REPOST: Trace Evidence 3: Say Goodnight (07/10), Saundra Mitchell
Vampyres Incorporeal
Title: Trace Evidence III: Say Goodnight (07/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: v...@netdirect.net
Feedback: Please!
Rating:R
Washington, D.C.
Mulder and Scully's Office
Tossing his backpack on the floor,
Mulder walked around to his desk.
Flopping in his chair, he watched Scully
as she slid out of her backpack and
pulled off her black knit cap. Shaking
her hair out, Mulder leered
appreciatively.
"Oh, do it again," he moaned,
covering a smile with his hand.
She rolled her eyes, and headed for
her desk. "I always thought that once
you settled down with someone nice your
horrible harassment problem would stop."
"Worse now, isn't it," he grinned.
"Much." Fingering through the new
mail in her in box, she stopped at a
manila envelope, and turned it over. At
the bottom, in dark block letters,
someone had scribbled her name and "x
files." There was no postage, and no
return address. Sliding her finger under
the flap to open it, she dumped the
contents onto her desk. Photographs and
a small white envelope, the kind that
came with a delivery of flowers.
"Whatcha got?"
Paling, Scully picked up the small
stack of photographs, examining each one
carefully. They were pictures of her. .
but they weren't. The woman with her
face was doing things she had never
done, wearing clothes she'd never owned
and eating dinner with people she'd
never met. They were perfectly ordinary
pictures, perhaps from someone's
vacation- someone who looked exactly
like her. Feeling a little sick to her
stomach, she shoved them at Mulder and
sat heavily in her chair. She watched
his expression as he looked at them one
by one.
"That's not me," she whispered when
he looked up at her questioningly.
Turning her attention back to the
envelope, she shook it once more to see
if anything else was inside, then handed
it to Mulder. Picking up the tiny
envelope, she slid the card out and
hesitantly read it.
"I know who she is. 10012 Newburgh,
ten p.m.," she read aloud, noting that
the handwriting on the card was
different from the handwriting on the
envelope. "What time is it?"
Mulder shook his head, stuffing
everything back in the envelope. "It's
not even four yet."
"Let's take a walk to the print
lab, shall we?"
Baltimore, Maryland
Corner of Fayette and Eutaw
In the time it took Bayliss and
Kellerman to get to the crime scene, a
crowd had already formed, their faces
angry. As the detectives walked toward
the corner marked off with yellow tape,
they could hear voices complaining
loudly.
"Why you got to leave her laying
out like that?"
"Cover her or something, she's just
a little girl!"
"What the hell wrong with you
police anyway?"
Taking a deep breath and putting on
his most professional face, Tim held the
tape up for Mike, then followed him over
to the body. The uniform at the scene
joined them in short order, pulling out
her notebook.
"You first on the scene," Bayliss
asked, walking a slow circle around the
body, taking care not to knock over the
cards marking where bullets laid nearby.
"Yep. LaTonya Kingsmith, aged 14,"
the uniform answered crisply.
Kellerman looked over the crowd,
making a face. "No witnesses, huh?"
The uniform smiled. "Well. . .
actually, we have seven."
They both stopped and looked at the
uniform. She had to be mistaken;
shootings on the corner of Fayette and
Eutaw never had witnesses, and if they
did have witnesses their numbers were
few and primarily high on any number of
legal or illegal substances. Tim walked
over to her and caught her in a sharp
gaze. "Seven witnesses."
Bayliss knelt down next to the girl
on the ground. Her brown eyes stared
into the sky, reflecting everything
around her, but they did not move.
Examining the four blackened wounds in
her chest, he glanced up at Kellerman.
"Twenty-five?"
"Looks like a nine," Mike replied,
tilting his head to get a better look at
the casings on the ground. "I'm gonna go
talk to some of these witnesses, okay?"
