Maggie came in to work at her usual 9:00 a.m. As she tried to put her key in the lock, the door swung open. She hesitated. She knew she had locked the door when she left. She always did.
She peered cautiously into the room. Nothing seemed to be amiss except for the smell of fresh brewed coffee.
She took an apprehensive step inside, pushing the door open all the way. She walked behind her desk and ran a hand along the file cabinets checking to see that they were still locked. They were but one had a strange scratch around the lock, a scratch she didn't remember making. She would have to ask her boss if he'd been in the files.
She was distracted from her examination of the files by the sound of whistling.
Whistling?
She turned toward the noise and saw a figure moving around in the other room.
"Melvin, is that you?" she asked.
"Maggie!" he said coming out of his office. "How are you today, Gorgeous?"
"I'm fine," she said studying his smiling face. "You're in a good mood this morning." He helped her out of her coat and hung it up on a peg near the door.
Continuing to watch him closely, she asked, "What happened?"
"Nothing happened." He walked over to the coffee pot and poured her a cup. He added sugar and stirred it in before handing it to her.
"Something happened. You're just not telling me."
"What time did Monica say she'd be here?" Frohike asked pointing to her appointment book.
"You know very well what time she's coming," Maggie accused him. "You're just avoiding my questions."
Giving his secretary a lopsided grin, he returned to his office.
Maggie sat behind her desk and picked up her phone's receiver. "He thinks he can keep secrets from me," Maggie thought, chuckling softly. "But I'll get to the bottom of this."
Monica arrived at her prearranged time of 10:00 a.m.
She barely got her coat off before she was ushered into Frohike's office.
"Monica, thanks for coming," Frohike said as he escorted her to a chair. He leaned back against the front of his desk crossing his arms over his chest. "I talked to the man who was following you."
"You did? Who is he?"
"He said he was from the FBI, an agent John Doggett." He watched Monica's reaction carefully. Her amazement at this revelation was sincere.
"The FBI? Why would they be watching me?"
"I asked him that question and he wouldn't give me a straight answer."
"What did he say?"
"Just that he was there on official FBI business. Can you think of any reason you might be part of an FBI investigation?"
Monica shook her head, deep in thought.
"Anything going on at work?" Frohike asked.
Monica was the chief administrative assistant to the Undersecretary of International Affairs at the Treasury Department. "Not that I've heard of but I can check when I get there."
Frohike nodded. That the investigation was work related was a possibility but his gut told him otherwise. It was something of a more personal nature. The agent's first reaction to hearing that someone had broken into her apartment was concern for Monica's safety. Only after he had ascertained that she was unhurt did he ask if anything was stolen.
"Let me know what they say at work." He moved around to behind his desk. "You were going to go through everything…" He didn't need to finish the sentence.
"Yes, I spent most of the night going through all my possession. There didn't seem to be anything missing until I noticed that the photograph of my sister and I at the beach was no longer in its usual place on the mantel. The other picture I had of her was gone from the wall in my bedroom."
"This is the sister you hired me to find?"
"Yes." Monica continued, "I'm also missing all the letters she's sent me. The ones from my brother in the army and the ones from my father were still there but everything from my sister is gone."
Frohike sat with his chin in his hand recalling what he knew about Monica's sister. He hadn't looked that far into her background when Monica had asked him to locate her. At the time, it was none of his business but now he regretted not taking his investigation a step further.
"What was in the letters?" he finally asked getting up and going to the door that led to the outer office. "Maggie, would you get me Monica's file?" He turned back to listen to Monica's response.
"Nothing of importance just general chit-chat, getting to know each other. That's all."
Frohike made a thoughtful noise and sat back down at his desk.
"Did you continue your correspondence when she moved to this country?" he asked.
"We wrote each other a couple of letters but it was easier to get together for lunch or dinner."
Maggie came into Frohike's office. He held out his hand for the expected file but she was empty handed. "Mel, can I speak to you out in the reception area."
Realizing that what she had to say couldn't be said in front of a client, Frohike got up and followed her, shutting the door to his office behind him.
"What is it, Maggie?"
"Monica's file is gone. I know it was here the other day. I got her phone number out of it when you asked me to call her and I know I put the file back."
Frohike knew that if Maggie said she put something away, it was put away. She was nothing if not meticulous.
"And I noticed this earlier," Maggie continued. She pointed to the scratch on the file cabinet's lock.
Frohike recognized the damage that is caused when a lock is picked. He scanned the other cabinets looking for similar markings. "This one is scratched, too," he said pointing to the cabinet labeled F-G-H-I-J.
