That afternoon, their 717 landed on the tarmac absolutely flawlessly—no bumps, no listing, and no skidding—and Scully would have liked to think that was an omen for how this case would go. . .if she put much stock into such things, of course. She wondered what ever happened to applauding pilots for impressive landings, because she would have done it if it were still customary. She guessed that everyone else, just like she and Mulder, flew so often that it was too mundane to appreciate. It made her wistful, in a way.
She looked through the window at dark heavy gray skies and couldn't help but smile a little inwardly. Perhaps it was better that she didn't believe too strongly in omens, after all. . .
"Bring your arc?" Mulder leaned over her and asked, as rain started to pelt against the thick glass, and Scully gave him a full smile. When she had briefly woken up during the flight, she had found him brooding, and so it relieved her to see him in a lighter mood now. If she could help him keep it up, she would.
Later, as they were merging their rental car onto Highway 101, Mulder turned to her. "How excited are they gonna be to see us back in their fair city so soon?" he drawled sarcastically.
Scully stayed focused on the wet road, but raised her eyebrows and smiled sardonically.
Before they'd departed from Dulles, they'd both talked to Montes, who was gratified that they'd taken him seriously, but a bit apprehensive about what his SAC would say. That had been seven hours ago, and it was approaching the end of business hours on the East Coast, but was still only early afternoon in California. During that time Montes would have told his supervising agent about their arrival and Scully wondered what type of reception they could expect.
Half an hour later they parked in the underground lot of the Federal Building downtown, and without consulting the directory—they still remembered the place from their recent visit—Mulder jabbed at the Floor 13 button. "I always felt sort of at-home in this office, not sure why. . ." Mulder deadpanned.
Scully used the short ride up to take a few more glances at the abridged files they had received, but was most eager to talk to the SFPD's Forensic Service Department and ME on record. When Mulder had spoken to Montes, the other agent had promised to put them in touch with those parties as soon as possible. Yet Scully couldn't help but wonder how the SFPD would feel about an FBI agent peripherally involved in their homicide case inviting other FBI agents to crash their party. And already his SAC was miffed. It could be wearying to tread on so many toes. . .
The elevator opened to a front lobby where they presented their credentials and waited for Montes to escort them into the inner office.
Except that when an agent came out to greet them, it wasn't a younger man, but a formidable-looking older woman. She was slim but broad shouldered, and had dark eyes that Scully doubted missed a thing.
"Hi Agent Scully, Agent Mulder." She extended her hand. "Special Agent in Charge Carol Park." She gave Scully a crushing handshake, and Scully noticed Mulder suppressing a wince when she shook his.
Oh, this should be great.
"If you'll follow me in, please?"
They met each other's eyes briefly, then passed through the heavy door into a maze of desks and cubicles, before arriving at the farther side of the floor at a bank of offices. There was no sign of anyone who could have been Montes, and Scully wondered if he had been sent off in chastisement. She sighed inwardly as they entered an immaculate office whose walls were covered in orderly rows of plaques and framed awards, and whose windows faced a spectacular panoramic view. It was the diametric opposite of Mulder's and her office, and Scully jokingly wondered how comfortable he felt now. Scully felt a sudden rush of warmth for him at that thought, which made her almost forget the palpable tension in the room. . . almost.
She looked over at him, but he seemed oblivious and excited as Park seated them.
"Will Agent Montes be joining us?" he asked before she'd even sat down, and she raised her eyebrows coolly.
"Agent Montes is currently at the SFPD crime lab, going over some mutual evidence that has been one of the, ah. . .inconsistencies that have arisen in this case."
Mulder shifted a little bit forward in his seat.
"You should also know that not all of the physical evidence that was collected has been processed, yet. There was some controversy over whether to adhere strictly to jurisdiction and send all the evidence relating to the scene of kidnapping to the Quantico labs. We found, though, that there's just too much crossover and one hand might not know what the other is doing. So for the moment we've decided to remain consistent and use the crime lab here. It's a good thing, too. Not only is it excellent with in terms of technology, but by keeping it in-house, we've managed to catch these 'inconsistencies' that I've mentioned. The SFPD has so far been very gracious in letting us use their facilities and resources in conjunction with their own investigation.
