REPOST Renaissance I: If A Man Die 4/8

[ted...@aol.com]

See disclaimer in part 1.

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RENAISSANCE 1: If A Man Die (4/8)
by M.C. Christjansen

If a man die, shall he live again?
- I Chronicles 14:14

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Smithsonian Institution
1:10 PM

"Toledo steel," said the weapons curator, a man called Daniels. He
handled Rasher's sword as though it were a holy relic. "Sixteenth century
workmanship, definitely Spanish. It's been beautifully maintained. Where
did you get it, Agent Mulder?"
"It was found beside a murder victim the night before last."
"The death at Constitution Gardens? Was this--?"
"No, but we do believe there's a link between it and the death."
Daniels nodded. "However beautiful it is, the sole function of
such an object is to deal death efficiently."
"Is it very valuable?"
"Not unless you have some kind of provenance for it. Otherwise
it's just another old sword, worth several hundred dollars at most. Uh,
may I?"
With a glance at Scully, Mulder nodded. The curator backed away a
dozen paces, hefting the sword experimentally a few times before slashing
the air with it. He nodded to himself and gave back the blade. "This was
made by a master craftsman for a man who knew exactly what he wanted in a
sword. The balance, the weight, even the design. It's really too bad
there's no pedigree."
"Thank you for your time, Dr. Daniels," said Scully as Mulder
re-wrapped the sword in plastic.
"My pleasure."
In the parking lot, Mulder locked the sword in the trunk of their
car again. Scully dangled a ring of keys as he climbed into the driver's
seat. "Rasher's?" he asked.
She nodded. "Let's go take a look at his gallery."

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Georgetown
Blue Lizard Gallery
2:13 PM

The Blue Lizard gallery was located on 29th St. NW in southern
Georgetown. The single painting in the window was a nineteenth century
English landscape. Mulder nodded approval.
"You like that?" Scully asked, not quite believing him.
"Sure. Reminds me of my Oxford days."
"I had you pegged for Rowlandson, or Hogarth's raunchier stuff."
"Scully, I'm hurt. And how does nice girl like you know about
Hogarth and Rowlandson?"
"I've been around the artistic block a few times, Mulder." She
inserted a key into the door and tried to turn it, then tried another.
This time the lock clicked. She pushed it open; somewhere a buzzer
sounded. Then, unexpectedly, they heard footsteps hurrying toward them.
"I'm sorry," a young woman's high, clear voice called, "the
gallery's closed." She stepped from behind a screen, a slight figure in a
white smock and brown leggings, her curly black hair cropped close to her
head. "Didn't you see the notice on the door?"
"We're investigating Mr. Rasher's death." said Mulder, producing
his badge. "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner, Special
Agent Dana Scully. We'd like to look around."
"I'm Chloe Shannon, Frank's assistant." She spread her hands. "I
suppose it's okay if you look around. Nobody's given me a clue what to do
about this place."
"I'd like to look at Mr. Rasher's desk," Mulder said.
"Sure. Come on back." Chloe led them around the screen to a
brightly lit room divided into three sections by more screens. She pointed
to the far corner. "Frank's cell is in the back, in the corner. You can
look, but I don't think you should take anything away."
Mulder zeroed in on the desk, leaving Scully with Chloe. "What is
it that you do here, Miss Shannon?" she asked.
"I run the gallery for Frank."
"And the gallery specializes in English artists?"
Chloe nodded. "Eighteenth and nineteenth century landscape
painters mainly. Frank also did conservation and restoration."
"Just the two of you work here?"
"We're not like Wal-Mart. People like to take their time buying
art."
"Did Mr. Rasher do his restoration work here?" Scully glanced
around the room. She had no idea what restoring and conserving art
entailed, but it was a safe bet it required paint and chemicals and
brushes, and she couldn't see or smell anything like that in this place.
"He's got a studio where he works on those projects. He
doesn't--didn't like to be disturbed because he really has to concentrate
on what he's doing."
At that point, Mulder rejoined them, shaking his head in response
to Scully's unspoken question.
"Where is this studio?"
"It's in a warehouse in Arlington. I suppose you'll want to go and
look at it, too."
"Do you have the address?"
"Sure." Chloe went to her desk, flipped through a Rolodex and
wrote down an address and a sequence of numbers on a slip of paper, which
she handed to Scully. "There's a key pad ten feet to the left of the door
as you go in. You have to punch in those numbers within thirty seconds, or
a silent alarm goes off." She glanced away and then back at the two
agents, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Do you really think you'll be
able to find the man who killed Frank?"
"We're doing our best, Miss Shannon," Mulder replied.

