6:30 a.m.

"Ah...breakfast is here," Nick Stokes smiled in relief as he and his fellow CSI members filed into the break room. The smell of a large brewing coffee pot greeted them as well as the scent of freshly baked doughnuts and other pastries. Grissom removed the pot from the burner and started pouring out styrofoam cups full of the highly addictive stimulant.

"Morning, ladies and gentlemen," Grissom acknowledged his team. "Our visitors are here from the FBI. This is Agent Mulder. The other is Agent Scully, who is now analyzing the body along with Dr. Robbins."

"Hi. I'm sure you're curious as to why Agent Scully and I are here. Well, I'll show you," Mulder pulled out the photographs from his X-file and pinned them up onto the announcement bulletin board. "All of these women have been killed in the last three years. One per six months in a city. Not all of these women are exactly alike in facial features, but as you will notice, all of them have red hair and are about the same age."

"So we have a serial killer on our hands," Sarah nodded.

"There was a blood spray on the wall. The angle of the spray leads me to thinking that the victim did not shoot herself. Warrick, did you finish processing your pictures yet?" Catherine's attention flew over to the door where the very person she was speaking to appeared.

"They're drying as we eat," Warrick stated and grabbed a doughnut from the plate in the center of the table.

"I did some research on what was playing in the stereo when we entered the crime scene," Nick reported. All eyes went to him as he stirred in an enormous amount of non-dairy creamer into his coffee. "The CD itself has prints all over it; I sent it to trace, and we'll know soon about those. The song itself was done by a band called Five For Fighting--the song is named "Jainey"."

"Well done, Nick. See what further evidence you can get from that song," Grissom instructed him.

"Further evidence? All that's left is the fingerprint analysis," Nick was puzzled.

"No, he's right. There's a reason why that song was playing for us to find. We need to know what that is--it'll help us continue a profile on him," Mulder interrupted them. "Was there any evidence of sexual activity found on the scene?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Minute amounts of semen were found on a couch not far away from where the victim was killed. I'm thinking it was rape," Sarah concluded.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but it was consensual," Scully leaned into the doorway and removed the latex gloves from her hands. "Examination of the vagina and the fluids found inside prove that."

"This is Agent Scully," Mulder motioned to her presence. The CSI team gave a silent nodding of heads for a salutation; but Nick and Scully seemed to share a longer moment of eye contact. Mulder observed this but kept on listening to his partner as she relayed data.

"There also was DNA found underneath the fingertips of the victim--not hers. But there was no blood. A toxicology test is being run through your lab by Dr. Robbins to find out if she was poisoned."

"Meanwhile, the gun was found by the right foot of the body. An open box of 9 mm bullets was found on the desk. I'm running those through ballistics; I should have those results by mid-morning," Sarah announced.

"And something rather disturbed me about that through my preliminary walkthrough. We already have circumstantial evidence that this was a murder and not a suicide. But how about some hardcore physics?" Grissom got out of his seat from the head of the table and began to slowly circle the group.

"Such as?" Catherine questioned him. Warrick finished his snack and sneaked out while Grissom ensnared everyone else's focus.

"Well, the gun was found about one or two millimeters away from the right foot's pinky toe. Nick, can I see your gun for a second?" Grissom's arm reached across the table, and Nick relinquished his weapon. "I know that this isn't the exact same weapon, sorry, but it should give us the general idea to fill in the cracks of my theory. If I just pointed this to my right temple and shot myself, the body would go limp right away, yes?" He unloaded the clip from the gun and physically acted out his last question.

"Agreed," Scully nodded.

"The gun would not likely have fallen down to the right side of the right foot. It would have traveled diagonally to the big toe of the left foot. In other words, the right side of the left foot, if that makes any sense to anyone. Watch my hand as I drop Nick's gun." Grissom let the gun fall uncontrollably to the ground. It spun around a couple of times before stopping in the exact place that he said that it would. "Give or take a couple of millimeters," he said and smiled as the team recognized his proven theory. "So, that was just a simple experiment. Sarah, would you and Catherine mind actually acting this out, please? Of course, after you get the results from the bullets. Warrick went to get the photographs. Nick, you have your assignment."

"Did we get any witnesses that we can speak with?" Mulder interjected.

"Detective Brass can help you with that. I'll let you two know how things go when we're finished," Grissom replied. "You're welcome to the pastries if you want." As the CSI team departed, Mulder and Scully sat down together for the first time in a few hours.

"My vast psychic abilities tell me that they've had issues with the local FBI here," Mulder said and grabbed a jelly doughnut.

"Maybe he's just a scientist who likes to do things in a logical manner. You know you don't always operate that way, Mulder," Scully suggested.

"That must impress you," he smirked. "Must be nice to find someone of your own ilk."

"He's not my type, if that's what you're insinuating." Scully opened the file that she had been carrying and took out the photos of the body.

"I'm not. Someone else actually seemed to catch your eye. Can I see those, please?" He motioned to the pictures, and she kept them away for a moment.

"Not with those sticky fingers." Mulder looked down at his own hands and wiped them off with a napkin. She acquiesced the photos over to him and arose. "What did you mean by 'someone actually seemed to catch my eye'?"

"Oh, nothing. Probably just my imagination."

"I'm going to go find this Detective Brass character."

Las Vegas Forensics DNA Division

7:10 a.m.

"Greg? Oh, Greg? Hey!" Nick Stokes shouted at the young chemist until he turned around.

"Oh, it's you," Greg Levesque responded and removed his headphones. "Best of Megadeath hits CD. Sorry. How did I keep you waiting there?"

"Long enough," Stokes sighed and crossed his arms. "Did you get those results from the DNA found underneath the victim's fingernails?"

"Yes..." Levesque's eyes traced over the printout. "But you didn't order them. Why are you asking?"

"Greg..." Stokes became impatient. "I'm just on my way to Grissom's office, okay? He asked me to pick them up for him as a favor."

"Excuse me, do you know where I could find Detective Brass?" Scully poked her head in the open door and interrupted them.

"Homicide office. Next building to the left," Stokes motioned with his hand. She showed her appreciation with a slight nod and a smile. On her way out, he couldn't help but watch her.

"Now it's my turn to bring you back to reality," Greg beamed with pleasure. "But she looks like she's way out of your league."

"Hmm?" he murmured while still captivated.

"Who is she?"

"Oh, uh...an FBI agent from Washington."

"Not a chance, man. Not a chance." Levesque handed the paper to Stokes.

"I hope you're talking about the DNA results," Nick eyed Greg.

"It's been a while for me, too, man...but--I think she's off limits."

"You just barely met her. How the hell would you know?" Nick stepped outside of the laboratory.

"Hmm...first impression. She's hot, though. Okay, okay, sorry," he held up his hands in surrender after Stokes gave him an ugly grimace. "DNA test of the skin cells came back negative for anyone in our database. Sorry to inform you of this, or rather, Grissom."

"What about the semen found at the scene? Did you run that as well?"

"Yes. Let me get the readout." Greg disappeared from sight for a few seconds and nodded. "The results match, however..."

"Unidentified so far as we know it," Stokes sighed disappointedly. "All right. Thanks, Greg."

"Hey, what're you doing on Friday night?"

"Probably working, why?"

"I got tickets to go see Metallica. Wanna go?"

"Raincheck. Sorry."

"Dude, you don't give a raincheck to a Metallica concert."

"Find yourself a date, Greg."

Chapter Three

Laura Abbott Residence, 9041 Westerly Ave, Las Vegas

10:05 a.m.

"Did you find a good motel, Mulder?" Scully knocked on the front door and rang the doorbell.

"Don't you just wish for once that the FBI would hook us up with a nice downtown penthouse suite in the Bellagio?" Mulder shook his head. "I hope she's home--she's our only witness."

"You didn't answer the question," Scully continued to press him.

"Who are you?" a middle aged blonde answered the door in suspicion.

"Laura Abbott?" Mulder questioned her.

"Yes, that's me. Now how about you?" Abbott replied tensely.

"I'm Agent Mulder--this is Scully. We're from the FBI." Both withdrew their identification badges for Abbott to see, and Abbott's expression eased. "We have some questions for you about what you saw the other night."

"I already made an official statement to the police last night."

"And we're assisting them with the case. We're here because it's a serial killer that's done this in two other states," Scully said. "Can we come in?"

"Fine. Can I offer you two anything to drink?" She motioned them inside, shut the door, and led them into her living room.

"Some coffee would be nice, thanks," Mulder accepted her offer.

"So did you find a decent motel or not, Mulder?" Scully finally pinned him after Abbott left momentarily.

"Why is this so important to you?"

"Well, I'd like to know how long we're going to be staying here."

"And?"

"And I'd just not like to stay someplace that's our usual hole in the wall ordeal if we're going to be here for a while."

"We're here until we catch the killer. After 7 years, you think that we're actually going to get a decent place? My office is still in the basement, Scully. Doesn't that give you a clue? Thank you, Ms Abbott," Mulder took the mug from the tray she just returned with.

"Um...what did you see last night?" Scully recovered from their brief scuffle and dug out a palm pilot from her trench coat pocket.

"I was out shopping late last night, and I pulled into my drive about...maybe half past midnight. And I saw my neighbor, Jen Cappemaggio walking into her house with a man."