"And. . .on that note. . ." She sighed shortly and pursed her lips, as if she were going to share something with them against her better judgment. "I'd like to extend that same consideration to you. I wasn't looking to have any agents from across the country, let alone the X-Files division, come on board, and I certainly would have appreciated it if you had had the professional courtesy of running a 540 form by me first," she added icily, "but. . .you're here now. And if we ever have a hope in solving these tandem cases, the theme must be cooperation. So—" another reluctant sigh "—I'll arrange for passes to this building and access to one of our offices for the duration of your stay. Also, you can have access to all our files and resources, as long as it doesn't interfere with any course of investigation that my own agents might be following."
"We appreciate that," Scully said immediately, relieved that they would be able to have the independence to pursue the investigation without having to tiptoe constantly.
Not that she thought Mulder would do so anyway. "Then you wouldn't mind if Agent Scully takes a look at the autopsy reports and forensic evidence right away?" he asked, confirming her thoughts.
"Like I said, Agent Mulder, the SFPD has been very cooperative since we're sharing a crime scene. You're part of this investigation now—" she looked slightly pained at that "—and so I see no reason why they wouldn't be as accommodating for you as they've been for us. . ." Scully could tell that Park's professionalism kept her from vocalizing her actual skepticism, but she couldn't hide it from her expression. "But just in case, Agent Montes can coordinate you with the proper officers, for now. You can call his cell for directions."
"We know the way," Mulder told her.
"Oh, that's right," she replied, her cold politeness slipping a bit. It was cryptic, but Scully could easily interpret it.
Every time she and Mulder finished an investigation at a regional office, they left behind a substantial wake of gossip and intrigue. Rumors had no doubt swirled around their recent case there (a vengeful father that was violently targeting a doctor and his family). And then just when they'd likely died down, Mulder and Scully had returned to provide them with fresh fodder. At the beginning, it bothered Scully more than she'd let on, but now nothing could ever entice her to leave Mulder's side, let alone some idle speculation from people she didn't even know. Especially now, since they had more invested in each other than ever before.
"So, I'll arrange to have the paperwork done to approve you for this case on my end," Park was concluding as Scully came out of her minor daydream, "and let you know which office will be yours." The SAC was barely up from her seat when Mulder was already at the door, obviously restless after the long flight and impatient to start the investigation.
"You'll call us then?" he asked, his hand on the doorknob.
Scully couldn't help but bite back a smile as she watched Agent Park fight to remain composed. The woman obviously felt Mulder had dismissed her, not the other way around. But unsurprisingly, Mulder didn't notice; he was already out the door without a second glance back.
She and Mulder made good time despite the rain that was beginning to come down in earnest—fifteen minutes after heading back to their car, they were pulling into a spot across the street from the Hall of Justice. As they made their way up the steps and towards a large set of glass doors, a skinny but wiry-muscled young guy propped open one of them and held up his hand.
"Agents Mulder and Scully?" he asked, and Scully recognized his voice from their phone conversations.
"Agent Montes," she said, stepping in quickly with Mulder's hand at the small of her back. She was correct in her impression that he was young, but, she saw, he still wore the stresses of the job on his face. Slight crow's feet lined his dark hazel eyes, and his dark hair was sticking out at a few odd angles. Unconsciously, she finger combed her own dampened hair from her face.
"Right. Well, welcome back to San Francisco. And let me thank you again for agreeing to take a look at this. I know that the other agents think it's a bit rash to bring in outside help, but. . .I think it warrants it."
"So do we," Mulder agreed.
"I've been just checking in with the SFPD criminalists to get an update on what they've processed, to see if they can help close any of the gaps," Montes told them, before ushering them towards security.
"So," Mulder said after they passed the checkpoint and reached a bank of elevators, "are we going to get Scully into some scrubs?"
"That's a question for the ME staff, or maybe the lab supervisor," Montes said, pushing at the button for the fourth floor. "They can tell you where they are in their analyses, and you can see what you want to do, Agent Scully."
"Well I'd like to start by taking a look at the complete autopsy reports, and see if there's a need for me to take a closer look at anything specifically."
"I thought you might, and I took the liberty of having them ready for you." Montes passed a three-ring binder that he'd been carrying under his arm over to her. "May I ask what you're looking for?" he asked, as the elevators dinged open on the fourth floor.