He pulled open the third drawer down already suspecting what he wouldn't find. He sifted through the files: Hackett, Hagen, Hamilton, Harwood, Harris, etc.
"Monica's sister's file is gone, too."
Maggie glanced at the folders. "Which one was it?"
"Yves Harlow."
Maggie, upset by the violation of her files, spent the next hour going through them attempting to assess which others were missing. As far as she could tell, those two files, Monica's and her sister's, were the only ones that were taken.
Monica had returned to her job at the Treasury Department. She told Frohike that she'd tried the previous evening to talk to her sister by phone but had no luck. Frohike told her to try a few more times and, if she wasn't able to contact her, he'd look into it.
Maggie shut the last file drawer and closely examined the damaged locks. She wondered when it could have had occurred. She didn't remember seeing it the day before but couldn't swear it hadn't been there either.
The ringing phone pulled her attention away from the cabinets. "Frohike Investigations," she said. "How may I help you?"
"Hello, this is Dr. Scully," the woman's voice on the phone said. "Is Mr. Frohike available?"
"Dr. Dana Scully from the Medical Examiner's Office?" Maggie grabbed a notebook and a sharpened pencil ready to take notes. "May I ask what this pertains to?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "I'm afraid it's of a personal nature," Dr. Scully finally said. "May I please speak to him?"
"Just a moment," Maggie said keeping her voice professional even though her mind was racing.
Getting up to open the door to Frohike's office, Maggie told him, "Dr. Scully is calling for you." The grin on his face fueled the speculations and possibilities that Maggie was considering. She left the room as he picked up the receiver on his phone.
As was her habit when he was talking to someone, she shut the door behind her. Sitting down at her desk, Maggie gently hung up her phone. She sat quietly, trying to busy herself with her appointment calendar yet in the silent office it was impossible not to hear at least the rumble of his voice as he spoke on the phone.
Frohike laughed suddenly: a full-bodied laugh that made Maggie chuckle along with him even though she couldn't discern what had caused his amusement. He settled back into the tenor tones of his normal talking voice. Although she could not hear individual words, she could tell this truly was a personal call and had nothing to do with open investigations.
When she could no longer hear Frohike talking on the phone, Maggie glanced at the clock wondering how long it would be before he came out of his office or how long she should wait before she could reasonably disturb him. In only a couple of minutes, Frohike walked out with his coffee cup in his hand.
"That was the new M.E?" Maggie asked him as he refilled it.
"Yes," he responded, keeping his back to her.
"Will you be heading over to the morgue today?"
He turned and faced her, pausing to take a sip of hot coffee. He was looking right at Maggie but she could tell it was not her face he was seeing. The corners of his mouth slowly curled up to form a smile. "Yes, I'll be visiting the morgue later…" He focused on Maggie at that point, "…at, oh… say, dinner time."
Maggie jotted this information down in her appointment book. "Dr. Scully must have a very busy schedule if this is the only time today she can meet with you," she said not taking her eyes off her writing.
Frohike laughed again. "Oh, for God's sake, Maggie, just ask me the question you're dying to ask."
"Okay, I will," said Maggie grinning at her employer. "Are you and Dr. Scully seeing each other?" Maggie got up and came around her desk as she continued to talk. "Is that where you were last night and is this why you were in such an uncharacteristically good mood so early this morning?"
"Whoa there!" Frohike proclaimed still laughing. "I said ONE question." His expression changed to one of mock severity. "And what do you mean by 'uncharacteristically good mood'?" He set his coffee cup down on a corner of her desk. "I'm always in a good mood."
"You're never in THAT good a mood. Do you realize you were whistling when I came in?"
"I don't whistle."
"You were this morning."
"Now, Maggie, it's beneath you to make up stories like that."
"I swear you were whistling… Hey," Maggie said realizing what he'd done. "Stop changing the subject," she advanced on him, poking him in the chest to add emphasis to her words, "You're the one who told me to ask. Now, answer the question."
Frohike grabbed her offending hand and held it in both of his. "Yes, Dr. Scully and I are seeing each other," he finally admitted. "She called just now to make it official for this evening. She says it makes more sense than me just showing up and hoping she'd be there."
"This is wonderful, Mel," Maggie said giving him a quick hug. "She sounds like a sensible woman. I like her already."
"I like her, too," Frohike said letting Maggie go.
"So," she continued as she moved back behind her desk, "when do I get to meet her?"
Frohike seemed to consider this request for a moment. "I thought it would be a good idea to get to know her better before I brought her in for your approval. I wouldn't want to waste your precious time on someone new only to discover that it isn't going to work out."
