Chapter Twelve

Route 89, Outskirts of Flagstaff, Arizona

September 27th, 2000, 8:35 a.m.

"Nobody's seen or heard from her in the past fourteen hours. She showed up for work yesterday and left," Doggett informed Scully as he drove.

"How far does she live from the station?"

"I spoke with one of her colleagues...he says that she lives in a condo complex about ten minutes away. Want me to drop you off at the station while I go look for her there?"

"I think that'd be a wise idea." There was no further conversation between the two of them until Doggett pulled up to the front of the department.

"Hey, did you ever get to talk with Skinner? You must have; he approved that 302 so fast that I felt like I was in the middle of an Indy 500 or something."

"Yes, I did, and he confessed." She exited the car, and Doggett rolled down the window.

"Hey, wait a second. So then what? Are we just going to let him get away with murder? Well...okay, it's not murder, but you know what I mean."

"Skinner had his reasons, and maybe he'll reveal them to you one day. Rest assured, Agent Doggett, not all of the files have been lost. The Gunmen retrieved some," Scully told him and walked away before he could ask her anything more.

"I don't ever think I'll be able to figure her out," he grunted and left the driveway.

Scully made her way into the building and showed her badge to the police officer at the reception desk. "Not another one," he groaned and rolled his eyes. "What do you need to see?"

"I'm sorry?" she folded up her identification and tucked it into her trench coat. "Another FBI agent, do you mean?"

"Right. Which branch are you from?"

"Headquarters, as a matter of fact."

"Y'all should really start communicating to one another--or at least have the decency to stop bugging the shit out of the police departments at indecent hours." The Hispanic cop dug into a breast pocket and wiped a heavy trail of sweat off of his brow with a handkerchief.

"You're right, we should. But since I wasn't here earlier, could you please tell me what in God's name happened here?"

"Well about five of your guys from the Tucson offices stormed our precinct demanding to know where Detective Gardener's desk was. They claimed that she was suspected of unpatriotic deeds and espionage against the United States. What could I do but open the door for them once I saw their IDs?"

"Let me guess. They pretty much emptied her drawers and trashed her files to find what they were looking for--the evidence to convict her--without so much as a question to anyone else in the department of her whereabouts?"

"Guess so. Didn't see much after I let 'em in because we had a shit load of trouble last night. All the drunks and wife beaters decided to keep us busier than an army of ants. Jail was full, and I didn't get off until 4 this morning because of the goddamned paperwork. Sorry that I didn't track their every goddamned move, G-woman. Next time you want a play by play, you oughta hang bells around your freakin' necks."

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's paramount that I see Detective Gardener. I seriously doubt she's involved in anything but investigating the truth."

"Well, she isn't here obviously. Sure could've used her help last night with those domestic disputes--I had to pull in men and women away from their beds to work double shifts."

"I understand, sir," Scully tried to be polite, "but could you please just let me go through her files? I had been working on a case with her long distance, and I'd like to go over her notes."

"I'll let you pass through, but good luck with her lieutenant. That woman's a Mauser ready to go off at any second--also another cop that got called in early this morning." He stepped aside from a trap door and shut it after Scully entered.

"Is there a reason why no one's looking for her besides us?"

"I just assumed she's not here because you g-people got her."

"Well this time, you're the one who's not informed," Scully spat and marched straight for Gardener's bureau. For the life of her, she could not comprehend why that police officer was so unconcerned for a fellow cop--even officers that did not get along together always seemed to be genuinely disturbed when told someone was missing. There were several different agents in the Bureau that she could not stand to even make pleasant, casual small talk with; but she knew that if one of them were in trouble, she'd do her best to ensure that he or she were back to work as quickly as possible. At first, she had thought of Doggett as just a parasitic leech sent down from Kersh in spite of the fact that he disliked both her and Mulder so much. But now, if he had disappeared like Mulder, she wasn't so sure that she could handle another absence of a partner from her life. She needed some stability in her life right now like many people felt the need to gamble or smoke.