"I'm not really sure, yet," Scully answered, opening it up and flipping through the pages of charts and photos. "But I'm hoping that I'll spot something that the ME might have missed, that could explain the strange nature of the crime scene: one, it was in fact murder-suicide, or two, that one of the victims was able to lock the doors." But when she saw the name of the assistant ME who had worked the case, she pursed her lips slightly. She remembered this guy, and how she had been struck at the time by the thought that he seemed incredibly competent. But then again, she brought with her the experience of looking for things that most MEs wouldn't even consider, and in this case that might prove key.
They were now in an open, airy hallway that had clearly seen a recent renovation, but instead of heading straight into the new and cutting edge lab facilities, they came to a side office that looked like a refuge from the pre-remodel days. After Montes knocked, they found a portly balding man lining up manila bindles on his desk. When he looked up, Scully noticed his sharp, intelligent eyes.
"Agent Mulder and Scully, this is Dave Weinreich, lab supervisor. Dave, Agents Mulder and Scully. They're the ones I mentioned are joining our investigation."
"Have a seat," he said gruffly.
"Dave?" Mulder checked, and when the supervisor nodded, he went on. "We were hoping to get an update on what the forensic side of things is, so that it can give us some direction with our investigation into the Loves and what might have happened to them. And, if possible, we'd like to get Agent Scully—Dr. Scully—into the autopsy bay to compare the ME report with the victims."
"Well, I happen to know that the autopsy bays are booked until 5 and you can usually expect them to go over, especially since they've been backed up as of late. But they did manage to get the Loves and Grant done, at least." The supervisor made it sound like this was a miracle, and knowing how horribly backed-up urban morgues could get, Scully could understand.
Actually, the fact that the post-mortem exams on all three victims were completed was a sign of how seriously San Francisco was taking this case. Typically their big city victims would just sit in the morgue until she availed herself to get the autopsies completed. Even then, she was usually relegated to perform them at some ungodly hour because every other time slot was reserved. But she wondered if it served her that they'd already performed them, since she might have to go through them all anyway.
"So we completed the autopsies, developed the scenes' photos, and processed the kids' fingerprints," Dave said, in the manner of ticking items off a list. "Still waiting back on the DNA, and then we'll enter it in the national database, CODIS. We're also still running fingerprints through AFIS and lastly, we have to process this trace that we found in the secondary, upstairs scene." He lifted up one of the bindles that had been lying on his desk.
"What's in it?" Mulder asked, fascinated.
"Well obviously I can't tell you for sure, since it hasn't been analyzed, but it looked like a composite of mica, and fine gray stone powder—like very finely ground granite, for example. I'll be able to tell you more once we get to it."
Mulder reached across the desk and fingered the bindle, rapt. Scully could see his eyes drilling holes through the beige paper, clearly wishing they could break the seal and tap a bit of it out onto the desk for him to see. . .and possibly taste, knowing him. She hid a smile.
"Do you mind. . . can we put a rush on this stuff here?" he asked, looking up with an eager glint in his eye.
Dave nodded slowly. "I think we can do that. We've flagged other elements of this case and the brass were fine with it, so I'll try to make it happen."
Mulder nodded appreciatively. "Is the crime scene itself finished?"
"Yep, and crime scene cleanup's been in there, too, but I don't think they were able to get those bloodstains out."
Mulder turned in his chair to look at Scully. "You gonna stick around here and check out the report and we can meet up later?"
"Are you heading over to the house?" she asked, meeting his question with one of her own.
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. You want to come with?"
She thought it over quickly. If she couldn't compare the autopsy report to the actual bodies. . ."Yeah, I can see how the bloodstains match up with the ME's timeline of injuries."
Mulder nodded quickly and Dave sensed his impatience and reached across with his card, which Mulder and Scully both responded to by giving him theirs.
"So I'll keep you in the loops along with SFPD and Agents Montes and Park, then?"
"Yes, thanks," Scully answered, and Mulder nodded again.
Montes slipped out of the office ahead of them and once they were back in the hall, he dug into his pockets and passed them a key.
"I have to head back to the office and go over the Love's financial and business records, but that's the key to the house. It's 3017 Washington St. between Baker and Broderick—the address is on the tag."
