New: WIP--The Whole Catastrophe--Chapter 5--NC17 by diehard and dryad
diehard
~~~~~~~
They stopped at the hospital cafeteria for something
sweet before heading down to the basement. Kris bought
a brownie and one of those little things of milk, like
she used to have in school. Trying to comfort myself,
she thought.
Agent Scully scrutinized Kris and said, "I confess I'm
a little surprised that you aren't more familiar with
the morgue."
Kris grimaced at the dryness of the brownie and set it
aside, started peeling her napkin apart instead. "I know.
It's hard to explain. I see dead bodies all the time
on the job, in all sorts of ways, from beheadings to
eviscerations," she looked down, brushed the remaining
shreds of napkin off of her lap.
"I guess it's the fact that once they get here,
they're...just stiffs with a toe tag...body parts.
As bad as it can be at a crime scene, somehow I'm still
able to see that they were people, that they had lives,
even if some of them were wasted. Does that make any
sense?"
Scully capped her soda and stood. "It does. But Det.
Jorgensen, what science offers here is an explanation as
to how those lives were cut short. An explanation that
needs to be revealed...to victim's families, to
ourselves." She looked away, rememebering it was
just a small portion of what was owed the dead. What
she still owed Emily. What she and Mulder owed so many
loved ones.
And for a split second, she saw a wave of images--
dead men, dead women, dead children swirling in her
mind's eye, freezing her in place. She took a deep
breath, swallowed hard, steadied herself. Dear God,
help me do this, she slilently pleaded, I need to be
ready to do this. This is how I pay that debt, Lord.
I find the answers hidden in these bodies. She asked
for herself, for Mulder. Strength, give us the
strength to do what needs to be done.
"Agent Scully, is there a problem?" Jorgenson
immediately noticed the abrupt halt in the procedings.
She recovered, the mask of professionalism locked into
place once more. "I'm fine. Not enough caffeine this
morning, I suppose."
"I'm sure there's plenty in the machine, I'll keep you
stocked. Just let me know when."
"Good to know. Now let's get started, shall we?"
The morgue was what Kris expected, the nostril-searing
odor of chemicals almost more than she could bear.
Oddly enough, the overlying sweetly rotten scent of
decay was far more manageable. There were two rows
of perforated steel tables, above which were hanging
scales like the ones you found in the vegetable aisle
at the grocery store. Along one wall were jars filled
with remains and parts of remains, she really didn't
want to get a closer look. Smaller tables held
instruments she could imagine were first used during
the Spanish Inquisition, or maybe the European Witch
Trials. She'd have a hard time putting the image of
the bone saw out of her mind.
Agent Scully walked swiftly into the room, having changed
into oversized blue scrubs and a white lab coat while Kris
waited outside. She had declined when Scully had offered
to find her a pair of scrubs as well - there was no way
she was going to get any more involved than she absolutely
had to. "Here," Scully handed her a small bundle of cloth.
"Those are booties, a hair net, gloves, and an apron.
I've got some wintergreen oil if you need it."
She really didn't like the sound of this. She slipped the
gloves on last and followed the other woman into the cold
room. Bodies wrapped in sheets and white plastic bags lay
on tables on both sides of the room. It was enough to give
a person a serious case of the creeps. Scully had to open
a few sheets before finding the right body. "Here we are,
one Vincent Coluko."
Kris helped her roll the table into the other room and
watched as she unwrapped the body. Vincent was not an
attractive sight.
Scully snapped on her latex gloves, "I'll take his head,
you grab his feet. On the count of three we'll lift him
onto the autopsy table, okay?"
Scully nodded, grimacing as she rotely began to probe
at his chilled flesh, surprised to see Det. Jorgensen
utterly focused on the task at hand. Once he was on
the table and under better light, she found things that
caught her attention right away. There were dark yellow
bruises around his chin, andhis nose was off-kilter,
clearly broken. At some point he had bitten through
his bottom lip. His right ear was cut through half-way.