Scully broke her inner monologue, snapped on her prophylactic gloves, and commenced to concentrate on the details of Gardener's desk--the few that she found. The pocket sized evergreen notebook that Gardener had been using when she conversed with Scully was nowhere to be found. All the drawers were unlocked, even the ones with 'confidential' marked on top of the files. She rifled through them, and much like Mulder, this detective had little organizational skills. The "solved" cases were mixed in with the "closed", "pending investigation", or "unsolved" files. But who else would indeed be going through these besides the detective? She had no partner, so what would be the use?

Well, perhaps the crime had been committed by the "FBI agents from the Tucson office" mentioned by the Latino cop. They must have been in quite a hurry to leave Gardener's bureau in such a mess. Maybe she'd be lucky enough to catch a few latent prints, if she could find a CSI willing to help her. Then she did remember the two she'd made brief acquaintances with: Doris and Hester. They seemed kind enough and definitely would be more than interested in Gardener's vanishment.

Speak of the devil, Hester just strolled in, tackle box in one hand, and a cell phone pressed to his ear with the other. He seemed completely immersed in another world and failed to observe Scully waiving at him. "Mr. Hester," she called. Finally, he glanced away and nearly smacked into another officer as he stopped to wait for her. "Sorry. I'm gonna have to let you go," he said to his caller and hung up. "Agent Scully, I'm surprised to see you back here. Detective Gardener mentioned that you had dropped the case." His smile was as welcoming as the spring blossoms of May.

"Not exactly. We were ordered by the Attorney General to return back to D.C. and leave the jurisdiction with Flagstaff PD. But now we're back because Detective Gardener's gone missing."

Hester's face wrinkled with confusion, and he ushered her into his office that was down the next hallway. "Missing? I didn't hear anything about that."

"She's been gone since she finished her shift last night at 6:00, so I'm told. But no one has bothered to look for her or lift a finger. I was informed that everyone was too busy last night, and that supposedly, some folks from the Tucson Bureau came in to collect evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"The excuse was espionage and terrorism, but I seriously doubt that. I know that she didn't exactly work in the same department as you, Mr. Hester, but would you place her as being the sort of person to take a day off or perhaps even run away?"

"It's Jerry, by the way, and no, Gardener never took days off, even when she was sick. Rumor was that when a fever hit her was when she did her best work. Even her boss tried to make her leave early when she was ill, but that was about as futile as trying to stop a pissed off bull from charging." That sounded all too familiar, Scully thought to herself. "I'm married to my work most of the time, but I know I'm not at my fullest capacity when I'm not well. So I try to take multi-vitamins all the time so I don't get sick--I'm the head of my department--got too much responsibility for sickness."

"Did you catch a glimpse of these "FBI agents", Jerry?"

"Nope, I've been out all night. Gotta start on the paperwork to file along with the evidence I find for the night, you know." Hester offered her a chair while he set down his toolbox and sank into his.

"Of course. Before you do that, would you mind assisting me in collecting some from Gardener's desk?" He bit his upper lip and leaned forward.

"I did kind of wonder why you were packing protection." Hester motioned to her gloved hands. "What would I be looking for, and why do you refer to them as quote FBI agents?"

"Latents. They were in an awful hurry, unless the Detective adheres to the same kind of filing system that my former partner does. I know that we're a huge government operation, but we do usually keep tabs on our field and regional offices."

"You think that those weren't real plants? Hmm, that does sound like a remote possibility. And since nobody's seen a hide or hair of Gardener, that sends alarm bells ringing off in my head. Well, let's go." He grabbed a container of yellow powder, some taped cardboard tabs, and a brush from his kit before hopping out of his seat.

A few select heads turned towards Hester and Scully, but no one interfered as he dragged the brush across the desk. Some smudges appeared but that was about it. "Shit. They must have wiped it clean after they finished," Hester swore and swept underneath a couple of corners. "Oh ho. But they didn't do that great of a job," he grinned at her after looking at the area. "Not to say that these couldn't belong to Gardener, but, at least it's something."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Yeah, hopefully she just got drunk last night and forgot to call in today. There have been one or two occasions when a case got particularly gruesome where she did that. But I've been here for three years now, and she hasn't done that since I joined the force." Hester separated the tape from the cardboard surface and pressed it to the area he'd just dusted. "Like I said, definitely a workaholic. Maybe that's why we got along together so well. She's really apprehensive about working with men."

