Fletcher2: Rollercoaster By: Dana Starbuck Feedback: dks_starbuck@yahoo.com Disclaimers: See Chapter 1 WARNING: The next few chapters contain some violence and "ick". THANKS: Once again, big thanks to Athos, Selena & Rad (welcome back, Rad). Your help, feedback, patience and friendship is greatly appreciated. I can't do it without you. And a special thanks to my cyberbro deejay. Words can't express my thanks and gratitude. <> Monday, December 7th, 7:40 AM Mulder looked up from the folder that sat balanced on his lap. A pad of legal paper was covered with his scribbling. Except for the few moments when he and Fletcher had boarded the chopper, he'd been reviewing the file. He looked over at Crocker, who sat in front next to Sandy Dillard, ISU's resident pilot. Crocker looked to be asleep, or possibly saying silent prayers. He'd never said he disliked flying, but Mulder saw how pale and white-knuckled he'd become once they were airborne. Dillard scanned the horizon, seemingly oblivious to the man's discomfort. Occasionally the block-like blonde would speak to some ground-control entity, but since her passengers were only plugged into the intercom channel, they never heard the reply. Mulder glanced beside him at Fletcher. Her eyes were shut, one arm folded across her chest, her thumb under her chin, and two fingers across her mouth. He tapped Fletcher gently on the arm and was surprised when she jumped. he thought. "What?" she asked, trying to hide her irritation at being disturbed. "Where's your profile?" he asked. "Have you written a cursory one yet?" "Yes." He knew Fletcher had omitted hers from the file, wanting him to write his own profile without any influences. He handed his notes to her and she handed him another folder. They read in silence. "Then we're in agreement," she finally said, placing his notes in the main folder. "Yes." He handed the folder back to her. "There's some significance to the name 'Algernon'," she said, closing her briefcase. "Are you familiar with the story?" He nodded. "I had to read it for Lit class in high school, so it didn't make a big impression on me. Saw the movie version on Starz late one night. Don't remember much, except that Cliff Robertson played the lead." "There'll be two copies waiting for us in New Jersey. Read it tonight." The chopper started to descend. Mulder thought he heard Crocker moan. "Newark International coming up, Fletcher," Dillard called out over the intercom. "Three minutes." "Good." Fletcher started putting away her papers. "McHugh waiting for us at the pad?" "Yup, with two cars," she told her. "He said he wanted to save you the trip to the field office. He also says that confab you wanted with the local yokels is set for later today." "Outstanding," Fletcher said, barely aware she was lapsing into military-speak. "Your partner's rock solid, Bill." "I'll be sure to tell him," Crocker returned, eyes closed and teeth set. "What kind of yokels?" Mulder asked. "Homicide detectives from all three towns, plus two investigators from the Jersey state police. We're meeting with them at four o'clock." "Will that give us enough time at both scenes?" "It'll _have_ to be enough time." Her tone was sharp. Mulder decided. Blenheim, New Jersey Monday, 9:00 AM The yellow crime scene tape was shredded and flapping in the cold winter breeze as Fletcher pulled up to the scene of the Columbus Day massacre. A county public works truck was parked three or four houses down. The street was deserted except for the county worker, who was snaking a long steel pole down a sewer grate. Mulder observed. "Entry was in the back," Fletcher said, parking the car in the driveway. "The UNSUB came through the basement window." "Weather that night?" he asked as they got out of the car. "Cloudy, no moon." "Neighbors didn't report anything?" "No one home, at least not on either side. One family was visiting relatives in Albany, while the other treated themselves to a weekend in the Big Apple. Time of death was estimated to be sometime after midnight, but I'm having Gabe review the autopsies today. I don't think it's right. I think it was later." She unlocked the front door using the keys that Bill Crocker had given her. Mulder could smell the stale blood the instant the door was opened. "It gets worse," she said, flipping on the light. - - - - - The county worker watched the two agents go into the house. The moment the door closed, he pulled the snake out of the drain and picked up the orange cones and sawhorses that surrounded the adjacent manhole cover. He glanced at his watch, excitement boiling over like milk in a hot saucepan. He didn't have a lot of time, but what he had would be enough if he managed it right. It all came down to time management. Everything did, in the end. - - - - - "How do you want to do this?" Fletcher asked. "Do you want to recreate the UNSUB's steps or go right to where the bodies were found?" "Let's start with point of entry," Mulder decided. Fletcher nodded as she led Mulder down the hallway, past the living room and the staircase leading to the bedrooms. Mulder carefully looked around the kitchen before following Fletcher down the basement stairs. Every door frame, cabinet, counter top and appliance was covered in the black fingerprinting dust. he thought. "Watch your step," Fletcher cautioned. "The third step down is uneven. Keep to the right when we get to the bottom. I want you to see the footprints." "Okay." He followed Fletcher as she stepped lightly down the stairs. he thought. "He came through that window," Fletcher said, gesturing to a small window that was covered with the same black powder found in the kitchen. Mulder searched the floor, his eyes tracing the UNSUB's footsteps in the dust. Somehow the UNSUB had managed to get