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Arlington, VA
3:45 PM

The entrance to Frank Rasher's studio was in an alleyway. The door
swung open noisily and a faint odor of chemicals and turpentine drifted
out. The building was semi-dark, lit by a skylight and a series of long,
narrow windows high on the north wall.
"This must be the place," remarked Mulder, groping for the light
switch and flipping it on. Scully stepped past him to locate the key pad
and tap in the numbers Chloe Shannon had given them.
The studio occupied a large corner room in the warehouse that had
obviously served as an office in the not too distant past. Industrial
shelving held tools, brushes, paints and chemicals. A large table, higher
than usual occupied the center of the space; on it lay several paintings
in various stages of progress. Along an outside wall, a small refrigerator
and a microwave oven were lined up on a counter next to a double-bowled
stainless steel sink. The cupboard contained snack foods, canned soup and
art supplies. A cot occupied one corner. Another door led to the rest of
the warehouse.
Mulder poked around the room while Scully went through the desk.
Coming to a locked cabinet, he called to Scully to throw him Rasher's
keys. After three tries, he found the correct key and opened the cabinet
to reveal yet more canvases. He sorted through them.
"Scully, look," he called after a moment.
"What is it, Mulder?"
He pulled a painting from the cabinet and displayed it for her. It
was a confusing, even surreal, combination of a nude woman doing something
to her hair and landscape of sheep in a meadow.
"Leave it to you, Mulder, to find a picture of a naked woman."
"Hold this," he said, ignoring the jibe. He reached into the
cabinet again and brought out another painting. It showed the hindquarters
of a horse in a lush pastoral background and a primitive-looking bowl of
fruit.
"Chloe Shannon said he did restoration and conservation," said
Mulder.
"That means he was pretty good at taking layers of varnish and paint off
of old pictures without harming the original painting underneath."
"What are you getting at, Mulder."
"Painting over a stolen picture would be one way to move it around
the country, or even out of it, without getting caught."
Scully nodded. "There's a registry for stolen art, isn't there?"
"Yeah, in New York City. Let's take these back to the office and
give them a call. Maybe they can come up with something."

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J. Edgar Hoover Building
Basement
7:10 PM

The stolen art registry came up with two possible hits within
hours: A painting of an eighteenth century Thoroughbred champion by George
Stubbs, and one of a woman bathing by Auguste Renoir. Both had been stolen
from private collections that spring and had not been recovered. Color
photographs of the stolen paintings would arrive the next day by overnight
express for comparison.
"We'll take everything over to the Smithsonian tomorrow and let
them sort it out," Scully said.. "For tonight, the paintings can stay in
one of the strong rooms here." She glanced at her wristwatch. "Let's call
it a day, Mulder."
He turned to his computer terminal. "Let me check my e-mail first
and see if the boys have come up with anything." There was a single item
awaiting his attention. He keyed into it.
"Well?" asked Scully after a moment.
"No medical information, no criminal record for either MacLeod or
Rasher."
"Could these men be part of the Federal Witness Protection
Program?"
"No, they'd still have to have medical records, even under assumed
names." Mulder stared at the screen for a moment. "Scully, did you notice
whether Rasher had a smallpox vaccination scar anywhere on his body?"
"As a matter of fact," she said, reaching for her autopsy notes to
confirm what she thought, "he didn't. But a lot of people don't these
days. Smallpox is extinct, except for specimens held in ultra-secure
medical labs like the CDC's."
"Rasher should have. He was too old not to have one." He began
shutting down his computer for the night. "Where d'you want to go for
dinner?"

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3170 W. 53rd Rd., #35
Sunny Heights Apartment Complex
Saturday, July 20, 1996, 2:00 AM

Scully had been enjoying a pleasant dream when a sudden shrill
noise shattered her rest and made her sit up in bed. Automatically, she
reached out for the alarm clock. Then she realized that the noise she was
hearing was intermittent and not at all like that of the alarm. She
reached for the telephone, marveling that Queequeg, sprawled inelegantly
on his back with his legs in the air at the foot of the bed, was not at
all disturbed by it.
"Mulder, this had better be good," she mumbled, falling back on
her pillows.
"It is. I--"
"Where are you?"
"Back at the office. I had an idea and I couldn't wait 'til
morning to run it through the computer.
"Mulder, it is morning. Can't this wait?"
She heard him sigh, and when he spoke, the excitement had drained
from his voice. "Yeah, I suppose it could. G'night, Scully."
"Mulder! Wait!" But it was too late, he'd already hung up. She
cradled the receiver and lay back, waiting for sleep to reclaim her.
Long minutes passed.
She sighed and got out of bed, trying not to disturb the dog. It
took her ten minutes to dress and find her car keys.

End Part 4/8