Another cut was on his throat, barely visible on the left,
obviously cutting through skin and fat to the muscle
beneath on the right. The Y incision was more of a U,
running from one shoulder and underneath the nipples to
the other shoulder, then a line straight down the middle,
to the left of the naval, finishing just above the pubis.
Scully snipped through the neatly stiched incisions with
tiny sewing scissors, glanced up at her curiously. "You
seem to be handling this well." Maybe better than I am,
she thought. She used her scapel to freshen the cuts,
giving her easier access.
Kris shrugged. "It's...easier than I thought it
would be."
Scully smiled slightly. "Well, you must have heard the
secret, then. We have a saying in Forensics, 'The bigger
the cop, the bigger the drop'. "
"I like it," Kris said, wincing slightly as the other
woman exposed Coluko's internal organs. "Should they
look like that?"
"Not ordinarilly, no. Once an autopsy is performed,
all the organs weighed, all necessary tissue samples taken,
everything is then replaced. You could reattach the organs,
but what's the point? Their families aren't interested in
seeing what we've done, only in the results we get."
"Yeah, I s'pose," she watched as Scully lifted and prodded
the various masses of flesh and tissue, bits of fat.
"What are you doing now?"
"Checking for anything out of the ordinary. Lumps, nodes,
odd smells."
Kris winced again. "Right...I guess you'd have to."
"You can tell a lot from smell. Did you know that in
Medieval times, physicians would diagnose many causes
of death this way, by examining the odors of everything
from feces to pus?"
"Well, I'm sure you've got that covered..."
Scully eyed her. "Can you detect the smell of rum
coming off this man?" It was a raw odor, coming from
the surface of the body, not like the way partially
processed alcohol oozes from the pores of a chronic
drinker. She walked slowly around the body. The smell
held, it was coming from all over. Not obvious, but
most definitely present.
Kris gave a cautious sniff, concentrating on what exactly
she was inhaling, and there it was. Faint, but becoming
stronger the more she inhaled. She opened her mouth, let
the flavor roll across her tongue. Rancid smell of booze
and cadaver.
"About half of the population can detect the bitter almonds
of cyanide. Unfortunately, because of OSHA regulations,
pathologists are now supposed to wear rebreathers and
metal mesh gloves, which means you don't smell anything
except plastic and recycled air, and you rarely feel
anything of note. Of course the gloves prevent you from
cutting yourself with the scalpel, but I think you lose
more than you gain..." Her voice trailed off as she
realized something, there was no rum listed in any of
the coroner's reports she'd been able to look at
this morning. She'd have to check the crime scene report
to verify if there was a bottle of rum found at the scene.
But something told her it wasn't a spill. She didn't know
what it was, but she was going rule out everything but
extreme possibilities.
"Det. Jorgensen, I want to run this man's tox screen again.
The autopsy report doesn't list what I think I'm smelling.
And while we're at it, re-run the screens on the others'.
I also want surface tissue samples from each of the
corpses. Tell the lab I want the tissue samples ready by
tomorrow morning."
"I'll take care of it. I'm assuming you'll want the
the tox screen results ASAP."
"I would think so. You were about to ask me something
else?"
Kris made a mental note to call the coroner's assistant,
before she shifted gears. She'd probably have to lean on
them tonight, but she'd do whatever it took. "Yeah,
actually. I did have another question. What about HIV?
Aren't you afraid of exposure from infected blood?"
Scully shrugged. "It's a calculated risk, and for the most
part I practice universal precautions. Although, having
said that, I did get hepatitis from my very first autopsy,
when I was in med school."
Kris watched her inspect Coluko's hands, the insides of
his wrists and elbows, his armpit, his feet. With the
organs removed, she helped turn him over onto his stomach.
Despite the maroon lividity, he had a number of barely
visible spiderweb tattoos on his shoulders, a clock face
without hands, a crying woman. All inked in prison,
judging by the lack of quality. He'd certainly done a lot
of time. "I wonder what kind of life he dreamt about when
he was a little boy."
"Probably not ending up on a morgue table at thirty-five,"
Scully murmured, peering at an impression in Coluko's skin
with a magnifying glass. She hadn't dreamed about slicing
open men with jaihouse tattoos with she was little,
nonetheless, both of them had made it here.