"Did you ever find the weapon that was used to exsanguinate the Troxlers and the Samuels?"

"Nada, which makes it even harder for those kids to be caught," Hester shook his head and removed a plastic baggie from his jeans' front pocket.

"So she finally did come around to accepting the truth, huh?"

"I don't know about that, Agent Scully, but she sure did have her heart set on making this her number one priority case, and it showed. Her shift really didn't end yesterday at 6:00--I don't know when it was really supposed to end--but I can remember seeing her lieutenant yelling at her to go home and give her brain a 'forking break'."

"A forking break? Wait a second." Scully tried to picture his meaning and then her imagination kicked in. The corners of her mouth turned up as he gave her another smoldering grin. "Very creative, Jerry."

"You think so? I try to substitute expletives with silverware and other objects of the kitchen--makes them sound quite less offensive to the ears. And it usually brings about a big laugh...or for people like you at least a smile." He stuck the print extrication flap into the baggie, and together they descended down the stairs to the crime laboratory. "You see, I've got a kid, and I've been trying to shield him from the ugliness of this world somewhat. Don't want him to grow up too fast, you know. So he doesn't know what swear words actually are if he hears them because we don't use that kind of language in the house."

"What about on TV? Some channels have nothing but the 'fork' word to use because the people on them have the most remote bit of intelligence I've ever seen," Scully wondered.

"He's not allowed to watch those kinds of shows--I've got a chip in the TV set that mutes out the words. And I've got one in the makings by one of our techs here that actually does use the silverware and kitchen objects for curses instead."

"What's your wife got to say about this?"

"Oh, we're uh...she ran off on me for some other guy."

Why in the hell would she do that? I'd go for him myself if-

Scully stopped herself from her current train of thought. "I'm sorry to hear about that. How old is your son?"

"Just the right age for a mother to be running out on him like that...four," Hester replied bitterly. "Always got the feeling that she always thought of him as less than human when she had him. He was just some...inconvenience that she hated taking care of while I was out making the money. So then she got back her own career, fell madly in love with her boss, and went to France with him. Suits me just fine anyhow. If a mother won't take care of her own, what good is she?"

It took practically all of Scully's self control not to break down in front of him; she still kept her invisible mask on. Mulder had once called it "the invulnerable face of the goddess", but Scully just considered the expression to just be passed down from the likes of her father and from years of practice of dealing with the boys' clubhouse rules. The ringing of her cell phone tore Scully away from yet another fond memory of Mulder and brought her back down to earth. "Scully."

"Agent Scully, it's John Doggett. Sorry to be interrupting your search, but I think I found out what happened to Detective Gardener." She paused in her travels and held up her hand to Hester before he could mutter out one inquiry.

"Uh-huh, what is it?"

"I'm standing at the bottom of a ravine near a set of railroad tracks with a crap load of EMTs and an ambulance. You got that Hester guy available to you?"

"He's right here. Are you about to say what I think you're going to say?"

"Yep. Lost control of her car and careened right over. Course, as I'm looking at it right now, I can see that her brake-line got cut, probably by a switchblade."

"I'll be right over with him." Scully pressed the 'talk' button and turned to Hester. "Better bring that tool kit of yours with us."

"They got to her first, huh?"

"I'm afraid so."

Assistant Director Skinner's Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

September 29th, 2000, 10:26 a.m.

"All of Detective Gardener's work on the Litchfield experiment was taken from her desk. Fingerprints were found on the corners underneath, but unfortunately, they only belonged to her. I have a feeling that even if I did actually fax those files to her that they would also be gone with all the rest," Scully reported to her superior as he surveyed their field notes at his desk. The two partners were also seated in front of him.

"The CSI team found that Gardener's brake-line was severed by a common switchblade; one that could be bought probably at a local Wal-Mart. The actual weapon that did the cutting was found in a dumpster near the department's auto maintenance and repair shop with no fingerprints or fluid on it. All the mechanics on duty were questioned, but no one knows or will admit to anything yet," Doggett said and leaned his elbows intensely into the arms of his chair.