"But why bother when I could tell you right away?" Maggie insisted while employing her best innocent look.
"Believe it or not," Frohike said with a chuckle, "I am capable of making decisions about my personal life on my own." He paused, studying her face. "And speaking of personal lives, when are you going to stop flirting with Mulder and take him up on his offer?"
"Oh, him?" Maggie said avoiding her employer's gaze. "He's not serious."
"I'm not so sure, Maggie. I'm a pretty good judge of people," said Frohike. "I wouldn't be a very good detective if I wasn't. I think Officer Mulder is quite serious in his offers but hides it behind his outlandish sense of humor."
Maggie shook her head. "We tried it, he and I. It didn't work out. He just didn't seem ready for any sort of commitment."
"He's older now and, hopefully, a bit wiser," Frohike pointed out. "I think he knows what he lost: a chance at real happiness."
Maggie said nothing but Frohike could see that she was considering what he'd said. "Call him," Frohike encouraged tapping the phone on her desk. "Take him up on his offer. If nothing else, you can at least get him to buy you dinner." He grinned at her.
If he had more to say on the subject, Maggie never found out. The knock at their office door prevented him from going on. "I'll get that," Frohike stated when Maggie stood up to answer it.
Opening the door, Frohike was surprised to see the mailman. "I have a registered letter for Melvin Frohike," he said.
"I'm Melvin Frohike."
"Sign here."
The private investigator did as he was asked then handed the clipboard back to the man. He studied the envelope as he closed the door. Tearing it open, he discovered another, smaller envelope inside. This one was not addressed to him. It was addressed to Monica Reyes.
Frohike glanced at the spot where the return address would be. There wasn't one. There was just a name: Yves Adele Harlow.
"Call Monica at work," Frohike told Maggie. "Never mind," he said heading for his office. "I'll call her myself."
Monica stood outside the building that housed the Treasury Department. She was lucky her boss was so understanding about her missing work over this. But he was patient man; he had to be in his job of Undersecretary of International Affairs. He was known as a bulldog when it came to issues of policy but Monica knew a different side of him: the side that housed a kind spirit and a gentle heart who told her to take all the time she needed to solve a family crisis. He had been just as patient and understanding when her father had been ill for so long before he died.
And Monica did consider this whole situation to be a crisis. The FBI was following her, her apartment had been broken into and all her sister's letters had been stolen. She had called Yves' home several times in the last two days and gotten no response. Phone calls to her work place had gone unanswered also.
Monica scanned the passing cars looking for Frohike's. He'd called saying that Yves had sent a letter for her to his office. Monica could not imagine what her sister was involved in that would warrant this unusual behavior. As far as Monica knew, Yves was merely a research assistant to a mathematician.
None of this made any sense. Maybe the letter would answer some of these questions. Monica asked Frohike to open the letter and read it to her but he insisted that he'd rather have her open it.
Frohike drove up in his Ford Fordor Sedan. He stopped in a no parking zone and, leaving the engine running, got out to open the door for Monica. Once she was settled in the front seat, he closed her door and walked quickly back around to his side of the car.
Pulling away from the curb, Frohike picked up the large, manila envelope from the bench seat between himself and his passenger.
Monica took it from him and examined the envelope. She recognized the handwriting as her sister's but it was addressed to Frohike. She turned it over, lifted the flap and pulled out the smaller envelope that was addressed to her.
She hesitated to open it. Until she actually looked at the letter it could contain anything: news of what Yves been doing recently, an invitation to dinner, or even an explanation for her disappearance. But if it were any of those things, there would have been no reason to send the letter to Frohike's office.
Monica finally decided she would never know until she actually looked at it. She ran one finger under the flap of the envelope to tear it open. She extracted the letter and began to read.
Frohike watched Monica as best he could while driving. She held the paper in one hand while the other one covered her mouth. Her hand holding the paper shook slightly before she dropped it into her lap. Covering her eyes, she sat with her head lowered.
Frohike found a safe spot on the side of the road and pulled over. He waited a few moments before asking, "Are you all right?"
Taking a big breath, Monica managed a fairly convincing smile. "No," she said belying her expression.
"What did she say?" Frohike dared to ask, knowing Monica would understand that he needed all available information if he were to be of any further assistance.
Instead of explaining what was in the letter, Monica simply handed it to him.
He read it without comment.
Dear Monica,
I cannot explain anything in detail at this time but you are in danger because of your association with me.
Trust no one, especially the FBI. They have you under surveillance. Be especially careful of an agent named John Doggett. I have reason to believe he is not who he seems.
If he knows I have contacted you, it could put you in greater danger than you are already in. I apologize for this and hope, someday, to be able to answer all your questions. But for now, please, be careful.