As they rode down in the elevator, they exchanged cards and promised to keep each other informed, and Mulder was polite, but Scully could tell he was eager to get all the briefing and technicalities out of the way and get to the investigation. It had been a relief for her, though, that everyone had been as accommodating as they had been; it could have been a red tape nightmare.
The house looked manicured and well-maintained from the outside—like it had been the pride of the block. Elegant Victorian architecture, glossy and richly-colored enamel paint, and elaborate stained glass panels hid the nightmare scene within. The only hint was the stretch of yellow tape around the property and across the doorway.
Hitching up her bag, Scully followed her partner up the immaculate wooden stairs to the front door.
He turned Montes's copy of the key, and they were immediately hit by an overwhelming wall of the cheap cleaner scent left by the crime scene cleaning service. It might not have been as offensive, had it not been so powerful as to suggest it was working hard to compensate for another odor. Unfortunately, they knew what that odor was. Despite the thorough efforts by the cleanup crew, numerous dark brown stains were still splashed across the walls and floors of the kitchen. Walls would have to be repainted, linoleum replaced, hardwood floors sanded and refinished.
As she followed Mulder down the hall and into the kitchen, she breathed slowly through her mouth to suppress the urge to gag, then dropped her bag off her shoulder and let it come to rest on the counter with a muffled thud.
"Ugh, it smells like Frohike's bathroom in here," her partner commented, scrunching up his nose.
Scully couldn't believe her ears. "Are you actually giving Frohike credit for using cleaning products, Mulder?" she asked, then turned to pull the autopsy report from her bag.
"Hell no, that place needs to be quarantined. . ." Mulder shot back. "I'm talking about the cheap-ass cologne he stashes in there for when you might drop by." He gave her a teasing grin before making another face at the overwhelming smell.
"So I'm going to follow the chain of events in the blood stains, starting in the southeast corner," Scully told him after a moment, as if ignoring him. But then at the last moment she turned back to him and added, "And I seem to remember a certain someone sporting some cologne as well the other night. . ."
"Who me?" he asked, opening and closing the kitchen cupboards. "That's all natural, baby!"
Scully tossed him a look, but the effect was ruined when the right corner of her mouth twitched up.
After a moment she turned back to the autopsy report, forcing herself to focus. Since they had starting sleeping together, they had been very disciplined at separating their work and personal lives. But just as their job crossed over into their private lives, so too did their new relationship flavor the time they spent together investigating cases. Their dynamic had permanently changed, and that affected everything. So even though they maintained a distance at work, sometimes it could be hard to focus, especially when she got flashbacks of the nights they spent together. . .
Now was one of those times. She took a deep breath and forced it slowly out again, and this time she managed to become more engrossed in the report. While Mulder went upstairs to check out the playroom, she read the extensive reports carefully, but the more she read, the more her heart sank. So far, it looked as if the SFPD criminalists were right in their conclusions. Once she finished going over the reports, she picked up the binder and began walking through the kitchen scene, stopping at each spot a victim had died and comparing the report with what she saw. After that, she became even more convinced that not one of the victims could have re-latched the lock.
Among Sarah Grant's extensive injuries, both her calves were slashed through the gastrocnemius (calf) muscle to the bone, so she wouldn't have been able to walk to the lock to close it. And at her height, she wouldn't have been tall enough to reach the chain lock from her knees, had she crawled. Hers were the only fingerprints on that lock, and Scully guessed that the family never used it. She could rule out the others, too, even if one imagined they had closed the lock through their shirts or some other material that could conceal prints. . . Mr. Love's arterial spray and blood pooling in the east end of the kitchen indicated he died immediately, and the blood pools on the stairs showed that Mrs. Love received her mortal wounds there. There was no trailing or dripping from those pools that indicated she went back to the door. And the idea that she then returned to the exact position she was in when she received those wounds was pretty ludicrous anyway.
As for murder-suicide, Scully could rule out the three of them, as well.
She tossed the report down and pulled out her phone with a sigh, which was apparently louder than she intended, because Mulder popped his head in from another room.
"Who're you calling?" he asked when he saw her phone out.
She clicked off the phone to share her thought process.
