Chapter Nine
501 West Washington St., Indianapolis, Indiana
April 24th, 2001, 11:21 a.m.
The inside windows were now finished, and the rows of hospital beds were made. Doctors, nurses, and orderlies still rushed around like chickens with their heads cut off. Several pairs of men stood on ladders checking lighting fixtures in the ceiling while their partners below pushed them around on carts with interlocking wheels. There was still much to be done if this place were to function--hopefully all of these people's sweat, blood, and tears would be worth it.
But none of this phased Marita Covarrubias from her duty to stay behind and supervise. The sudden harsh chirping of her cell phone drew her outside. "Yes, this is Marita. What? How? Never mind. Well, did you alert the Adams? Good. No. Stay at your post for the rest of the day and proceed with your normal duties. Don't call me for another twenty-four hours." She pressed the talk button, only to be harangued by another phone call.
"Hello, this is Marita. You started the surveillance? Excellent. Mmm..." Covarrubias stilled as she listened to the other half of the conversation. "Mmhmm, yes, I agree. You can't wait until the cover of night? Why not? A neighborhood watch--that's strange! Okay--get him ASAP and bring him to the facility."
518 Crown Blvd, Indianapolis, Indiana
April 24th, 2001, 11:44 a.m.
Two police officers stood on the doorstep with Mulder and Scully resting their hands upon their service semi-automatic pistols. They had been told that this suspect could be very dangerous, and neither one of them wanted to be caught off-guard with his pants down.
Scully rang the doorbell and eyed her male counterparts. She felt relatively safe with them and secretly hoped that nothing bad would occur. But, just in case, she slipped one of the safeties off on her SIG Sauer that was nestled in her hip holster.
To her surprise, a man in his late forties answered the door. His black hair was just commencing to gray, and his blue eyes penetrated hers coldly. "Pardon, me, sir? Are you Dr. Bartholomew Ward?" she inquired and reached into her coat.
"Yes, that's me. What can I do for you?" Ward's eyes left hers to briefly size up the other three men in view but returned to her once she held up her identification.
"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, and I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you'll permit me to do so." Scully pocketed her badge and kept her professional mask up, though she was suddenly dreading the thought of having to pull her weapon on this deadly suspect.
"Certainly. Please, come in." He ushered all four officers in and shut the door behind them. "I suspect you'll be wanting to ask me if I had anything to do with these."
Ward motioned their attention to a newspaper, whose headline screamed with bold capital letters "TWO MURDERED CORPSES STOLEN FROM MORGUES!"
"You suspect correctly," Mulder agreed. "You don't look old enough to be of the retiring age yet, and the murders did occur a few days after you did so."
"Would you care for something to drink? I've got some coffee left in the pot," Ward ignored his accusation and headed towards the kitchen.
"No, thank you," Scully said. She signaled one officer to pursue Ward with her head, and he silently obeyed her.
"And how about you?" Ward offered the cop as he followed the ex-coroner into the kitchen.
"I don't like this, Scully. Something doesn't feel right," Mulder whispered into her ear."What is it?"
"Where is the deputy coroner? Serial killers that work in pairs usually live very close to one another, if not together." Mulder bit his lip in thought. "And they do have the advantage over us right now, which reminds me, did we warn the cops not to drink anything from him before we left the station?"
"Um...I don't recall...shit..." Scully trailed off. "Officer? Did I warn anyone not to drink anything offered by our suspects?" she inquired to the man standing beside them in the foyer.
"Ah, I don't think so, but we just had a large dose of caffeine back at the station," he replied and scratched the back of his head. "So I doubt he'd take anything from Ward."
"Sorry about that--I needed some water. My throat gets dry very easily," Ward declared as he came back with the other officer, who was indeed empty handed.
Scully inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, and she was positively sure that she saw Mulder's shoulders relax from the tension of the moment. "Dr. Ward, we'd like to ask you if you know anything regarding the whereabouts of Deputy Coroner Kovach," she continued.
"I know nothing. I retired because I was tired of the long hours; perhaps I'll go into laboratory work now. It's so much more rewarding," Ward returned smoothly.
"We found some footprints at the scenes where those stolen bodies were originally left, and I'd like to peruse your shoe collection, if I may."
"I'll cooperate, but I don't wear boots."
"Who said they were boot prints?" Mulder questioned him with a suspicious eyebrow.
"Dr. Ward, where do you keep your footwear?" Scully pressed, and her hands went to her hips.
"In my front closet." He spun around on his heel and opened the door for them.
Mulder donned his latex gloves and removed four pairs: running shoes, walking shoes, Oxfords, and a pair of sandals. He lifted each shoe to his nostrils and inhaled; the Oxfords did have the scent of chemicals on them. "Do you own a car, Dr. Ward?" he asked.
"Yes, I do. It's a '98 Eclipse. Care to take a spin?"
"No, but with your permission, we'd like to examine your car," Scully stated.
"For what, bloodstains? Don't waste your time," Ward spat back but kept his tone even."I thought you said you'd cooperate," Mulder reminded the ex-coroner and pointed the Oxford at him poignantly.