"How tall would you say that this man was?" Mulder drank his coffee conservatively after his question.

"Pretty tall--maybe about six two or three. I'm not exactly the best at judging a person's height. I couldn't really see what he looked like from where I was standing. I was getting my groceries out of the car from where it's parked now in the street."

"What about race?" Scully asked.

"White, and I figure that he couldn't be too much older than Jen. She doesn't date older men--usually about her age. Her boyfriend's gonna flip when he hears about this."

"Who's her boyfriend?"

"His name's Bart Mason--he's a construction worker. I don't know which company, either. She's been dating him for the past five months; they seemed to get along together really well. And I know what Bart looks like--that wasn't him last night," Abbott crossed her arms and shook her head.

"Were you and Jen friends?" Mulder wondered.

"I've lived on this block for three years. She was kind enough to open up to me when I moved here--so yes, we were good friends. And I wouldn't have normally thought that she'd be the type to just drop a boyfriend and move onto the next one--or that she'd two time Bart. They loved each other very much."

"Does Bart live there?" Scully inquired.

"No, he lives in a condo complex ten minutes from here."

"Where do you think that Jen met this man?" Mulder interjected.

"Probably at Club O. That's the usual place she hangs--it's the only night spot that I can think of that's within a walking distance from here, too. After I saw them go into her house, I went about my own business--until the gunshot and the police arrived. I didn't see or hear anything else."

"Thank you for your time, Ms Abbott. Here's my card where you can reach me at any time should you need help or if you can think of anything else to help us," he handed her the object and finished his coffee. "Thanks for your time and the coffee. We'll see ourselves out."

Once they were outside again, Mulder opened the car door for Scully and walked around to his. "I'll drop you off at the police station, Scully. I'm going to interview this Bart Mason character and visit that club she was talking about. Let me know what they've uncovered when you can."

"Would you mind giving me at least a preliminary profile of this killer, Mulder? I know Skinner's going to be all over us like a plague because of this favor you asked of him at three o'clock in the morning. I need a little something more than 'this guy likes to kill red heads'," she glanced at her palm pilot and he started the engine.

"You left out the part that they were all the same age. But I'll take a guess and say that the killer is a white male in his late twenties, probably lower middle class. He probably charms and seduces them first, then he gets his satisfaction in their homes, and lastly, murders them in cold blood for a sport. He uses them. Maybe he was abused as a child."

"Yeah, but how? How could he have killed her if we found no hand prints on her throat?"

"I don't know, Scully. That's why I'm bringing you back to the people who can tell us how."

Las Vegas Police Department Forensics Photography

11:02 a.m.

"Hey Grissom, do you got a few minutes?" Warrick Brown called out to his supervisor as he observed Grissom strolling down the hall.

"I was about to head back to my office for a meeting with this Agent Scully, but, okay. Is it something personal?"

"No. The photos are dry and ready to be analyzed. I thought you'd want to know right away. I've started to look at them. Are you interested?" He held out the photos with his left hand, and Grissom tilted his head for a quick look.

"I'm always interested in evidence, Warrick. Bring them down with you." Grissom nodded and began to start towards his office.

"Ah...Grissom, I kind of asked you because I...don't like that woman," Brown lowered his voice as he brought the pictures closer to his chest protectively.

"What's the matter with her? Did she say something offensive to you?"

"No. I just don't get a good feeling from skeptical people."

"She's a scientist just like us, Warrick. I don't believe that her logic would defy our findings--if anything, Agent Scully is a fortification for us. The only person to worry about is her partner." Grissom noticed the wary expression on Brown's face and motioned for the pictures. "Does she scare you that much?"

"She's too much like you," he surrendered his evidence and spun around on his heel to part.

"Warrick, where are you going?"

"Out for a break. That okay with you?"

"That's fine. Keep your cell phone on. I might need you to go run a few errands." Warrick tipped his index finger in a half-hearted salute and jogged out the door.

Grissom meandered back to his office and found Catherine sitting in front of his desk. "You're not the person I was expecting to meet with, but, I hope that's good news," Grissom was surprised.

"I left Sarah to finish up with ballistics. I came to look at the goods. May I?" she asked.

"I was supposed to meet Agent Scully here. Have you seen her?" He spread the photos all over his bureau while Catherine's eyes greedily scanned them.

"Not since earlier this morning, why?"

"Hmm...well, she'll find her way here soon enough."

"This is kind of strange. What time were we called in to this scene?" Catherine asked him and showed him an outside photograph of the house. Several police cars and officers were seen in the foreground, but a child of about 7 or 8 years old age stood in the background watching everything.

"Maybe about 1:30. What's odd about this picture?"

"The fact that there's a young boy that appears to be about eight years old here. What's he doing there, of all places, at one o'clock in the morning?"

"I couldn't answer that question. But let's find out who he is anyway. Maybe he'd be able to fill in some missing pieces. Give this to Nick," Grissom ordered her and opened the door to his office.

"Where will you be?"

"Sleeping at home. I'll be back in a couple of hours in case this Agent Scully shows up. If she does, tell her to give me a phone call."

Las Vegas Police Department Audio Forensics

1:05 p.m.

"Can you run it backwards?" Nick Stokes questioned the technician.

"Sure. Just give me a few minutes. I'm more a fan of Tonic, myself, than this band. Man, when you get that stuff cranked, I get chills." Jason Foley, the audio technician opened up his favorite digital audio workstation and pet: Pro Tools. "This program is the bomb. I can do anything with it."

"Does it make coffee as well?"

"No, but they send you a mug," Foley smiled egotistically. "Whoa."

"What? Did you find a secret message or something?"

"Man, I just turned on the computer. I'm talking about the gorgeous red head heading dead straight for us. Who is she?"

"Not one of your typical roadie babes, Foley. I'll be back in a minute to hear what you've found." Stokes opened the glass door and stepped out into the hallway.

"Hi. Have you seen Grissom?" Scully wondered and peered into the room behind him.

"Not recently, sorry. I've been trying to figure out what this song means pretty much all morning. Seems that we're hitting a lot of dead ends."

"I know exactly what you mean. Somehow, science might not be the answer we're looking for in this case. I usually don't like admitting something like that," she beamed.

"Grissom's office is this way. Sorry that he keeps disappearing on you. I'll uh...take you there myself."

"But what about your, um? I mean, weren't you doing something?"

"Some research takes time--the audio technician knows what he's listening for." Stokes opened the door first for her to Grissom's office and followed her inside. "Hmm. Seems like everybody's out for a coffee break. Oh, well, at least I get to do something more interesting," he mentioned as he found a note from Catherine describing his latest detail.

"What's that?" Scully inquired and inched closer.

"There's a kid at the crime scene. Returning to admire someone's work--maybe his."

"Now you're starting to sound like Mulder. This is frightening me," she mumbled the last comment as he sat down at the desk.

"Grissom's got a comprehensive list of all of Vegas' birth, death, and criminal records in his computer. Hopefully, we'll find this kid there. This might take a while. You might want to sit down." Scully did quite the opposite and came around to his side of the desk. Her usual vertical stature with crossed arms seemed to loom dangerously over him. "So what'd you and your partner find out from that witness?"

"That she had apparently been out for a night of clubbing and returned with some mysterious male. She also has a boyfriend--the witness did not identify him as our suspect."

"This may sound unprofessional, Agent Scully, but, uh...I like the perfume that you're wearing." Stokes took his eyes away from the screen and her left eyebrow raised slightly as they made eye contact. Just when he was beginning to sweat, the corners of her mouth widened, and she removed her trench coat.

"Does it remind you of someone?" she asked as she tossed the coat across the desk and leaned up beside it.

"No. I just...happen to like the smell of lavender a lot. I don't think I'm gonna find this kid in these records."

"We might be able to find him in the Bureau's database. Does this computer have a connection to the Internet?"

"Yes."

"May I?" Scully further encroached herself upon him; he took his fingers away from the keyboard and let her type. "Thanks. You know, we haven't really met properly. We just kind of got shoved along with the speed of everything else this morning. Dana."

"Nick. You said a little while ago that I sounded like Agent Mulder. What'd you mean by that?"

"Some of Mulder's ideas are--well no, most of his ideas are a little farfetched."

"Like what?"

"Well once he tried to stake someone."

"Was that his only available weapon?"

"No. It didn't work anyway. Ah. Alexander Daniel Maddocks, born in 1991 to Sarah Anne and Lyle Jordan Maddocks of Seattle, Washington."

"So they live here now."

"No...just him. Both of his parents were killed in a car crash when he was 3. Alex was moved from Seattle to Spokane, Washington at age 5. Then to Boise, Idaho, Spring Creek, Nevada, Virginia City, Nevada, Carson City, Nevada, and finally to Las Vegas."

"He sure has been moved around a lot for a little kid."

"Am I interrupting something?" Sidle opened Grissom's door and switched on the lights.

"Not at all. Dana...er...Agent Scully and I were just combing around for some evidence," Stokes quickly backed away from the desk and and kept a much safer distance between him and Scully.

"Toxicology screen came back negative for poison. Heavy amounts of ethanol were traced, though," Sidle stated and handed the stapled stack of papers to Scully. "And lots of agave lurida annelida."