"The FSD investigators were right, Mulder," she admitted to him. "I have to concur with their findings: there's no way any of these victims could have locked the door behind their attacker or that this was a murder-suicide." She shook her head, and Mulder gave her an encouraging nod, clearly thrilled that she was about to validate it as a proper X-File.
She explained what the physical evidence showed her regarding the lock, and he listened carefully, then asked, "And murder-suicide?"
"Yes. As for murder-suicide, all of them are ruled out, as well. It couldn't have been Mr. Love because as you can see, there is a void here," she indicated across the hardwood floor, "in his arterial spray. This is where Sarah Grant was standing up—therefore alive—at the time. We can tell by looking at her body and seeing where the spray landed. But she's too far away to have been able to reach him to make the wound herself."
"And you should know after countless late night movies that the babysitter's never the killer, always the victim," Mulder interjected deadpan, but with a glint of humor in his eyes.
"You're the one who watches late-night slasher flicks Mulder, not me," she said, allowing him to distract her temporarily.
"I recall having your company during a couple of those," he rejoined. "But fair enough, we weren't really watching. . ."
"Anyway," Scully went on with a warning look, "that then only leaves Mrs. Love as the person who could have killed them, and then committed suicide. But her wounds immediately rule her death out as suicide. She was repeatedly stabbed from behind at angles that could not have been self-inflicted. And of course, we have the problem of the murder weapon. . .in that we have none."
"So then, who were you calling?"
"Montes. The only other explanation I can think of, is that somewhere in this house is a crawl space or wiring channel where the killer could have stayed hidden while the SFPD processed the house."
"And the kids?"
"Maybe the SFPD has said this, but I know we've been avoiding it. . .Mulder, what if the kids themselves did this?"
Mulder shook his head. "No, this doesn't look like parricide to me. Maybe if they were a bit older and were physically capable of overcoming three adults. . . or if it were a gun rather than this rage-fueled knife attack. . .but still, it's rare to see in their ages."
Scully crossed her arms, nodding. Mulder tended to be right about these things, but even so, she could usually find some foothold on which to base an explanation. In this case, all the footholds she sought out just crumbled when she put any weight on them.
"Besides," Mulder added, "what about the upstairs room that was locked from within?"
"The two older children could have combined their strength to pull the door inward, and the bureau tilted forward onto its two front legs long enough for them all to squeeze through. And then when they let go, the dresser fell back onto its four legs and pushed the door shut all but two inches."
"I didn't see indentations or marks of any kind on the door that indicated that."
"That doesn't rule it out, though," Scully insisted, not willing to give up on that theory, and suddenly, a new one branched out from it in her mind. "Mulder. . .what if once they got out of the room, they came upon the scene—"
"And avoided stepping in any blood?" Mulder said skeptically.
"Possibly. And something lead them to believe the killer was coming back, so they locked the door and found a place to hide."
"Without leaving any prints on the lock, though? Or smudging Sarah's fresh prints? And of course, this is all contingent on whether or not there is a viable hiding space in here."
"I know, which is why I'm calling Montes to see if they have blue prints or architectural records for the house."
"That won't help us," Mulder said at once.
"Why!" Scully demanded, irked with his self-assured tone.
"This house was built pre-1905. There aren't any architectural plans on it. Only water records, which won't do us much good."
Scully wanted him to explain he knew such an arcane fact, but it happened so frequently that she decided not to bother. He would just shrug, anyway. Still, she was reluctant, and Mulder noticed.
"Go ahead and call him if you don't believe me," Mulder said in a teasing voice.
She paused, with her finger on the button and Mulder watching her, but then huffed in frustration and closed her phone. "Well then, you know what that means. . ." she reached into her bag and he raised his eyebrows, and then she whipped out her flashlight. "We'll start at the top."
"They searched all these rooms thoroughly before they cleared the house, Scully. Closets and all."
"Right," she acknowledged. "But there's still a possibility they missed something. They were more interested in clearing the scene than going over it with a fine-toothed comb to look for a hiding place."
"They also brought in dogs to try and trace the kids," he continued. "They couldn't find anything."
"Well this is their house—their scent is everywhere," she rejoined. "If the crawl space is concealed enough, it might have been difficult for their scent to penetrate to the dogs. . ."
Mulder was obviously dubious, but he reached into his pocket and withdrew his flashlight as well. "From the top?" he asked, and Scully nodded decisively.