She hadn’t let the murder touch her.
It had obviously touched her friend.
“We have to get to Elly,” he said at last.
She agreed, and asked the driver to take them there instead of the station.
“I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I was told—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mulder said. “We’ll take the heat. You can tell him we pulled rank. FBI, pushy feds, stuff like that.”
For a second, Scully thought the man would flat out refuse. Then he grinned, shrugged, and: “Whatever you say, sir.”
“So punch it.”
“You got it.”
And it took all of Scully’s self-control not to grab the dashboard.
Traffic increased as Marville began, Saturday shoppers and wanderers taking their time to make the business district last as long as they could make it. The driver took a back-road, corner-cutting shortcut to avoid the main street, and pulled up smoothly in front of the apartment building.
“You want me to wait?” He sounded hopeful.
“Yes,” she told him as she opened the door.
He took the radio mike and called in: “Maddy, this is Spike. We’re at the Goblin Lady’s place. Maybe the chief should meet us here, huh?”
The radio hissed. “I’ll tell him. Watch your back.”
“You got it,” he said, and hooked the mike back on its cradle.
“That’s it?” Mulder asked, sounding disappointed.
“You mean, ten-four, that kind of stuff?” The driver shook his head. “The chief hates radio talk. He says it makes us sound too much like cop shows.” He laughed. “Besides, half the guys keep getting the numbers wrong anyway. Maddy knows what we’re saying, so…” He shrugged.
Scully was already outside, looking up at the bay window. The curtains were closed. She turned slowly as Mulder left the car, and clamped a hand hard against her chest.
“Mulder!”
Immediately she ran across the street without checking for traffic, heading straight for the small park and Elly Lang, sitting motionless on her bench. The old woman faced the empty ball field, bundled in a black coat, a black umbrella canted over her head.
She didn’t turn when Scully called her name.
No, she thought, leaping the curb and racing across the wet grass; damnit, no.
“Elly!”
She heard Mulder behind her, drifting to her right to come up on her flank.
“Elly!”
She grabbed the bench back and propelled herself around, damning herself for not thinking of this sooner.
If they were too late, she would personally rip Tonero’s medals off, one by one, and pin them back on his bare chest. One by one.
Suddenly a hand snapped out from beneath the umbrella, and she yelped as she jumped to one side when a stream of bright orange nearly caught her on the chest.
The old woman stared at her without blinking. “Oh. It’s you.” And she tucked the spray can back into her purse. “I must be getting slow.”
Scully didn’t know what to say, could only nod while she tried to catch her breath. “I thought—”
“Yes,” Elly said. “I can see that.” Her gaze shifted when Mulder came up beside her. “They won’t hurt me, you know. Never have. I figure they figure an old lady can’t do them much harm.”
“Ms. Lang,” Mulder said, “this one is different.”
Scully dropped onto the bench and gently pushed the umbrella to one side. “It’s killed at least three people that we know of, Ms. Lang. We think you could be in danger.”
Elly humphed. “You don’t know much about goblins, young lady.” She shook a bony finger in Scully’s face. “You should study more. You’re a smart girl. You should learn more. Goblins,” she said, “don’t kill anyone. Never have.”
Dana looked to Mulder for support, and he hunkered down in front of the old woman, one hand gently on her knee so he wouldn’t topple. “Ms. Lang, this one is sick.”
“They don’t get sick.”
He shook his head. “Not that kind of sick.” He tapped his temple. “This kind. It isn’t like the others. It’s…” He swallowed, and let his hand slide away. “It’s evil, Ms. Lang. I don’t know any other way to put it.”
Scully saw it then, the doubt and the birth of fear in the woman’s face. Suddenly she seemed two decades older. “You shouldn’t be sitting out here,” she said quietly. “You should be someplace warm. It’ll rain again soon.”
“The children,” Elly whispered.
“I don’t think they’ll be playing much today.”
She stood, sliding her hand along the woman’s coat until she grasped her hand. The fingers twitched, then curled around hers, and she pulled Elly slowly to her feet, the umbrella dropping forgotten to the ground.
Mulder retrieved it as Scully pointed to the cruiser. “See that man there? His name, if you can believe it, is Spike. I think I can talk him into staying with you for a while.”
Arm in arm they walked across the grass.
“Is he married?” Elly asked.
“I don’t think so.”
Mulder went ahead, keeping himself between the women and the driver as he spoke. Scully blessed him for that.
“He’s a nice boy,” Elly said, using her chin to point at Mulder.
“Yes. I know.”
In the middle of the street, Elly stopped, her lower lip trembling. “Is he right about this goblin?”
She nodded.
“I’m not ready to die yet, you know.”
Dana squeezed the woman’s arm. “I know. And you won’t.”
“Too mean, too cranky.”
Dana smiled, although the woman didn’t see her. “Well… I don’t think so.” She urged them forward again. “You’re just tough, that’s all. A good thing to be.”
“Are you?”
Scully didn’t know how to answer that one, and was saved from stumbling by Todd Hawks’ arrival. It didn’t take long to get Elly camped in her apartment, and not much longer than that, once they were outside again, to tell the chief they suspected that someone attached to, or working for, the Special Projects Office at Fort Dix was responsible for the murders. Someone, she added, who was extremely skilled at blending in.