"She was out at a club--makes sense that she'd be drinking," Scully mused. "I'm not familiar with that type of species. Sounds like-"

"Tequila worms," Nick piped in.

"Actually, there are no worms in tequila. There is a drink called mescal that however, does utilize these worms into the distillation process. But I doubt that you'd find it being sold outside Mexico, California, and Texas," Sarah continued.

"What about the gun?" Nick questioned Sidle.

"I was getting to that. Bullets that were found on the scene matched the ones remaining in the gun of a 9mm calibre. They were even the same brand. And while I thought of it, I ran an SEM stub on the victim's head."

"Excuse me?" Scully was surprised.

"Scanning electron microscopy. It's what we use to find gunshot residue. We take a really sticky piece of metal, press it up against the surface in question, and look at it underneath an electron microscope," Nick broke in.

"Right. So I found about 3 milligrams of GSR on her head." She then sighed in exasperation for having to elaborate further for Scully. "A normal suicide wound to the temple would have a minimum of 10 milligrams leftover from the shot fired. Which leads me to believe that the muzzle was not touching her skin when it was fired. I also conclude from a various amount of physical tests that prove an impossibility for that weapon to have been dropped by the victim where we discovered it had she committed suicide. If only we knew who this bastard was...we'd so have caught him. The forensic evidence is here."

"It's just as I feared, then. For once, science gives us inconclusive evidence as to the murderer's identity," Scully observed and bit her lip.

"Maybe Agent Mulder's come up with something," Nick aspired.

Club O, Las Vegas, Nevada

3:44 p.m.

"We're not open yet, mister," a bald headed man with a goatee and brown eyes told Agent Mulder through the glass. Mulder dug his badge out of his coat pocket, flashed it, and the man reluctantly opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Agent Mulder. I'm interested in finding out what you know about this woman," Mulder showed the bouncer a picture of a head and shouldered shot of the victim during her autopsy.

"She's a regular. What can I say?" The bouncer glanced at it, shrugged, and started to sweep up broken glass that littered the tiled floor.

"How about her name?"

"What's it to you? You want a date or something?"

"She had a date with death. I don't mean to be rude, but do you think you could be any less helpful to a federal agent?"

"A date with death? Someone popped her one? Well, what else can you expect when a woman gets drunk? Probably got capped by a jealous boyfriend."

"I'm not at liberty to say. All I can tell you is that if you're withholding information concerning Jennifer Cappemaggio's murder, I can arrest you for aiding and abetting. And right now, you're heading straight towards a night in the pokey."

"Ooh, I'm scared. Look, all I know is that she comes in every Friday night, gets punch drunk, and passes out in the bathroom."

"She wasn't so lucky this time." Mulder eyed the bar and hopped onto a stool. "Was there anyone with her last night?"

"Yeah, come to think of it, there was. Six one or six two--probably about 180. Looked a little young, so I asked for his ID when he wanted to buy her a drink."

"How long were they together?"

"We open about 10:30. He was there with her at eleven-ish. They were slamming shots of mescal."

"I know it's a bar and loud, but did you happen to hear his name being mentioned?" The bouncer finished sweeping up the glass and now began to shovel it into the garbage.

"Yeah, actually. Norman. Come to think of it, he was the one buying the mescal most of the time. They were all over each other on the dance floor. I didn't exactly see what the hell they were doing because hey, well, it's a club. And everyone else is doing it. You learn to block out what you see every night. For your own sanity."

"Right. How did he pay for the bar bill?"

"Ran out of cash right up till the end of the night. Then he paid for two doubles with the plastic."

"Can I see the receipt, please?" He nodded and went behind the bar to the register.

"You'd be surprised how much our business went up when we started taking Visa." The bartender unlocked a drawer and began looking through the pile. "Here you go. Twenty five eighty charged to a Mr. Norman Blake. That's such a loser name."

"Was he good looking?"

"He must have been--Jen doesn't go out looking for men when she gets here. She just dances the night away and drinks."

"I need to use this receipt for evidence. Do you still need a copy?"

"Nah, don't bother. As long as it's in the computer system, I'm cool."

"Thanks for your help. Expecting a large crowd tonight?"

"Hell yeah, it's the weekend. I'd offer you a drink on the house to be hospitable, but I know better."

"Thanks for your time," Mulder agreed and pulled out his cell phone as he walked outside the nightclub. "Hello, Danny? Yes, I'd like for you to be able to do a credit card search for me. I'm fine, thanks. The number is 5907-4389-0071, a Visa gold express. Yep, registered to a Norman Blake of North Pine Condominiums, number 77. Thanks a lot, Danny. Say hi to your wife for me, will ya? All right. Take care." Mulder hung up and started the engine to the car.

Once at the condominiums, Mulder parked out front near the complex office and strolled inside casually. "Hi. How can I help you, sir?" the manager inquired of him.

"This is official business," he held up his badge and relinquished it quickly. "I need to be shown inside a Mr. Norman Blake's residence. I would normally have knocked on his place myself had I known where his condo is."

"I'll take you there personally, sir," the woman offered and led him outside to a golf cart. "Hop in. May I ask what this is all about?"

"A murder case."

"Oh, I couldn't imagine Mr. Blake murdering someone."

"Who said that he did?" They pulled backward out of the parking lot and rode at a reasonably slow pace the way electric golf carts run.

"No one. I just assumed that you suspected him, that's all. Anyway, Mr. Blake always obeys our rules and his condominium's paid off. He doesn't socialize a lot with our residents, and I don't think I've actually seen him once while I'm here during the day."

"Do you have security personnel here on the premises?" Mulder wondered.

"Why, yes. But they're only hired for the night."

"Have they seen anything suspicious of Mr. Blake or suspected anything?"

"No. Once or twice he's come home drunk, and they've assisted him into his home, but there have been no problems with him."

"I find it interesting that he's only been seen at night."

"Perhaps he only has a night job and sleeps during the day. Uh, I'm not sure that I should enter with you, should I, I mean, just in case he's there?" She stopped the cart near number 77.

"Just stay there," Mulder commanded, exited the vehicle, and knocked three times on the door. "Mr. Blake, FBI, open up." He waited a few seconds and tried again. "Mr. Blake, are you at home? This is the FBI--I'm here under an official investigation that concerns you." There was silence. "Mr. Blake, open the door," he said more authoritatively.

When again there was no response, Mulder signaled the woman to come towards him. "I need you to let me in."

"This is a private home, sir."

"If I have to come back with a court order, I will. But in the meantime, someone else might die. And that might mean blood on your hands. I'd think more seriously about this if I were you." She acquiesced, retrieved a master key, and unlocked the door. He stepped inside with a drawn gun and cautiously proceeded through each room. "He's not here. Still sure he has that night job?"

"Guess not."

"Sure doesn't have much furniture. Did he just move in?" She pursued him farther into the kitchen.

"No, he's owned this place for four months now."

"It's like a hotel room. No books, no magazines, no scattered pieces of paper lying around. It's as clean as whistle, too." Mulder stopped to inspect the refrigerator and its inner contents. "Hmm. No leftovers except for a box of cold pizza. No condiments. Let's see what the freezer looks like." Out of curiosity, he pulled the top door open. "Nothing but ice cubes. You'd think he'd at least have one carton of ice cream or something."

"Maybe he doesn't like ice cream." Just as he was about to respond to her comment, his cell phone disturbed him from his pocket.

"Excuse me," he apologized and walked into the living room.

"Mulder, it's me," Scully's voice surprised him from the other end.

"Yeah, what's up, Scully?" He knelt down near a wooden cabinet near the entertainment system and opened it up to go through Blake's video and DVD collection.

"We found some very hard evidence to prove that Jen Cappemaggio's death was in fact murder in cold blood. She was strangled to death--that part still remains a mystery. But all of the forensics lead us to disbelieve the suicide rap."

"Good. Because I think I might possibly have found the murderer."

"Really? There's sort of a debate with that going on here." Mulder selected a DVD with the title "Beach Party Blondes" and studied the cover for a while.

"How so?"

"Well, there was a photograph taken at the scene that includes an eight year old boy watching the investigation."

"Mmmhmm, go on." He flipped the box over to the back and read the plot summary.

"I did some checking, and he's an orphan that's moved a total of six times within the last three consecutive years, starting from Seattle, Washington."

"Odd. But it's not unexpected." Mulder opened the DVD, found nothing, and noticed that the DVD player on top was still running.

"Unexpected, how?" He switched on the TV and found the movie to be in the middle of a blaring loud sex scene complete with the usual sound effects. "Mulder, where are you?"

"Uh, sorry." Embarrassed and defenseless, he immediately smashed his fist onto the power button just as the manager entered the room. "I'm fine. The TV's fine, I was just...uh...going through his stuff," he told his present company and instantaneously felt his skin crawl.

"Whose stuff?"

"Norman Blake. The guy who accompanied Jen Cappemaggio home but was never seen leaving--as a man, that is."

"Mulder, are you suggesting that this man and boy are one and the same person?"

"Well if the shoe fits."

"Mulder, this is a scientific impossibility! An 8 year old child cannot alter his voice, nor weight, not height by night or just willfully wish for it to occur!"