into the basement without knocking anything over. Mulder reflected. "Did the autopsies show any sign of drugs in the victims?" he asked. "Only the five year old. Some allergy medicine – over the counter stuff." She looked at Mulder. "Wondering how he got in without making a noise?" "Yes." "I have a theory." he thought. "What?" "Ever hear about an athlete being in 'the zone'? You know, a baseball player during a hitting streak that says the ball looks like it's moving in slow motion, looks as big as melon? Or a golfer that says he knows every putt he makes is going to drop?" Mulder nodded. "I think UNSUBs have a zone of their own. When they make the decision and begin to act on it, I think all of their senses are heightened, they feel super human." She turned away from him, ending the discussion of her theory. "We found something on the windowsill here and on the floor. The same substance was found in two rooms." "Any idea what it was?" "The yokels botched the lab work. A similar substance was found last week. Gabe took the samples back with him. He hasn't given me any results yet." "Show me the rest of the house," Mulder said. ISU Forensics Lab Monday, 9:15AM "Doctor Scully, Agent Klingler, I need to speak with you, if you have a minute or two." Scully looked up from her paperwork to see Gabe Sinclair walking purposefully towards them. Scully smiled reflexively. "Of course," she said, setting her pen down. She liked working for Gabe. His manner was both professional and warm, almost courtly at times. He was unhurried, but everything was completed quickly and thoroughly. He also insisted on calling the pathologists of his staff 'doctors' instead of 'agents'. "What's up," Elly asked, standing as Sinclair reached them. "I need an assist from you both," he said, handing Scully a small stack of folders. "It's for New Jersey." she thought. "No need to explain the importance." "Good. Those files are the post results of victims at the second site. There are also some labs from the scene. The samples are in the fridge. Doctor Scully, if you'll work over the autopsies, Agent Klingler will handle the lab work. I'd like to discuss findings at, oh, say, three o'clock. I know that's not much time, but I'm only looking for preliminary stuff at the moment. Be prepared, though. Roy Tupper's got a sit-rep scheduled for tomorrow at eleven, and Fletcher will want us to have all our ducks in a row." "No problem," Klingler said promptly. "We'll be ready," Scully assured him. "I'm counting on it," he said, pointing at them both. His trademark grin gave the comment the feel of a grandfather telling his grandsons that there'd be an extra quarter in it for them if they got the leaves out of the back yard in the next hour. In Sinclair's case, it usually meant days off with pay and some kind of free food for the staff on Friday. Elly grinned at Scully as Sinclair left the room. "Hey, mom, we're finally playing the Palace!" "Looks like Michael's Deli is off the to-do list," Scully returned, moving the paperwork she'd been paging through to a separate folder. "They deliver," Elly reminded her. "Good thing, too. I was looking forward to their tarragon chicken salad, so I didn't bring anything for lunch." "Josh would have been ticked we went without him, anyway." "Josh probably discovered some wonderful French Bistro in a strip mall near his motel," Elly laughed. "This way we'll have something to lord over _him_ when he gets back from Richmond." Scully chuckled as she watched the short-haired pixie bop out of the room. Elly was only two years removed from the Academy, but she'd already garnered a reputation as one of the Bureau's best forensic analysts. Between her and Josh Washington –- a slick-scalped African-American who had just celebrated his 40th birthday, his second divorce, and his fifth transfer in twelve years -- they made a very odd-looking team. Elly had a youthful perspective that invariably made Scully shake her head, and there were times when Josh's cynical outlook made Mulder seem positively sunny. Even so, they had dropped into an easy office routine and a good friendship. You couldn't help but smile at Elly, bobbing her head to the thrash-metal on her CD Walkman, as she toiled over the microscope for hours on end. In addition to his solid capabilities in the lab, Josh had an innate talent for finding great restaurants that even rivaled Fletcher's abilities. After three months of the zombies in AD Kersch's open-plan research gulag, Elly and Josh were a breath of fresh air. Although they'd never discussed it with her, her new coworkers felt the same way about Scully. Elly had heard plenty of Scully stories at the Academy (most, but not all, connected with Mulder), and thought it was incredibly cool to be working with a semi-legend. For Josh's part, Scully was the first pathologist since Gabe Sinclair who didn't try to get in a turf war with him, and didn't consider him to be a curiosity first and a scientist second. Scully and Josh knew they shared this experience, thought neither of them broached the subject. The warmth of working with Fletcher, even indirectly, dimmed somewhat when she saw the first autopsy photo. she thought. Blenheim, New Jersey Monday, 9:20AM "He killed the parents first," Fletcher explained almost matter-of-factly as they went up the staircase of the split level house. Mulder looked down at the carpet. The gray deep pile carpet was stained with large blotches of dried blood. The outline of one body, done by the crime scene unit, was found in the doorway leading to the master bedroom. "The mother or father?" he asked, walking into the room. There was so much blood on the walls; it was almost impossible to tell what pattern the wallpaper was originally. "Mother. The father died in