Yves
Frohike carefully folded the letter and put it back in the envelope leaving it on the seat between them. "Do you still want to go out there?" he asked.
It was a tough decision but Frohike knew it was one Monica needed to make on her own. It was her life that was in danger, not his.
"Yes," Monica said without hesitation. "I think it's more important now than ever."
"All right," Frohike said checking his review mirror before taking the car back out into traffic.
Special Agent John Doggett surveyed the mess around him. Who ever had searched the tiny house had done a thorough job of it. Everything had been dumped out of all the drawers. The cushions on the furniture had been slashed, as well as the mattress and all of the pillows, their innards strewn about the rooms.
In the kitchen, the contents of the small pantry rolled around on the floor as Doggett's fellow agents moved through the room, kicking canned goods and bits of broken dishes out of their way.
In every room of the house, the floorboards had been torn up in spots and holes had been punched into the lath and plaster walls.
Whatever the vandals had been searching for, they wanted it badly.
Doggett worked his way to the small bedroom in the front of the house. Of the debris there, he noted that there were very few personal items: clothing, toiletries, etc. It looked to him like the occupant of the house had probably left before the damage had been done.
A loud gasp caused him to turn and look toward the front door. He stepped into the living room. "What are you two doing here?" he asked.
"What have you done to Yves's house?" Monica demanded at almost the same instant. Her expression was a mixture of anger and fear.
"This is a crime scene. Civilians are not allowed," Agent Doggett insisted taking a step towards her, holding out his hand to encourage her to turn around and leave. Instead of stepping backwards towards the door, Monica moved away from him and further into the house.
The private investigator, who had come in behind her, positioned himself between Agent Doggett and Monica. "This is her sister's home," he said. "She has every right to be here."
Doggett crossed his arms over his chest and considered them for a moment. "Since you seem determined to stay, let me ask you a few questions." He turned his focus on Monica. "When was that last time you had any contact with your sister?"
"Don't answer that," Frohike warned.
Doggett ignored him. "Do you have any idea where Yves might be right now?"
"Don't answer that one either."
"What are you, her lawyer?" Doggett said with more than a bit of sarcasm.
"We already covered that in our last conversation," Frohike said with obvious contempt.
A voice called out from the kitchen. "Hey, Doggett, are you going to help us out here or what?"
All three of them turned to look at the man who had spoken. He was tall with short dark hair. He had striking green eyes, a caveman brow and a deadly air about him. He took a long, hard look at Monica and Frohike.
"Give me a minute," was Doggett's terse reply.
"You got that situation under control?" the other agent asked inclining his head towards the two newcomers.
"Nothing to worry about, Krycek," Doggett insisted before turning back to Monica and Frohike. "You need to leave now," the agent repeated with a sense of urgency.
"But what about my sister?" Monica asked her voice tinged with worry. "Why is the FBI investigating her?"
Seeing he was getting nowhere with Monica, he turned to Frohike. "You have to get her out of here."
Wondering about the FBI agent's choice of words, Frohike took Monica by the arm. "Let's go," he said.
Pulling her arm out of his grasp, Monica turned her frustrations on Frohike. "He knows what's going on here but he's not telling us. I want some answers."
"Monica," Frohike said keeping his voice low and calm, "we'll talk outside but right now we need to do as he said and leave. Come on." He opened the front door and waited for her to exit in front of him.
Pausing for just a moment longer, Monica grudgingly did as Frohike asked.
She held her anger at him in check until they were in the car. "How could you give up so easily? He's the only one who knows the truth about what's going on."
"And Yves said not to trust him," Frohike pointed out. "So, it doesn't really make any sense to ask him questions."
Although she was still angry, Monica couldn't argue with this logic. She sat back in her seat, and taking one long last look at her sister's house, she said, "You're right. Let's go."
"Look, why don't we go out to the lab," Frohike continued, "and see if her employer can't give us some answers."
"Was that the sister?" Krycek asked, coming to stand next to Doggett.
Doggett continued to stare thoughtfully at the door. "Yes."
"Who's the guy?"
"A private detective she hired to find Yves Harlow." Doggett glanced at Krycek. "Are you sure the park was swept thoroughly?"
"I searched those cherry trees myself," Krycek said. "I didn't find any evidence of a sniper. Harlow killed Agent Brendan in cold blood." He swept his gaze around the destroyed room. "Whatever she's hiding, it's not here. We need to find her before her sister does."
"We will," Doggett assured him. Watching the younger agent rejoin the others, he stuck his hand in his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the smooth metal of a shell casing.