"Haven't you ever seen the movie "Big"? You know, the one with Tom Hanks?"

"Oh, brother. If I thought that the concept of aliens entering our planet coming from you was utter nonsense, then this is a complete fairy tale."

"But what if it isn't a fairy tale? What if it's just...fiction?"

"Is that what you're hoping for me to tell a room full of scientists like myself and not have them keep straight faces? Well, Mulder?" she finally asked him after he was quiet on her end for a while.

"Do you happen to have the address of the boy?"

"Yes. Where are you going with this?"

"Possibly nowhere." He donned a pair of latex gloves and picked up another DVD out of the collection. "I'm picking up a piece of Norman Blake's personal property for a fingerprint analysis. I think you should go to this kid's house and do the same."

"As preposterous as your idea sounded two minutes ago, now you're thinking logically. How do you do that, Mulder?"

"It's part of my charm. I'd suggest getting a warrant first."

"I'd love to, except for the fact that this is not our case. We're just here to assist with the profile."

"Fine. Take a scientist with you. I'll meet you back at the hotel to compare notes," Mulder hung up and departed from the condominium. "Thanks for your help."

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 prints and DNA of 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."

Chapter Five

Las Vegas, Nevada

December 7th, 1999, 2:27 a.m.

Detective Brass sighed as he got out of the police car. The crime scene was all too familiar. The victim was positioned in the exact same fashion as Jen Cappemaggio. The gun was in the same place. "Catherine, I'll put in a call to Grissom. This makes number two in less than a day's time," he remarked to her.

"I know."

"The sheriff's gonna want an explanation. This kind of a case is gonna get eaten alive by the press."

"You just tell him that we're working as fast and hard as we can. I'll call Grissom." Catherine turned to Sidle and Stokes. "You know where to begin. Let's see if we can't get anything else different this time."

"Is anyone else feeling a little stupid here?" Sidle questioned Nick, who shook his head in accordance. "It's like he's laughing in our faces."

"Hi, Grissom, it's Catherine," Willows spoke on her cell phone. "You'll never guess what just happened again."

"From the tone of your voice, I can gather that it's not good," he replied.

"Looks like Norman Blake or whatever his name is struck again. I'm having Sarah and Nick fine comb this for the sheriff's sake. Brass informed me that he'll be here in half an hour."

"You're better with people than I. Could you handle that for me, please? I'll take Warrick and go back to the original scene."

"What about the FBI agents?" she wondered.

"We missed something, Catherine. It's nothing they can help us with." He paused on the line for a few seconds.

"Grissom, are you there?"

"Yes. Can I talk to Brass for a minute?"

"Sure. He's right here." Willows picked up her crime scene kit and handed Brass her phone. "Grissom wants you. I'll be in there when you're done," she motioned to the open door and passed underneath the yellow tape.

"Detective Brass here. What's up, Grissom?"

"I don't want those FBI agents interfering with my forensic team. If they show up, keep them outside until I get there. I have a feeling that there's going to be a problem--especially with Agent Mulder."

"Done. I won't even contact them, if that's how you want it."

"I'd prefer it that way, yes. We already have enough people to answer to. I'll be with Warrick at Jen Cappemaggio's residence if anyone within our department needs me."

Jennifer Cappemaggio Residence, Las Vegas, Nevada

2:32 a.m.

"Gris, would you mind telling me what you hope to find here? We could be over at the other scene helping the others and getting done faster," Warrick questioned Grissom as they exited his SUV.

"Why, Warrick, do you have somewhere to be?" Grissom inquired and gave his underling an analytical stare. He fished some keys out from his jacket pocket and opened the front door.

"Apparently nowhere but here. I was just wishing for a little bit of sleep if possible."

"This killer works around the clock as do we. We're here because we missed something last night. I don't know if it was because we were all tired and strung out from the double shift the night before; but we screwed up somewhere. Another woman is dead because of us. And it's up to us to stop him."

"So basically no one sleeps until we catch him?"

"Let me ask you this question, Warrick. Would you feel comfortable going to sleep with the knowledge that you could've stopped a murder from occurring? You wouldn't be able to get a moment's rest. None of us would." His flashlight swept through the halls as they walked through slowly.

"What's the FBI got to say about number two?"

"Nothing. I haven't told them." Brown passed Grissom, and they separated. He went into the dining room and office corner; Grissom made his way into the master bedroom. Warrick felt frustration begin to set in--it felt like they were trapped in a maze. A suddenly curious feeling drew him to the desktop computer sitting in the office corner. He opened up his crime kit, set it on a chair, and withdrew the famous 'crawler' powder that Grissom had concocted.

Warrick spread the thenoyl europium chelate carefully over the entire keyboard first, then the monitor, the mouse, and finally, the tower. "Grissom," he called. Seconds later, his superior showed and inspected his work.

"What've you got, Warrick?"

"Two sets of prints. This wasn't just a crime of passion. Should I lift the hard drive to check on its history?"

"She did have a boyfriend, but he lived separately of her. I'm starting to perhaps see a connection."

"What does this Agent Mulder think? I hear he's supposed to be really smart," Brown wondered.

"It doesn't mean that he can be right all the time. I only followed that one idea he had about the kid, and look where that got us. He killed again. This time, we rely strictly on what we find--not some paranoid or bogus theories based on...premonitions."

"I wouldn't have checked the computer had I not had one."

"And we might not find anything," Grissom barked. "However, it might be a break for us. So yes, pull out the hard drive. We'll see what we can find at the lab," he continued in a normal tone. "And for the hell of it, run the prints, too."

Hotel D'Angelo, Las Vegas, Nevada

2:45 a.m.

Mulder kicked the blankets and sheets off of himself. The hours of tossing and turning were making him sweat; it was impossible to sleep now. He turned the TV and a small light on beside his bed to start going over the X-File. He spent a few minutes analyzing each photo, trying to find something to connect the victims.

"We interrupt this program to bring you into an important story. Channel 9 works hard to keep you informed of the dangers surrounding your neighborhood. Channel 9 reports nothing but truth. We go now live to Morgan Chang, who is just outside a terrible crime scene," a female voice announced and caught Mulder's attention.

"I'm Morgan Chang with Channel 9, and this is Sheriff Daniel Whitewater of the Las Vegas Police. Sir, what happened here tonight?" the Asian American reporter interrogated the man and shoved her microphone into his face.

"All I'm at liberty to say is that we're investigating a homicide. The victim was Hannah Osborne," he responded and backed away from the camera.

"Sheriff Whitewater, does this have anything to do with the murder that just happened last night?" The camera swung around to reveal a few CSI team members that Mulder recognized along with Brass. "Sheriff, I heard from a reliable source that gunshots were fired. Do you have any suspects?"

"None that I can speak of to you," Whitewater shook his head and waived his hand. "As soon as we find out more details, I'll make a statement. Just get the hell out of my face."

Mulder grabbed his cell phone and stormed into the bathroom. "I need to speak to a Gil Grissom, please. I see. Can I have the number, please? Thanks." He shut the door and sat on the toilet. "What the hell's going on here, Grissom? Why didn't you call us immediately? Do you trust the local news station more than Scully and me? No, don't you tell me to calm down, damnit!"

Despite Mulder's efforts to mute his phone conversation, Scully heard him and awoke from a deep sleep. She swept a palm across her face and yawned. "Oh, Mulder," she mumbled as she listened to his half of the heated moment.

"Withholding the truth from a federal agent is a damned offense! Where was this second one? Hello? Hello? Are you there? Grissom, answer me! Damnit," he finally gave up and pushed the talk button to hang up.

"Mulder, what's wrong?" Scully called and he rejoined her from the bathroom.

"Did I wake you?"

"Now that you mention it, yes. Why were you yelling at the top of your lungs at Grissom?"

"There was another one not two hours ago. And I found that out from the news, not the police department," Mulder pointed to the TV with his cell phone.

"Well, there's got to be a logical reason why he didn't tell us."

"I think you know what it is as well as I." When she gave him a perplexed face, he rolled his eyes. "They don't want us here, Scully." He opened the closet and started to dress.

"This case does fall within their jurisdiction, Mulder. Grissom's perfectly within his rights not to want us right there and now at the crime scene."

"I need to get inside of that boy's mind, Scully. This is the only way I can do it. And if you can think of something better to stop him, then by all means, tell me." After he finished buttoning his shirt, he picked up the car keys and his coat. "Are you coming?"

Scully's face told him that she was more tired than reluctant to fight his persistence.

Hannah Osborne Residence, 1190 1st Ave North, Las Vegas, Nevada

3:02 a.m.

"Of all the nights that we never get it, why does it have to rain now?" a police officer on watch asked his senior companion and blew on his hands to warm them.

"It's not so bad. I'd rather be stuck standing out here than doing a drug bust or a stakeout for twelve hours," the other cop shrugged. "Guess Detective Brass scared those media moguls off pretty well."

"Well, not all of 'em," the first officer motioned to an oncoming car that parked onto the curb. Two civilians; a man and a woman shuffled up to the yellow crime tape where the cops were standing. "Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI," Mulder yelled in the heavy rain and flashed the badge to both officers.

"Yeah, I'm Jeff, and this is Mutt of the LAPD. What's it to you?" the senior officer snapped.