"Yeah, sure," Bayliss said
absently. Making a few notes on his pad,
he stood back to get a fuller picture of
the scene. She seemed so small, lying
out in the open. The darkening pool of
blood around her seemed to envelope the
whole area, coloring everything from her
carefully ironed white shirt to the lacy
eyelet socks. Shaking his head, he
sighed. She didn't look fourteen; she
looked more like ten, and her life was
already over.
"Hey Tim," Cox said, stepping out
of her government issue car. "What do we
have?"
"At least four entrance wounds,"
Tim filled in for her, "Probably nines."
Squatting down, Juliana took note
of the wounds in the girl's chest, and
nodded. "Got a lot of stippling, he
couldn't have been more than a foot away
from her. Ready to roll her?"
He started to agree, then shook his
head. "No, just a minute."
She watched him pore over the body
again, probing with his eyes, and
forcing himself to remember every
detail. A bitter half smile quirked on
his lips, and he finally stepped back.
"Okay, we can roll her," he said.
Two uniformed officers gently
rolled the body onto its face, and Cox
pulled on a pair of latex gloves.
Pulling at the shirt, she furrowed her
brows. "No exit wounds."
"Four chances for ballistics to do
their job," Tim said. "We have pictures?
Okay. . . I'm done here, you can go
ahead and take her."
Nodding at her assistants, Cox
stood up and walked over to Tim as she
pulled off her gloves. "How ya doing?"
He pursed his lips. "Some days are
better than others. Why?"
She glanced away for a moment,
watching Kellerman as he talked to a
girl not much older than the one being
loaded into the MEs van. "Just because
we. . . didn't work out doesn't mean I
don't care."
"Yeah," he said, looking up at the
sky. "Well, I'm fine."
"No hard feelings, huh?"
"Yeah," he repeated. "Thanks."
"You're gonna love this," Mike said
idly when Tim walked over to join the
questioning. "The why is already built
in."
"Great, what is it?"
Kellerman nodded to himself as he
flipped through his notepad. "LaTonya
made the fatal error of telling a boy
she didn't want to kiss him, so he went
inside his house, brought out his
mother's boyfriend's nine millimeter
Lorcin and shot her to death in front of
god and everybody."
His eyes widening, Tim tried to
ignore the knots forming in his stomach.
"You're kidding me."
"Nope. We're looking for Anthony
Lane, age 17, who fled the scene after
pumping four rounds into her point
blank." Kellerman looked over as the MEs
van pulled off down the street,
carefully maneuvering around gawkers.
"One of the witnesses tried to catch
him, but apparently slipped in her
blood."
"Ain't that a bitch," Tim said with
a disinterest he didn't feel. "So do we
know where Mr. Lane might be hiding?"
"This is all dunker but for finding
the kid." Kellerman brushed his hair out
of his face. "LaTonya's best friend over
there says he might be hiding up in one
of the shooting galleries on Fairmont,
guess he's some kind of courier when
he's low on cash."
"Where are his parents?"
Mike nodded his head toward a
stunned-looking couple standing at the
edge of the scene. "Mom's one of our
seven."
"I'm getting too old for this," Tim
muttered.
Washington, D.C.
J. Edgar Hoover Building
"No prints but ours," Scully said,
meeting up with Mulder in the long
hallway that ran through the evidence
division.
He cocked his head. "They used
water to seal the envelope."
They started toward the elevators
together.
"That was a long shot anyway,"
Scully admitted. "We couldn't have had
results back before midnight anyway."
Mulder punched the down button,
then stood back. "You know we're
probably walking into an ambush."
"I know that."
"Are you sure you want to go?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What choice
do we have?"
The doors slid open, and they
stepped inside. Mulder nodded at her,
waiting for the doors to close. "Good
point."
Baltimore, Maryland
Fairmont and Eutaw
Working their way through the
rowhouses on Fairmont, Kellerman and
Bayliss talked to everyone who would
hold still for any length of time. They
knocked on doors, looked through
windows, and cleared out shooting
galleries. They talked to drunks in the
alley, junkies on the street, hookers in
the shadows. Occasionally they ran
across an ordinary citizen who just
happened to be trapped living in one of
the seediest neighborhoods in Baltimore,
and they talked to them, too. Each one
was given a good look at Anthony Lane's
freshman yearbook picture, and
questioned thoroughly as to whether they
had seen him or not.