"And you say here that both children were cleared of all charges and wrongdoing by the circuit judges. They were placed under foster care yesterday," Skinner read. "I'm looking through your autopsy review, Agent Scully, and I'd like to know what conclusion, if any, you might be drawing about the murder weapons that were never found."

"My theory was that the weapons could very well have been writing utensils...most likely fountain pens. I come to that conclusion due to three reasons. One, no parent was a member of the medical profession, so it's highly unlikely that a child could have access to surgical instruments. Two, I picked up a few spare ink cartridges in my search with the CSI there, and three, the instruments had to have been small enough that they could have been disposed of down the plumbing system."

"You think they flushed those pens down the toilet?" Doggett questioned her. "Why not just dump them in the garbage like those latex gloves we found?"

"These children have exceptional intelligence and resourcefulness for their age. Although their alibis were contradictory, they had obviously concocted the story betwixt the two of themselves. I do wish that I had gone to Dr. Fauci to see the bodies myself--perhaps I missed something. I see that now as a mistake on my part, sir, and I now regret that I didn't use all of the avenues available to me."

"So what are we going to do with this case now, sir?" Doggett asked.

Skinner turned another page over in the file and opened a drawer in his bureau. He removed two long strips of tape with the words "Sealed File: Do Not Open Without Express Permission", closed the X-File, and taped it shut. He next took out a rubber stamp and ink pad. "Pending Investigation" was affixed to the case file in red letters, and he handed it back to Scully. "I'm giving this back to you because I know I can trust you not to open this back up without the Deputy Director's permission."

"But sir," Doggett began.

"Do you understand the words written across that seal, Agent Doggett?" Skinner's tone became slightly belligerent. And as one former soldier to another knowing his place, Doggett acquiesced silently with a nod and lowered his eyes. "I'll be expecting your expenditures report by tomorrow morning. Now, if you'll both excuse me, I've got some documents to go over and sign."

Doggett stood and waited for his partner to follow, but when she made no move, he gave her a puzzled expression. She waived him off, and he took his obligated cue to leave the office. "Excuse me, sir, could please I have a few more moments with you?" Scully asked.

"Yes, Agent Scully." Skinner's eyes darted up to hers from another pile of papers and then back to them.

"I didn't put this bit of information into the X-File because should this case ever be opened up again, I didn't want any officials to be yelling 'fire' in the theatre."

"I'm listening, Agent."

"When you sent me over to Quantico to work with Dr. Carmine three days ago, we found two more bodies dead just like the Troxlers and Samuels. But what was even more disturbing was that with her I found traces of that retrovirus."

Skinner dropped the pen that he was about to sign with and gave her his full attention. "What?"

"That's right, sir. But thankfully, it was dead. I can't help but wonder if the digitalis utilized by the children was the cause. I could have the technicians study the structures of both and come up with a plausible theory, but-"

"Leave the door to this case ajar, Scully. You saw me seal the file just like Agent Doggett did. I don't think I should have to remind you why I did that." Skinner sternly picked up the pen again and this time signed his name to the bottom of the paper. "But that's not to stop you from adding your own notes to the case the Gunmen recovered," he added.

"Are you going to turn down a 302 from now on every time it looks like a conspiracy is involved, sir?"

"If I do, you know for whose well being it is," his eyebrows raised in unison.

"Sir, do you think that Agent Mulder will ever come back?" Scully's voice was riddled with doubt and desperation.

"He will. And don't you dare give up hope. Mulder wouldn't have any of it, and neither will I." He arose from his chair and leaned against the front of his desk. "You know, he never gave up on you. He was so damned stubborn to get you back when you were abducted, and when you had your cancer, he was almost willing to sacrifice everything. And I mean...everything here," he whispered. "But I talked him out of it."

"He never told me that before," her voice became just as quiet.

"Was there any reason to? He did find your cure just the same. Thank God he wasn't too late."

"Yes...thank God," Scully admitted to herself and left the office.