"We need to go inside to see the body," Scully answered.

"It's already been wrapped to go. The coroner's got it back in the morgue."

"We need to see the crime scene," Mulder pressed.

"No one goes in or out that's not from Vegas' crime unit. Orders are orders from the sheriff."

"We're assisting them," Mulder's tone turned to belligerence. He was inches away from being right in the senior officer's face.

"You can assist them back at their lab, agents. No one's to disturb them--especially not some hot shot suit from the government with a bad tie." Something inside made Mulder snap. His visual expression was fury, and Scully could not predict his next physical action in time to stop him. His fist came down and up to jab the senior officer squarely in the stomach. The next hits he made came rapidly despite Scully's verbal efforts to calm him down. The only motivation that made him pause was the barrel of a .40 Smith and Wesson being aimed at his forehead by Detective Brass.

"Don't make me use my lead, Agent Mulder," the investigator growled and switched the safety off when Mulder refused to make eye contact with him. "Put him down and get your hands behind your back."

"What are you doing?" Scully questioned Brass while he watched the young officer cuff Mulder and push him roughly into the back of a squad car.

"What's it look like?"

"You're arresting a federal agent for no reason, that's what it looks like!"

"Assaulting an officer and obstruction of justice. Yeah, those seem like two pretty damn good reasons."

"Goddamnit, Brass, we don't have time for stupid vendettas between agencies now!"

"Tell him that. Book him and get Vendrezzi to the hospital for x-rays."

"Look, you don't have to do this. Just--let me talk to him--alone." Brass was distracted for a few seconds as the CSI team members came out of the house and piled into the Chevy Suburban that Willows drove. "What he did was wrong, yes, but it's not worth the time--our time--to catch Norman Blake. And I think Mulder's getting close to predicting his next move."

"He did a swell job with that tonight." Scully turned away from him impatiently and crossed her arms. "All right, I won't press charges. But until I see that he's back to normal behavior, he's not to go near anyone in my department. He can still profile from a holding room."

"For how long?"

"Until I see that he's not in a mood to be punching my officers anymore. Need a ride back to the station?"

"No, I have a car."

Las Vegas Police Department, Questioning Room #5

3:33 a.m.

"You've got some nerve, Grissom," Mulder snarled as the scientist coolly strolled into the room.

"Apparently, so do you. I'm only here because of your partner's insistence that I listen to your theory. And if it weren't for her, you'd be in a cell right now," Grissom solemnly stated. His face showed an irritability and a grimness that made Mulder feel uneasy. "So tell me what you think, Agent Mulder."

"I think I'm here wasting my time if I'm to be treated like such a stranger..."

"You ARE a stranger, Agent Mulder. I've barely known you for a day. Trust is earned--not given. You're asking too much for me and my team to comprehend these leaps of logic-"

"Hey, these so called 'leaps of logic' have put away more than 50 serial killers, Grissom. Sue me for being right," Mulder huffed and began to bite on his thumbnail.

A silence passed over them for a few moments while Grissom removed a notepad from his breast pocket and sat across from Mulder. "Who is this Norman Blake?" he finally inquired.

"So far, we've accumulated three traits that our victims all share; age, hair color, and gender. What if there's something more than that? Guns were all at the homes. It's statistically unlikely that civilian women who live by themselves carry licensed guns. Although there are exceptions to this possibility, I believe that all of these women were law enforcement professionals for that reason. Have we checked that out?"

"Not yet. But go on as if they were."

"He has a problem with female authority. As well as researching the victims, I suggest further research into Alex Maddocks, alias Norman Blake. Look for all types of abuse; whether it's sexual, physical, or verbal."

"Fine. Does anything else strike you about him?"

"Yes. Anomalies in his genetic makeup..." Mulder noticed Grissom's doubtful face and continued confidently. "They cause him to change into a sexual fiend and adult at night. To fuel the chemical imbalances that he's feeling, he counters them with his release."

"How do you account for the strangulation?"

"Some kind of poison might be transferred in his fluids and cause asphyxiation. Or it might be a psychokinetic reaction to the women that have hurt him. He pictures them in his mind and exacts revenge to his victim."

"After hearing this, I'm almost willing to go back to saying that they all committed suicide."

"Then that would be in conflict with what Scully and your coroner found." Grissom let his pen fall onto the table and extracted his glasses from his face. "Why is it so hard for you to accept the paranormal? It's a part of science."

"Because it's unsubstantiated and completely abnormal. This so called age shifter as you describe him is purely fictional."

"Just because it's a brand new occurrence doesn't make it a scientific impossibility. Think of it, Grissom. How else would we know about AIDS, cancer, Siamese twins, or even the bubonic plague? Someone saw it happen and recorded it as an unknown or unexplainable phenomenon. It wasn't normal back then, but it sure as hell is now. Being a scientist should also mean that you're open to explore areas outside what you know."

"Who are you to tell me how to do my job?" Grissom instantly became defensive.

"I'm just trying to do mine, Grissom. And this what I've come up with. It's up to you to fill in the cracks with cement." The door opened with a squeak, and Scully walked inside.

"Sorry. Dr. Robbins and I just finished the autopsy of Hannah Osborne," she announced.

"What'd you find?" Mulder questioned her.

"Nothing different from Jen Cappemaggio. Except the bullet wound to the head. It's larger. Although I'm not an expert with sizes, I'd estimate that it was a .45."

"Did you find any traces of semen?" Grissom asked.

"Yes, but-"

"Good. I'm going to run them through our chemist." He arose, collected his notebook and glasses, then exited the holding room. Scully gave Mulder a bewildered stare.

"What's he looking for?"

"Something out of the ordinary," Mulder replied.

"Now what did I do to you to get such a cryptic response?" she miffed.

"I don't know what he's looking for, Scully. I just had a hunch. I thought by now that I wouldn't have to keep explaining myself to you like we just started working together."

"Mulder, we operate on completely different levels of logic. You...you approach a situation with such an irrationality that's...so unpredictable that I don't know what to think or feel!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, for instance, what the hell did you hit that cop for?"

"I honestly can't give you a reason, Scully," his voice softened as his head sank into his hands. "Do you believe my profile?"

"Considering that you generally have a low probability for being wrong..." she paused long enough to draw his eyes to hers. "I'd say yes. But I still find it incredulous. And as to the explanation for your assault on the police officer, if Skinner finds out about it, I won't say that it wasn't provoked."

"What kind of stuff do you expect to find to make him less incredulous to you?"

"Mulder, I'm tired, and you're tired. Let's go back to the hotel and get some sleep."

"I can't--not with him still out there and knowing that I can stop him. Look, I'm gonna stay here and see if I can't come up with something more with Grissom. Go back to the hotel. I'll let you know if we find something else." Scully nodded and arose. As she crossed over to the door, he took her by the wrist. "And on your way out, would you mind asking them to remove these?"

Scully glanced down at his cuffed hands and smirked. "I think those are there for a good reason, Mulder."

"Scully, I never would have picked you to be the type that's into bondage."

Chapter Five

Club O, Las Vegas, Nevada

4:20 a.m.

"Last call, mister. What'll it be, the same stuff you're having now?" the bartender asked Norman Blake.

Blake threw the shot of vodka down his throat hard and slammed the glass back onto the counter. "Mescal. Hit me with four shots, and I'll be done for the night," he slurred.

"I think you've had enough to drink already."

"I'm not driving anywhere. Come on." He tossed a twenty onto the counter and his eyes began to hunt for another victim. The server agreed, took the money, and began to service his request.

"Last call, ma'am. Can I get you anything else?" Norman spun around to his left and much to his pleasure, a long legged red head with brown eyes stumbled onto a stool next to him.

"Let me help you as a gentleman," Norman smiled devilishly and helped her keep her balance.

"Two tequilas. No, no, make it mescal," she purred once she noticed what Norman was drinking. "Thank you. What's your name?"

"Norman. I'd ask you to dance, but I think I'd probably fall off of the stool," he grinned. "You ever done a body shot before?"

"Not in a long time. I'm Kristin, by the way."

"Are you seeing anyone?" When she paused to give him an odd stare, he waived it off. "I always ask just in case--I wouldn't want to get him pissed off."

"I'm as free as a bird." She reached behind herself to retrieve a salt shaker and set it down in between them on the bar. "Yourself?"

"I was until now." He dipped a finger into one of the shot glasses, rubbed a bit of alcohol onto her neck, and she poured the salt onto herself. She next framed the lime perfectly in her teeth and waited for what seemed like the longest time for his mouth to reach her neck. Finally, she felt his tongue drag across her after he did the shot. Their mouths joined for a long moment as he drained the fruit of its juice. He broke away from her long enough for the peel to fall out and whispered something that caught the attention of the bartender, "No other drink can make me feel this way."

"All right, all right, break it up. We're closing in a few. Leave the lady alone," the server banged a bottle onto the bar.

"This doesn't involve you," Norman continued to stare deeply into the woman's eyes.

"If you don't get the hell outta my bar, I'm gonna call the cops. Got it?"

Norman knocked over a few of the drinks he'd ordered and slid clumsily off of his stool. He staggered outside and walked down a few blocks before passing out into the street.