Word had spread on the street that
Anthony had gone and killed someone who
really didn't deserve to die. Odds on,
if LaTonya had been a courier for one of
the local drug lords, they'd have
already been back in the squadroom,
starving for a ballistics match while
life continued as usual on Eutaw.
Unfortunately for the young master Lane,
he'd chosen to kill the neighborhood
sweetheart. Even those who didn't know
her by name knew her by reputation.
National Honor Society. National Merit
Scholar. LaTonya Kingsmith embodied the
dreams of a four-block radius- get
smart, get educated, get out. She had
everything going for her until she had
the temerity to refuse a kiss; now
everyone who could talk, was.
"You seen this kid," Kellerman
asked, grabbing a lanky young man as he
walked out of an alley. Taking the
picture, the boy nodded.
"That Tony Lane," he said, handing
the picture back. "He up at KayCee's,
right over there."
"You're sure," Mike said, trying
not to get optimistic.
"Yeah, he been talking to KayCee a
long time. He went up there 'bout an
hour ago."
Feeling particularly generous,
Kellerman clapped the boy on the
shoulder. "Hey, thanks."
"You know," the boy whispered,
looking around to make sure no one
overheard. "Wouldn't nobody complain if
you capped his ass. Jus' a thought."
"He's gonna run," Tim said as they
walked toward the door Kellerman's
informant had pointed out.
"So we chase him," Kellerman
replied, ready to run.
Tapping on the door, Bayliss held
his gun to his side. There was movement
behind the sheet hanging over the glass
in the door, and a girl opened it a
crack. Waving his badge with his left
hand, Tim pushed open the door.
Kellerman followed him inside, ignoring
the girl's screeching tirade. Bayliss
ran up the stairs while Mike cleared out
the bottom floor. Nothing. When they
finally met back up at the foyer, they
hovered over the girl who'd answered the
door.
"Are you KayCee," Mike asked,
holstering his gun.
She stared at him, her face
answering that she may very well be
KayCee, but he had some explaining to do
before she told him anything.
"Where's Tony?"
"Tony ain't here," the girl
scowled, putting her hands on her hips.
"I woulda told you that if you hadn't
been too busy runnin' through my house
like some kinda fool."
Bayliss leaned down, forcing the
girl to look him in the face. "We know
he came in here. Where is he?"
"I don't know where that damn fool
go," she spat, refusing to blink. "He
come up in here saying he shot up Tonya
so I sent him out the back door. My mama
don't need no gangsters in her house."
Tim exhaled, his frustration
mounting. He reached into his pocket and
pulled out a card. "If he contacts you,
you call this number and ask for me, my
name's right here, or Detective
Kellerman, do you understand?"
"Whatever," she replied, taking the
card.
Later
Washington, D.C.
Scully chambered a round, and
pushed her weapon into its holster. She
did not bother to check the safety; she
had no intention of engaging it. The
harsh grate of velcro being peeled into
place invaded her thoughts- Mulder
putting on his Kevlar vest. Heavy
thoughts washed through her mind, a
tentative game of what-if. What if I die
tonight. What if Mulder dies tonight.
What if. . what if. . what if. . .
Finally, she had to force the thoughts
from her head; she knew she'd never be
able to go through with this mystery
meeting if she allowed her fears to
overwhelm her. She had to be alert, yes-
ready, absolutely, but tense and on-edge
would never do. Looking down at her
watch, she took a deep breath and
ordered herself to calm down.
"Ready," she asked, not really
caring what his answer was as long as it
was out loud.
Nodding, he stared at her for a
moment. He looked like he was trying to
say something, but couldn't quite form
the words. After a moment, he nodded
again. "I'm ready."
She narrowed her eyes. "Mulder?"
"Yeah?"
"Something wrong?"
He paused again, then shook his
head. "Nope."
(End Part Seven)