bed. The UNSUB slit his throat, then shot him point blank in the face through the pillow." "Kill the strongest first," Mulder commented. "The mother's throat was slit in the bed as well," Fletcher recited, pointing out the bloodstained mattress. The sheets and blankets had been removed as evidence. "She ran for the door, probably to protect her kids. The loss of blood most likely caused her to collapse, but he didn't take any chances. He stabbed her at least another dozen times." Mulder looked through the photos of the crime scene. "Any chance this is a crime of passion?" "No," Fletcher said. "Those amateurish Y-incisions on everyone's chests blow that theory out of the water." "And the kids?" Fletcher walked into the first bedroom. New York Yankees and New York Giants posters adorned the walls. A giant Star Wars poster was on the ceiling. All of the posters were splattered with blood. The bed had been stripped as well, and the mattress was stained with blood. "How old?" Mulder asked. "Nine," she croaked. "I can only hope he never knew what hit him." "Stabbed?" "Six times and his throat was slit. And of course, that fucking pseudo-autopsy incision." He looked around the room carefully before stepping out of it. He knew Fletcher felt the same way he did. The autopsies didn't bother them. The bodies in a morgue never seemed real. It was seeing the crime scene, seeing the victims in their own element that rattled them both. He knew Fletcher was talking as dispassionately as possible in order to remove herself, her feelings. He did the same thing. It was a self-taught trick, learned out of necessity. They entered the daughter's room. It was decorated in shades of purple with a teddy bear motif. About a dozen bears lined the top of the dresser, and there were teddy bear posters on all four walls. The one above the bed was spattered with red. "There doesn't seem to be as much blood in this room, even if she was smaller." "I know. She was only stabbed once and had her throat slit. And no Y-incision either. I don't know if the UNSUB was running out of time or if he had second thoughts. The time thing doesn't seem right. Also, she was the only one found with the covers up over her. Almost gently," she added as an afterthought. Mulder compared the photos to the room. "Think he's got a soft spot for little girls?" "Your guess is as good as mine." Fletcher muttered the words, but it could have been a scream. Her frustration was mounting, and it was making Mulder uneasy. She took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. She put her glasses back on then practically marched out of the room. "Do you want some time alone here?" "No, I'm all set. We should move on to the next scene." He followed, giving her space. "Good. After we look it over, there's a decent diner between here and the field office..." "A diner in New Jersey?" Mulder grinned. "Be still my heart." "It's gonna have to be take-out," Fletcher continued, either missing or ignoring the joke. "I want to hear your thoughts once you've had a chance to see both sites, and there's no reason we should ruin lunch for the rest of the dining room." - - - - - "We have company," Fletcher said, unlocking the car. Mulder looked where Fletcher was staring. A blue Escort wagon was parked where the county truck had been, with two people sitting in the front seat. "West Caldwell Journal" was stenciled on one of the doors. Mulder sighed. "Are we going to lose them?" "No. Get in the car. I'll be right back." She walked over to the van and flashed her badge. "You can't –" the driver, a young bearded man, began to protest. "I'm not trying to prevent you from doing anything," she assured them, striving to sound pleasant. "I want to ask you a few questions." "What?" the woman in the passenger seat asked. Her eyes were sharp and she smelled a story. "Did your paper cover the scene the afternoon it was discovered?" They looked at one another, then nodded. "Do you still have all the pictures you took?" "Sure," the man answered. "We keep the negs on file for a year." "Could you have copies sent over to the local office? It would really help us out." "And what do we get in return?" the woman asked. "You get to follow us the rest of the day, and I won't run you in for hindering an investigation," Fletcher smiled. "As if you could," the man said cockily. "With one phone call," Fletcher assured him, still sounding pleasant. She held up her cell phone. "Would you like me to demonstrate?" Neither the reporter nor her photographer wanted to test the tall FBI agent with the cold eyes. They shook their heads. "Okay." Fletcher put the phone away. "How soon can I see the pictures?" "It'll take about an hour to print up copies for you," the man said. It would take less time than that, but it was as close as he wanted to get to rebellion. "I'll call the office and have them start as soon as possible." "We'll have a messenger bring them over as soon as they're done," the woman added. "The Bureau thanks you in advance for your cooperation," Fletcher replied. She kept it cordial, but she couldn't help that a little sarcasm came through. Mulder was mulling over the significance of the throat-slashings and Y-incisions when Fletcher got back in the car. "What was that all about?" he asked. "These guys take tons of photos, but only a few are used for the actual story. Remember how Algernon said he saw me at the crime scene? He might be in one of the photos they didn't use." She backed out of the driveway. "What about the ones they _did_ use?" "Shots of 'the death house', the cop cars, and the coroner's crew lifting a body bag into their station wagon. Pretty standard stuff, and no civilians in the background." She drove away, making sure that the car was following them. -end-