Minutes later, a squad car slammed onto its brakes, nearly hitting the unconscious criminal. The officers stepped out and bent down to examine him. "Is he alive?" the driver questioned his younger companion.

"Yeah, it's just a drunk. Help me get him into the car, huh? We'll book him after he wakes up."

Las Vegas Police Department Jail

6:30 a.m.

"Oh my god," an officer exclaimed as she passed through a block of cells and stopped at the one where Norman Blake had been dropped off hours earlier. She opened the door instantaneously and woke the child in the over sized clothes up.

"Matthews? What the hell's a kid doing in the drunk tank?" she barked. Seconds later, the man rushed into the block area.

"I...I don't know. The guys that brought him in left an hour ago. Well, not him. I mean, well..." Matthews responded meekly.

"Was this who they brought in? What the hell kind of a sick joke is that?"

"Well, I'm not sure. I just got in myself at about six."

"Go find out about the guy that was here and if he was moved for some odd reason."

"Yes, ma'am." Matthews hurried back to his desk and started searching through computer records. His superior in the meanwhile let Alex Maddocks out from the cell and had him sit on a bench.

"You wait right here until we can get ahold of your mom and dad. Can you sit here and wait for them?" she asked him sweetly, and Alex nodded quietly. She returned to Matthews and hovered over him.

"Well, he was put into the cell at about five eighteen or so. Hold on, a fax's coming through." He turned around to grab the paper from out of the machine and took a double take at the picture. "Hey, it's the kid. His name is Alex Maddocks. You wonder how the hell he got in there."

"Call the parents. Now," the female officer wasted no time.

6:55 a.m.

"What the hell was he doing here?" Jeff Kovach spat at Detective Brass. Alex Maddocks remained precisely where he had been told to sit twenty minutes ago and was remarkably still. Patricia came out from the women's restroom and handed her son a Rubik's cube to play with.

"I have no explanation to offer you, I'm sorry," Brass shrugged emotionlessly.

"Look, we've had enough of where your investigations and insinuations are going. And we're sick of the blame being passed onto an innocent boy like our son," Jeff shook his finger at the homicide detective. "If this is the best you can come up with for a suspect, then your police department is a joke. And frankly, I don't like my tax dollars going to a pile of shit like this!"

"Calm down, sir, it was an honest mistake. And we apologize wholeheartedly."

"Oh, you're going to do better than that. As of nine a.m. this morning, my firm is now going to be completely devoted to suing this law enforcement establishment. Tell Sheriff Whitewater to be expecting my first motion at that time," the man shouted and coerced his family out of the building.

Brass closed his eyes, ran his hand down his face, and strolled over to the coffee pot. His attention left his hot drink when he heard a banging on the vending machine near the break room. Mulder was viciously pounding the snack machine to get a cinnamon bun out until he witnessed Brass eyeing him dangerously. "Sorry. The machine ate my change," he sheepishly grinned.

"Listen to me carefully. I hope that you're not putting my fellow colleagues into the same loony bin your ideas come from. They work too hard and are respected too much to be stepping into your shit," Brass rasped.

"What do you mean?" Mulder became defensive.

"I mean that these people aren't fools that just step into any baloney theory made by some alien hunting crazy son of a bitch that happens to be a pathetic excuse of an FBI agent. And if this lawsuit gets any farther than one session in a courtroom, I'm placing all of the blame on you and your partner."

"What are you talking about? Why would there be a lawsuit?"

"These foster parents Alex Maddocks lives with picked him up here not five minutes ago from jail. And the only reason as to why I could ever hope to explain this to the sheriff is because of one of your convoluted ideas that had us collecting DNA from him twelve hours ago."

"Detective, I don't think that blowing this out of proportion is such a good idea right now. Everyone needs to keep his head cool and focused."

"Like you did four hours ago." Brass slammed his fist against the vending machine.

"What's going on here?" Scully yawned and picked up the fallen cinnamon bun from where it dropped.

"I think your partner needs a lobotomy," Brass quipped roughly and brushed past the both of them.

"Scully, I thought you were sleeping," Mulder said, surprised.

"Oh, I was. Until I got a call from Grissom. They found something unusual in the semen. Come on," she gently took him by the hand and sneaked the stolen junk food into her trench coat pocket.

"Where were you, Agent Mulder? I was looking for you," Warrick Brown wondered. He met them in the middle of the hall as they journeyed down to the DNA laboratory.

"Went down to get a snack and got my head nearly bitten off by Detective Brass," Mulder answered.

"Yeah, he doesn't get along with too many people--myself included."

"Grissom sounded like this was a major break in the case," Scully changed the subject and made direct eye contact with Brown.

"Come see for yourself," Grissom appeared in the open doorway and ushered them inside. "This is Greg Levesque, our DNA specialist."

"How're you doing? Nice to meet you finally," Levesque offered the agents his hand for a greeting; when he saw Grissom's stern face, he withdrew it and picked up a printout from a table. "As I'm sure Dr. Scully is aware, lots of things make up a man's ejaculation. And usually, most of the stuff has to do with what he's consumed during the day. You know, food and drink. Prostaglandins and ammonia are also two usual items; this last one, however, is not."

"Well, what is it?" Scully inquired.

"Uh, I'm still trying to identify it. I've been going through all of our indexes and databases to find something like it. All I can say is that I recognize some of the makeup like nitrogen, carbon, hydrochloric and amino acids. But this other stuff is...unknown. So I ran some other tests on normal cells with this sample of semen. Less than a minute later, the cells dried up and...expired."

"May I?" Mulder questioned Levesque and went over to the same table as a microscope. "So in your chemical opinion, could this unknown material cause asphyxiation?"

"Through what I've seen, it's very likely." Levesque stepped away to let Scully through as well. "And it would appear to explain why nothing abnormal showed up in the victims' toxicology reports."

"Mulder, your guess was as good as gold. All victims were indeed law enforcement and military officials. And these last two--Jen Cappemaggio was an FBI agent out of the Vegas branch. Hannah Osborne was a private in the Marine Corps," Grissom announced and provided proof of his findings to Mulder.

"Why didn't Skinner tell us about this?" Scully wondered.

"Could be that he didn't know. Besides, I was the one who dragged us out here."

"There's more evidence to this, though. Out of curiosity, I took Cappemaggio's hard drive after I found several prints over the computer that weren't hers. Norman Blake wasn't just a sex maniac--he tried to steal these women's identities, too," Brown said.

"So his agenda was personal. But he didn't target them for their personalities. Which is why I asked for any history of abuse," Mulder glanced over from the files to Grissom.

"I gave that to Nick. He should be here in a few minutes," the head CSI motioned them outside. The four investigators left Levesque alone once more and convened in the break room. Mulder set the files down onto the table and started patting his pockets down.

"Lose something, Agent Mulder?" Brown questioned him.

"Yeah." Mulder's perturbed expression returned; he reached out an open palm to Scully.

"What?" Scully asked innocently.

"Don't be coy, Scully. I fought the machine for it and won. Hand over the cinnamon bun." She shrugged without any embarrassment and obeyed his command. Grissom couldn't help but be amused by their interaction as he poured himself a fourth serving of coffee for the evening. Before he could comment upon the situation, Stokes entered the room with a stunning smile. Well, stunning for at least one person.

"Bingo, we have a winner. Alex Maddocks has been abused by nearly every single set of foster parents that he's lived with. I'm guessing that somewhere along the years, he snapped," he reported.

"Sorry to be late. My daughter had a nightmare," Catherine Willows broke in and sat down next to Mulder. "What did I miss?"

"We have enough evidence to arrest Norman Blake. But it's now well after seven o'clock. He'll be in the Alex Maddocks persona until eight or nine tonight, give or take a few minutes for sunset. We can't take him out at his day residence, Grissom. But we can watch him," Mulder suggested. "Whatever happened to the surveillance that we ordered earlier?"

"Brass said it was a waste of manpower. I think a full operation sting would be better," Grissom replied. "I think he'd go for that."

"Yeah, but, what do we use for a hook?" Brown inquired. Suddenly, without any hesitation, all eyes transferred focus to Scully.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. You have undercover cops, don't you?" Mulder asked Grissom.

"Not any red haired ones, but that's easily remedied. What's wrong with using Agent Scully?" Grissom replied.

"Well...for one thing, she could never be the party type. True, she's played the bait before, but I don't think she could be up to par on the acting." Scully shot Mulder a scowl.

"I don't mean to intrude on this, but I agree with Agent Mulder," Stokes spoke up. "Though I'm sure Agent Scully would be good for the part, it isn't her primary function here. As a fellow scientist, I think she should remain with us on the outside."

"Catherine, do you have any thoughts?" Grissom inquired. Willows pushed some of her hair behind her ears after eyeing Scully for a long moment and placed her hands onto the steel table.

"I think you should ask her if she feels that she's up to it. But, I know this is a delicate matter and try not to take offense to this, Agent Scully. I don't think she looks young enough to play that part. You said it yourself, Agent Mulder, when you stated that Blake only goes for women in their late twenties."

"I did, didn't I? Well, who's going to be in charge of this operation?" Mulder wondered.