“Disguises, you mean?” Hawks asked.
“You could say that.”
“A real expert, one of the best,” Mulder said, following her lead. Then he smiled so quickly she almost missed it. “You could say it gives a whole new meaning to the word wallflower.”
“Son of a bitch.” Hawks checked the sky as if daring the rain to add to his misery. “Damn, I don’t need this. I really don’t.” He shook his head and looked up at Elly’s apartment. The curtains were open; a lamp burned in the window. “If you don’t mind telling me, you got anyone in mind?”
He sounded neither bitter nor imposed upon; he only sounded as if he wanted this to be over, so his town could get back to what passed for normal.
“Because,” he added flatly, “what I’ve got is three goddamn corpses, and three families and some local politicians on my ass demanding explanations.” He looked at Mulder then, eyes narrowed. “And would you happen to know why, while I was poking around Vincent’s house this morning, a United States senator called my office?”
Oh, great, she thought; just great.
Though she could hear traffic in the distance, the neighborhood was quiet. A few lights on porches, in front windows; an old black dog trotting along the gutter; a large crow strutting across the ball field.
Like her, it seemed in a state of anticipation.
“Chief, can you patch Mulder through on your radio, to try to locate the rest of our team?”
“No problem,” he said with a wry smile. “They were on their way to the station when I left, trying to find you.”
When Mulder questioned her with a look, she shook her head slightly, waiting until Hawks was on the radio. “We’ve been sloppy,” she said, matter of fact, n
ot a scolding. “The major’s ready to bolt, and all we’ve been able to do is run from one killing to another.”
“The restaurant,” he suggested.
She frowned. “Why?”
“Hank does his best thinking in front of a plate of pancakes.”
“Mulder,” she started, then waved herself silent. “Okay.”
Then she hurried inside to be sure Elly was all right, a concern quickly allayed when she saw Spike on the stool, cap in his lap, avidly listening to the old woman describing her lifelong hunt for goblins.
Neither noticed her in the doorway; neither noticed when she left.
Hank was at the curb when she reached the sidewalk, Mulder already in the car, waving her around the back to the other door. The chief stopped her at the rear bumper.
“You’ll let me know what I need to know?”
She promised, then swore when her shoulder bag slipped off and hit the ground. I have got to get control, she snapped at herself, and was grateful when Hawks crouched down to help her fetch her things. She had to kneel to grab a pen that had rolled beneath the car, only half-listening as Hawks made some lame jokes about a woman’s purse.
She leaned over, saw the pen, and reached for it.
And froze.
“You need help?”
She shook her head and backed out, the pen retrieved and in her pocket. Then, as he helped her to her feet, something about the license plate puzzled her, froze her again until she saw it.
“Listen, Agent Scully, if there’s something the matter—”
“No.” She waved off his offered hand. “No, thank you, I’m fine. I just thought of something, that’s all.” She knew he didn’t really believe her, but didn’t know the right question to ask. “Thanks,” she said, and slipped into the car.
As soon as she was settled, Andrews turned around to ask what next. As far as she was concerned, all they were doing was chasing their own tails, and widened her eyes when Scully said, “Exactly. That’s why we’re going to the restaurant, order a long lunch, and get things straight before we start tripping over ourselves.”
“And what about our goblin?” Mulder asked quietly.
“Our goblin,” she said, “won’t be out again until tonight.”
TWENTY-ONE
Despite the day’s gloom, the Queen’s Inn’s lights were kept low, giving the room an evening feel. Two diners sat at the counter, each reading a newspaper; a family of six sat in the last booth, one of the children describing the movie he had seen on TV that morning, complete with explosive sound effects and dialogue quotations. A busboy swept the already gleaming floor. In the parking lot, a trailer truck took its time making a wide U-turn, causing a minor backup and a brief flurry of angry horns.
“Another peaceful day in the country,” Mulder said glumly. He sat by the window, pushed into the corner, his topcoat draped over the seatback. Although his head no longer throbbed to distraction, his side refused to give him respite. He squirmed, thought he was settled, and then a quick stitch made him shift again.
The others didn’t seem to notice his discomfort.
Hank sat across from him, gleefully, for Scully’s benefit, attacking a steak with all the trimmings he’d been able to think of, while Andrews and Scully settled on salads. All he could think of was pancakes and bacon, so forced himself to order just a sandwich. Two seconds later, he had forgotten what kind it was.
The truck finished its turn.
The kid finished the movie to the laughing applause of his family.
Mulder shifted again. “Do you know what W. C. Fields said about children?”
Licia asked him who W. C. Fields was.
“I’m not old, you know,” he said to Scully’s infuriatingly blank expression. “Really. I am not old.”
“Eat, Mulder,” she ordered. “We have work to do.”
There was, then, mostly silence as they finished their meal. And once the table had been cleared, Scully flipped over her paper place mat and pulled out her pen, and looked to Mulder, who nodded it was her show, be my guest.
The family left.
The men at the counter paid and left as well.