Ward's gait remained passive as he turned his back towards the party and traveled to his kitchen. "It's in the garage. This way." He slid the keyring remote off of a peg that rested next to a collection of mugs and palmed it. The ex-coroner opened the back door for his four visitors and secretly pushed the 'panic' button on the remote.
Brooksgate Apartments, Indianapolis, Indiana
April 24th, 2001, 11:48 a.m.
"Dr. Kovach, open up, it's the police," Detective Cooper banged on the door.
His accompanying officers walked up to him and held up a small envelope with two swabs inside of it. "Freon and gasoline. The puddles weren't too big; that car's long gone," one of them said.
"We searched the lot and found one car from the '80s. But it's leaking neither fluid," the other informed Cooper.
"Dr. Kovach, we have a search warrant!" Cooper shouted. There still was no answer. Sighing resentfully, he removed a pick lock from his spring jacket and twisted it into the lock.The three police officials cautiously entered the apartment. Two minutes later, after finding no one, they began to scour the apartment for evidence. "Get all of his shoes out. See if you can find whatever looks like a stabbing weapon. Look for that drug--it's got a greenish tint to it," Cooper ordered his underlings.
"Detective," the shorter one called to him. Cooper headed towards the bathroom and stopped at the entrance. "Shower curtain's missing. Guess they wrapped 'em in it to transport the bodies."
"Yes, it is gone. And the bathtub's been bleached recently, I see. Time to call forensics--boy, they probably hate my guts. That's the right expression, isn't it?" he asked and pulled out his cell phone.
"Yeah," the cop responded.
Before Cooper could dial, the apartment's land line rang. All three men ignored it, until the answering machine picked up. "Hello, members of the Indianapolis Police Department. Your parking meter's time has now expired."
"What the hell?" Cooper began.
"Detective!" the taller man yelled and exposed a closet filled to the brim with C-4.
"Oh my god," Cooper whispered to himself.
There was a brilliant flash and an ear-splitting explosion that tore through the apartment downstairs first, and then it completely demolished the one above it as well.
One block away, Dr. Bertram Kovach removed his sunglasses and turned off the red LED that had been blinking on his keyring remote by depressing the word 'panic'.
518 Crown Blvd, Indianapolis, Indiana
April 24th, 2001, 12:27 p.m.
"Let's take these shoes back to your forensics' department," Scully stated and handed them to the police officers.
Unfortunately, they did not find anything else, but the Oxfords were a start.
"Don't leave town anytime soon, Dr. Ward. We'll be in touch," she commanded him and stormed off with Mulder at her heels.
"Hope we get something off of those shoes," Mulder muttered as he opened the car door for her and then journeyed to the passenger side.
"Could you identify either of the smells?" Scully inquired.
"Not really. I'm Mulder the plumber, not Mulder the mechanic," he shrugged and buckled himself in.
"Since when did you take up plumbing?"
"Oh, ever since my neighbor Helen had a problem. I'd just come into my apartment hallway, and she asked me to come and take a look under her sink."
"I assume this is a new neighbor, since she was completely ignorant of some of your other plumbing solutions," Scully retorted.
"I don't know how new--maybe a month or so. And I did fix her sink, by the way."
"Just how long has this quote fixed sink been working?"
"Probably a little over a week. She even invited me over to dinner."
Scully's eyebrow shot up to the heavens, and her tongue flicked over the top of her lips. This particular body language spoke high volumes of jealousy, or so Mulder had come to find out in their nine year partnership. At one time, it had felt good to know that she would even think about competing for his affections. But he was definitely serious about moving forward in their relationship, and it was time to quell those suspicions immediately.
"But I turned her down, Scully. You know there's only one woman's cooking for me," he teased and gave a grand dramatic pause. "Julia Childs'."
"Mulder, so help me, God..." she grunted and reached across the seat to ruffle his hair.
"Are you coming on to me, Agent Scully?"
"I-" Her cell phone would not let her finish a saucy comeback; it pleaded to be answered.
"Scully."
"Scully, this is John Doggett. I'm sorry to interrupt you out in the field like this, but it happened to me, too," the FBI agent began.
"That's all right, Agent Doggett. Mulder and I were just going back to the police station." She started the car and switched the phone over to her other ear.
"Agent Scully...Dana..." he cleared his throat, and this made Scully extremely nervous.
Not only was Doggett choking up in the middle of a sentence, he had also called her by her first name. She shut the engine off right away and leaned forward.
"Scully, what's wrong?" Mulder asked.
"Scully, they got your son--he's been taken."
Her mouth dropped open, and she covered her heart. "I..." she breathed. "Tell me it's not true."
"I only wish I...that I were lying," he returned somberly.
"God, no." Scully gritted her teeth together. "God, no."
"Scully, don't hang up."
The tears that so rarely came through her eyes now poured forth like the April rains. "Dana, don't hang up!" Doggett's voice pleaded as she let the phone fall down onto the floor. Her hands instinctively came up to protect her forehead as it banged up against the steering wheel.
"Scully!" Mulder yelled and undid his seatbelt.
"They got him. They got him," she repeated over and over again until Mulder's hand caressed her face.
"Who?"
"Our son."
TO BE CONTINUED...