"Probably Brass. He is our link to the homicide department. Assignments will be given out as soon as an undercover cop is chosen, briefed, and prepped. Everyone, please keep your cell phones on, go home, and try to sleep. Brass will notify me, and then I will establish contact with you," Grissom answered.

"Grissom? Can I have a moment alone with you?"

"Certainly, Agent Mulder." Mulder and Grissom stepped outside of the room. Seconds later, Mulder stuck his head back inside and motioned Scully to come with him.

"I hope you know what the hell you're getting us into, Mulder," Scully growled as they journeyed outside to their rental car.

"You'll be thanking me later for what I just did, Scully. Don't say that I've never done you any favors."

"The last time you did me a favor, I ended up missing approximately 72 hours of sleep and a date."

"You wanna drive or shall I?" He held up the keys, but she shook her head and sulked her way into the front passenger seat. "It's only fair to offer."

"Shut up and drive, Mulder."

Chapter Six

Norman Blake Residence, North Pine Condominiums #77, Las Vegas, Nevada

10:18 p.m.

"So you actually expect Norman to show up with a woman here tonight?" Scully questioned Mulder and shoved a large bite of pizza into her mouth.

"It's possible. Oh, here they come," Mulder took his hands off of the steering wheel and motioned to the sight of Grissom's Chevy Suburban pulling up. He opened up his door much to the bewilderment of Scully; she followed suit, but he scolded her to get back in. "I asked for some relief. Grissom and I will be waiting outside of that Club O place. Stay here, Scully."

The frown that usually graced itself upon Scully returned for a slight moment--as Nick Stokes exited the SUV, her expression became one of confusion. "Sunflower seeds are in the glove compartment should you need some," Mulder shouted over his shoulder without looking back.

"Is this seat taken?" Stokes questioned her. Before she could even think of a response, he shut the door after sliding into the driver's seat. "I'm not one for sunflower seeds, but...uh, that pizza looks real good. Would you mind if I--"

"Oh sure, not at all." She immediately passed the box over to Stokes, who gratefully consumed a slice.

"You know, I've got to ask you something. If you don't want to answer it right away, it's no problem. But--I gotta know how you two characters got thrown together. For one thing, he seems like he's on a total different wavelength."

"Agent Mulder's approaches to cases are somewhat...unorthodox. We were assigned to work together about seven years ago on these X-Files. Unexplained phenomenon is his specialty."

"And you, you seem pretty down to earth, Dana. What do you think of the paranormal?"

"I won't deny that I've seen some really odd things in our tenure. Sometimes...I have been unable to explain some of our cases through the eyes of science as we know it."

"Hence this sexual thing going on with Norman Blake. What about other cases like this? Did you find any paranormal matter while investigating it?"

"In Pennsylvania, we ran across a group of people that could change genders at a moment's notice. Well, nothing was actually proven that they were people. Anyway, the victim's adrenaline mixed with an unusually high amount of pheromones was the deadly agent there."

"Fascinating. Are you still wearing that same perfume? Sorry. With all things getting mixed up today in a politically correct culture, I guess I'm an old fashioned guy. I happen to like real feminine women."

"Yes, it's the same one. Nick, I...I'm not rejecting you. But at this particular juncture, I'm not sure that it would be a good time for us to discuss anything except work."

"Do I make you feel nervous?"

"I just don't feel that it's the appropriate time or place."

"Well, when would it be appropriate?"

"You're very tenacious," Scully's gaze moved from the window briefly over to him.

"Only if I see something that's worth the wait." He leaned over to the glove compartment for Mulder's beloved sunflower seeds. "Guess I'll learn to like 'em."

Club O, Las Vegas, Nevada

10:58 p.m.

"So who's our decoy?" Mulder broke open a seal on a bag of sunflower seeds and offered some to Grissom. Grissom shook his head politely and took his hands off of the steering wheel.

"Officer Molly Rowland. Brass briefed her on her responsibilities. He and Warrick are keeping watch over at her place just in case."

"We have people on the inside, right?"

"Yes--Catherine and Sarah." Mulder felt uncomfortable with Grissom's terseness. To further annoy Grissom, he began to crack the seed cases open. The silence was driving him crazy--he almost wished he hadn't done Scully that favor. But it was a miniscule gesture as compared to how many times she had covered and lied for him in the past.

"Scully mentioned that you're an entomologist. Was that your major in college?"

"No, I minored in the study. It's a passion of mine. Insects are simple but yet complex creatures." The expression on Mulder's face enticed Grissom to go on. "With four simple types of creatures, I can determine the time of death on any corpse left out in the elements. And actually, if left in a home for days, that can be explained as well. For instance, I've had Greg, our DNA specialist, runs several tests on flesh flies. Blood can be extracted from its digestive tract and tested for identification."

"Uh-huh. What else?" Mulder spat out another shell onto the floor much to Grissom's disgust.

"Depending on how much there is of a body left, soft tissues and bodily fluids can also be recovered from the insect larvae, particularly maggots for a toxicology analysis. These creatures simply carry out their two purposes in life: decompose and propagate. What about you, Agent Mulder? What are your thoughts on insects?"

"Oh, I've always thought of them as a pain in the ass. I've often asked myself what purpose do cockroaches serve, you know? I hate them--I really do."

"Some species serve as decomposers. But why hate them? They've done you no wrong. Insects are complex in the many ways that we can use them. Most are for good purposes."

"That's funny, because every single time that I've run into them, that's just the opposite. Up in Oregon, about six years ago, a group of 30 tree loggers disappeared from their excursions. Do you know how they died?" Mulder paused for the dramatic effect hoping to spur a positive emotion from Grissom. Instead, the entomologist gave him an inquisitive and scrutinizing sneer.

Yet another empty shell landed on the floor.

"Mutated bugs...an extinct species...got to them. These insects made their prey into cocoons, digested all of the bodily fluids, and literally 'sucked' the life out of the lumbermen. How's that strike you for a simple group of 'decomposers'?" He held up four fingers in quotation marks and quickly popped some more sunflower seeds into his mouth.

"I'd say that I'd like to see some scientific proof before agreeing with you." Mulder's head sagged lower like his projected self value under the scope of Grissom's meticulous observations. "Agent Mulder, don't depress yourself. We're here at this place this very moment because of your profile--and the scientific evidence that supports most of it."

"I guess I'm tired of...being put underneath the microscope and interrogated. And constantly having to explain myself...and I feel degraded by it. Every day, it's a perfunctory cycle--a slap in the face of my life's work. No offense intended, but when I'm in a room with you guys, I feel like I'm surrounded by five Scullys."

"Do you feel threatened by her?" Grissom did not wait for Mulder's answer; he continued. "Of course you do. Because she's a scientist. It's our job to question what others view as being the truth and represent it as a fact--or a fallacy. Agent Mulder, I understand you're looking for the truth. But you misinterpret the concept of what you're looking for. People find truths everyday. I think you believe what you want to believe. Agent Scully is looking for the facts."

A sudden chirping alarmed both of them; it was just Grissom's 2 way radio on his cell phone. He looped a hands free headset over his head and inserted it into his ear. "We have contact," Catherine's voice could be heard both by Mulder and Grissom. "Someone's approaching her. Don't know if it's him or not."

Inside Club O

11:04 p.m.

"We never actually got a physical description of him, did we?" Sarah shouted into her phone. "They're headed towards me at the bar."

"Keep your eyes on them. Watch what he orders," Catherine responded. "He tends to have a taste for mescal."

The techno music was a trance-like wave over the packed establishment. Swirls of colored lights and lasers swept throughout the club, making it very hard to concentrate on Officer Rowland and her presumed companion Norman Blake. What made it worse was the fact that bodies were consistently mobbing the bar and its two attendants. There was no elbow room for Sidle. Every time she tried a new position on the stool, someone else always managed to squeeze in next for a drink.

"I can't see them," Sidle yelled and another bump from a nearby drunk made her drop her radio onto the floor. "Oh shit." After having bent down and retrieving it, the couple was nowhere to be seen. "Catherine, I lost them."

Outside Club O, Grissom's car

11:06 p.m.

"Was she armed?" Mulder joined in on the conversation.

"Yeah, but if she pulls her gun on him now, her cover's blown. We don't even know if it's him or not," Sidle answered.

"Does anyone see them?" Grissom inquired.

Inside Club O

11:07 p.m.

"Yes. I think I have them," Catherine said and moved in closer to the dance floor. "I'm gonna try and get upstairs so I can get a better look." She bulldozed her way past the sweaty human obstacle course up a spiral staircase to a catwalk filled with even more bodies. The stench of smoke was almost too much for her to bear in such close quarters.

"That's affirmative, I have visual contact with Rowland and possibly Blake. Can I ask what Brass' intentions are with this matter?" she coughed and leaned over a railing to stare down at the couple dancing among the hundreds.

"You lookin' to escape, honey? I know of just the right stuff," a cross dresser lazily tapped Willows on the shoulder while dancing with another man. "You'll see things you've never seen before."

"I'll bet. No thanks," she rolled her eyes and turned away from the couple.

Outside Club O, Grissom's car

11:09 p.m.

"As far as I know, he wanted to kind of nab Blake in the middle of it all," Grissom replied and exchanged a stern glance with Mulder.