“Pierce,” Scully said, lightly jabbing the place mat with her pen, “was killed on a Saturday night. So was Corporal Ulman. Almost a pattern until last night.” She paused, and Mulder was grateful she didn’t mention Carl’s name. “It’s my guess Dr. Tymons is dead, too. Probably sometime yesterday.” She filled them in quickly on what they had seen at Walson after the others had left, but gave neither of them a chance to comment. “The Project, whatever it is, is over.”
“For now,” Mulder added.
“All right. For now. And we don’t have much time.” She tapped the place mat again. “All the deaths are the same—throat slashed, deeply. This isn’t a professional’s attack. The violence… and the fact that each one came from the front, not behind…” She took a breath and shook her head. “It’s almost psychotic. And the strength to do this indicates it’s probably a man. Or,” she added, when Mulder opened his mouth to comment, “a woman, okay. These days, there are a lot of women who go for weight training, defense training, things like that. We can’t rule that out.”
“Which means,” Andrews said sourly, “we’ve narrowed it down to about eight or nine thousand people, right?”
“Wrong.”
Mulder sat up, staring at the doodles Scully had drawn on the paper.
“While Pierce may have died just because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, it’s pretty obvious the others are connected. The corporal worked for Major Tonero—although we can’t guarantee he knew everything that was going on, Carl Barelli was asking questions about goblins, and Dr. Tymons was the Project head.”
She scribbled Tonero’s name and circled it.
“I also think Mulder’s right—the Project’s in danger, and the goblin is cleaning house. Which is why we have someone staying with Ms. Lang.” She circled Rosemary Elkhart’s name. “That gives us motive. Hide the mistakes, bury the evidence. Literally.”
“But if Tymons really is dead,” Webber said, “won’t that kill the project for good?”
“Oh, no. Not by a long shot. Dr. Elkhart, no matter what the major thinks, is in charge now. Nothing we said in that office fazed her, while the major was only partly acting. So I’m assuming she’s gotten hold of the records, and I don’t doubt she’d be able to have another center up and running before very long.”
Andrews leaned forward eagerly. “She could have been planning it, you know. For weeks. Months, even. Something about the project, maybe it’s almost ready, you know? I mean, done. Maybe she wants all the glory.”
Scully tapped the name again. “I don’t think there’s any maybe about it, Licia.”
“Then she did it!” Webber exclaimed.
Mulder blinked. “What? You think she’s the goblin?”
Webber nodded, then shook his head, then threw up his hands. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He brightened. “But she could be directing it. I mean, wouldn’t she know who was a threat and who wasn’t?”
Scully smiled. “Weekend nights,” she reminded them. “Only weekend nights.”
“So what are you saying?” Andrews asked with a frown. “We narrow it down to only those people who are free on weekends?” She shook her head. “Give me a break, okay?” She reached out to push at the place mat. “Do you know how many troops there are at Dix, for one thing? And every one of them—”
“Damn!” Mulder said.
Scully jumped, and he apologized with a quick gesture, but he had followed her road, marked the signposts, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized he already had the answer.
“What?” Webber said anxiously.
“Louisiana,” he answered, speaking to Scully.
All she could do was look.
“That guy in Louisiana, he was supposed to have disappeared in the middle of a circus ring. Walked through a crowd of people and did
n’t come out the other side. But he was still there, Scully. He just didn’t look the same way.”
“And how do you know that?”
His left arm rested along the back of the seat, forcing him to turn toward her. “You’ll be happy to know that I don’t think he just disappeared in a puff of sawdust. He had to be there; he was just different, that’s all. The police were looking for one thing, so they didn’t see anything else.”
“Okay, so things weren’t what they seemed. What does that have to do with this?”
“Ghosts and goblins, Scully. Ghosts and goblins.”
“Meaning?” Andrews said testily.
“Meaning our field of suspects has just been made considerably smaller.”
Rosemary stood his pacing, his ranting, for as long as she could. Then she came around the desk and said, “Joseph.”
He ignored her. “God damn them, anyway. Did you see the way they spoke to me? Who the hell do they think they are?”
“Joseph.”
He shook his head in exasperation. “This is too much. It’s just too much.” His face reddened, and he aimed a kick at one of the cartons. “And I even packed my damn keys away! Jesus H. Rosie, the whole world’s gone nuts!”
She leaned back against the desk.
“Son of a bitch bastards are not—I repeat, are not—going to get away with it. I’ll call that goddamn senator myself and—”
“Joseph!”
He whirled on her, one fist up, but she didn’t flinch. She only softened her expression, and beckoned with a crooked finger. “Joseph.” Her voice deep in her throat. “Joseph.”
His chest rose and fell, the fist trembled and fell away.
“Joseph, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“What? How the hell—”
“Nothing to worry about,” she repeated calmly, and beckoned him again.
This time he moved, close enough for her to place a hand on his shoulder.
“Everything we need from downstairs we already have. Everything we need from here is ready to ship.”
“Yes, but—”
She hushed him with a finger on his lips. “And everything you need is right here, too.”
She kissed him softly, quickly, and used all her remaining control to stop herself from slapping him.
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