"What do you mean, the middle of it all? You mean he actually wanted this undercover cop to...to go where the wild things are?" Mulder indignantly questioned him. "That's too far!"

"I don't question my assignments, Agent Mulder. And remember, this case falls under our jurisdiction. Brass is in charge; his word goes."

"Yeah, well, just in case he forgot, this is exactly what we don't want. Sex with this guy is lethal!"

"Goddamnit, I lost them again," Catherine exclaimed over the radio.

"You know what, for once, piss on your jurisdiction. I'm not gonna have another life's blood on my hands because I didn't do something that I could," Mulder barked and opened the SUV door.

"You're gonna blow her cover, Agent Mulder. I wouldn't do it. What if this isn't even the guy?" Grissom warned him. Mulder was insistent. He slammed the door shut and stormed up toward the club entrance.

Grissom knew there was only one thing to do. He shut off his 2 way radio while he called Stokes' cell phone number.

"Stokes," the man faithfully answered after two rings.

Norman Blake Residence, North Pine Condominiums #77, Las Vegas, Nevada

11:10 p.m.

"This is Grissom. Get over here right now with Agent Scully."

"Why?" Nick's eyes became concerned after gazing at his current partner.

"Brass and Warrick are too far away to get here in time. Agent Mulder went inside--he's hellbent on some kind of...I don't know...I don't understand his logic."

"Maybe he just wants to catch the bad guy."

"Actions speak louder than words do, Nick. I need some help from you two now. I'm heading out of my car now into the alley, just in case our suspect ran out here."

"We'll be right there." Stokes had hoped that their conversation would have woken Scully, but her head rested peacefully against her window undisturbed. "Agent Scully? Dana?" He tried gently shaking her shoulder and after three useless attempts, he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

Inside Club O

11:11 p.m.

"Alex Maddocks, show yourself!" Mulder yelled and withdrew his weapon. Dozens of frightened people froze dead in their dancing and panic ensued.

"There's a man with a gun!" someone shouted not two feet away from him.

"FBI, don't worry!" he responded, but the multitude of screams covered up his calm but loud voice. He fought his way through, trying to get to the back of the club while being overwhelmed by the mobbing, anxious wave of bodies. "Let me through! Agent pursuing a dangerous suspect! Goddamnit, stop pushing me!"

Meanwhile, Sidle and Willows found exits outside through a fire escape and a bathroom, respectively. A red headed woman's body was hunching over a dumpster when Willows first discovered her. "Officer Rowland?" Catherine questioned, and the woman meekly acknowledged her. "Are you okay? Do you need medical attention?"

"I'm...fine. I just got...the wind knocked out of me," Rowland whispered. "I thought I had him."

"Hey, what's going on?" Sidle rushed over to Willows and Rowland. "Where'd he go?"

"He jumped the fence and took off after I confronted him," Rowland continued and clutched her arm protectively over her ribcage.

"I'll stay with her. You go." Willows pointed to the officer and removed her cell phone. Sidle nodded and just as she turned away, Mulder lifted himself over the fence and kept sprinting down the street.

Mulder briefly stopped for a moment to scan the dark area. Blake was well hidden in the next side street. He knew his opportunity was close as Mulder took his gun out once more and a flashlight this time. "Alexander Maddocks, this is Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI. You're wanted for murder and grand larceny by the states of Washington, Idaho, and Nevada. It's no use running anymore, Alex. I know who you are by day, and what you become at night. I want you to know that I understand your situation--you need to survive. But I promise you, the sooner you end this, the less harder it will be later on," Mulder stated.

Blake watched Mulder slowly check out the alley--his moment came as the FBI agent unknowingly turned his back to the predator, and he tackled Mulder down to the ground. The gun from his startling blow fell from Mulder, dropped to the ground, and settled several feet away from reach. Blake picked Mulder up and shoved him into the wall three times before the agent stopped struggling so vigorously. He bent down to retrieve the weapon until he heard footsteps and the magazines of two guns being pulled back. "Drop it, Blake, or whoever the hell you are," Stokes firmly announced from his left.

Grissom guarded Blake's other side and slowly, the two CSI members encircled him. "Step away from the federal agent and put your hands behind your head. Nick, I have you covered." Stokes nodded and he pulled a set of handcuffs off of Mulder as Blake obeyed Grissom's instructions. As soon as Blake was secured, Grissom put away his gun and Mulder stood up. "Thanks," Mulder offered his hand to Grissom who shook it once but firmly.

Chapter Seven

Las Vegas Forensics Department, Las Vegas Police Department, Las Vegas

11:55 p.m.

"So what is he really? I've never had to explain as much on a report before," Grissom asked Mulder and Scully as they stood outside a questioning room where Blake was being held. His expression was emotionless as his arms remained cuffed behind his back while Brass laid down the facts and accusations. But his eyes were fixed only upon Scully.

"A homicidal maniac in the body of an eight year old by day--and a twenty-four year old by night. We weren't able to prove exactly how that happens under the microscope of science as you know. But we were able to prove that he was at each of those scenes--in each of those women--with the right chemicals to kill them. And then he tried to cover them up by staging a suicide. An exact time frame of how long he can survive without having copulation is at this point...undetermined," Mulder summarized.

"But sometime soon, he'll turn back into a kid. How can you try two different people for the exact same crime? The child didn't commit the crime, the adult did," Scully wondered.

"No, Scully, Alex Maddocks and Norman Blake are one in the same person. That photo taken outside one of the crime scenes is evidence...that Maddocks was at the scene and committed the crime."

"I hate to say this, but it's circumstantial. Yes, the obvious questions are there. Why would an eight year old be out late at night like that? How could he have reached the Kovach's alarm at a height of 3 foot nine? And unfortunately, it leaves me nearly back where I started. No one will convict this person, let alone listen to the forensic discoveries of this case in court; because I can't explain or prove how he really does it," Grissom vented his anger. "Two of the most horrific words that scientists like me dread the most are the ones that I slave day in and day out to solidify. They're this criminal's only true friends." He shut the manila file that he'd been studying and handed Mulder back a familiar object before making his departure.

Mulder glanced at the X-File and then back at Scully in question.

"Reasonable doubt," she replied to his wordless inquiry and began to stroll away. He placed the file underneath his right arm and strode beside her.

"You know, I could have used you back there...at the club," Mulder chided her.

"Mulder, I'm sorry. I was very tired--I'm still tired now. This whole case seriously screwed up my Circadian cycle."

"Oh, and you don't think I am? We came out here-"

"And did what? Honestly, what did we do? How did we help them?" Scully stopped in her tracks once they were outside of the building. "Let's face it, Mulder. This X-File was a failed assignment."

"How, how can you say that? You of all people should know that again, science's borders were breached when we uncovered yet another anomaly. We didn't fail at all--we just brought in a new piece of the puzzle to explain who we are. An unexplainable ending to a case isn't a failure, Scully. And it hurts me very deeply when you say things like that...about my work."

"Your work? What am I...a sidekick or something?"

"No, Scully, I didn't mean that. Now come on, let's...let's go back home." He turned and started to head through the parking lot to their car. When she didn't follow him immediately, he spun around. "Coming back to the motel, or you do have other...plans? Maybe some unfinished business with a certain CSI team member?"

"I'll meet you back in Washington--at the office," she announced coldly. He knew that he had crossed the line of respect that they had drawn for each other with that last comment. And without another word or action, Mulder got into the car and left.

"You weren't thinking of leaving without saying goodbye, were you, Agent Scully?" Stokes asked as he journeyed out of the doors towards her.

"No, I...I guess not." She faced him, but her eyes made contact with the sidewalk. Scully crossed her arms when he came within a few feet of her presence.

"I apologize for not trying harder to wake you up. There's only so much that a gentleman can do before resorting...to other methods." Nick dug his keys out from his jacket pocket and patted her on the arm lightly. He expected a witty response to his frankness, but when he noticed that she still was not looking at him and in a different, despondent world, he took that as a signal to begin to leave. But as soon as she observed him unlocking his car, she followed him over, and he halted his exit. "You don't need to tell me that you're upset, Dana. And I won't ask why if you don't want to talk about it. And I'm gonna try one more time because as you so eloquently put it, I'm tenacious. Would you care for a drink?"

"Yes, I would," was all she said in reply and joined him in the car.

"So what did you think of Las Vegas? Would you come back?" he inquired and started the engine.

"I didn't have a reason to until now," Scully responded and gave him a generous smile.

Somewhere between Las Vegas and Washington, D.C.

December 8th, 1999, 12:05 a.m.

"How much did you lose?" a female flight attendant stirred Mulder from his usual risque magazine as she brought the beverage cart just past him.

"Excuse me?" Mulder questioned her.

"I was asking how much you lost because you look just like you lost everything. And you were in the most logical place to do it, so...drinks are half priced on this flight."

"No, I didn't lose any money. Wish I had." He unbuckled his seat belt and fished out his wallet.

"What, then?" Mulder pointed to the Budweiser can sitting in the first drawer, and she handed it to him after receiving his money. "Wait a minute. I know. You lost an opportunity. And someone else got it." The attendant opened the can for him and gave him a wink. "Hope you get another chance next time, mister."

"I hope so, too," Mulder muttered and consumed a large portion of his beverage.

THE END