"I'd hate my daughter to end up like this," Scully didn't
reply, in fact she did nothing more than continue with
the examination, but Kris felt as if she had crossed some
invisible line. She was debating whether or not to
apologize when Scully straightened and readjusted the
overhead light to geta better look. The woman's
expression was not quite the mask of Federal implacability
she had become used to seeing.
"How old is she?"
Kris sighed. "Fifteen going on forty-seven. Convinced
she knows it all."
Scully smiled again, but it didn't quite reach
her eyes.
"Do you have children, Agent Scully?"
"I did. She died."
"Oh. I'm sorry," she began.
Scully shook her head. "You didn't know."
Silence, apart from the soft and slick sounds of body parts
being moved around, reigned until Kris' cell phone chirped.
With an apologetic glance at Scully, she answered.
"Jorgensen."
"Mom?"
"What's wrong, are you okay?" she asked, lowering her voice
and moving away from the table. Several long seconds later,
No, it's OK, I'll be right there." She sighed, turned off
her cell, "Shit."
"Det. Jorgensen?"
"It's my daughter...she's pregnant...and now there seems to
be a problem. I need to go home, probably take her to an
emergency room."
"Did she tell exactly what her symptoms were?" Scully had
stopped the examination, stripped off the gloves and was
heading toward Jorgensen."
Well...no. But I thought..." It was obvious how unnerved
the call had made her, she was shaking. Almost imperceptably,
butScully noticed immediately.
"I have a better idea. Let's go over there together, and I'll
do an initial triage, then we'll see what she needs."
Jorgensen let out a ragged breath, closed her eyes, and
patted her chest " I guess this mom needs your help too,
Agent Scully...Thank you."
~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X
"Hannah!" Jorgensen yelled, leading Scully past the stairs
and into the living room. "Could you come down here,
please?" Taking off her coat, she said, "Are you hungry
at all? I think I've got some ham and cheese in the
fridge, if the bottomless pit hasn't already gotten to it."
.
Scully was starving, actually, but didn't want to stay for
that long. She hated herself for being envious, for not
having the grace to accept her own lack with humility,
for not being able to be happy at the luck of others.
The pregnancies of other women dredged up an ache in her
that for the most made her feel off kilter, vulnerable,
too vulnerable. And especially on a day like today,
that feeling was a luxury she couldn't afford.
Once today was enough. Maybe later, maybe while she
and Mulder lay in the dark, but not now.
"Thank you, no."
She wasn't sure what she had expected, but the combination
of chintz covered furniture, needlepoint American flag
pillows, dark wallpaper, carpeting in British racing green,
and reproductions of Degas' ballerinas just didn't gel
with who Jorgensen seemed to be. Magazines littered the
coffee table, TV Guide, New Scientist, and Nature competing
for space with YM and Teen People. Two rubber plants
bracketed a bookcase beyond the back of the couch,
reaching for the ceiling with dusty leaves.
Jorgensen picked up a throw crocheted in colors reminiscent
of 1973 and folded it, tossed it over the arm of the couch.
"Would you like something to drink? I've got coffee, decaf,
tea, soda.. ."
"I'm fine," Scully answered, wishing she had suggested
the girl go to the nearest emergency room, instead.
"Mom?" The speaker was tall and skinny, straight, mouse
brown hair falling past her shoulders.
"Hannah, this is Dr. Scully, a colleague of mine. She
agreed to come take a look at you, make sure you weren't
miscarrying or anything like that."
Sullenness, thy name was ever 'teenager'. Scully couldn't
quite work up a smile that reached her eyes, not after
the look of intense dislike thrown at her from Hannah.
God, she hoped she had never treated the guests of her
parents in the same manner. No, that would've never
happened. "We could do this in private, if you prefer."
Hannah looked nervously at her mother, then nodded
her head.
"Okay. I'm not an obstetrician, so this is at most
just a preliminary checkup to make sure you're not on
the verge of a miscarriage. You'll need to see your own
doctor as soon as possible, and by that I mean within
the next day or so, okay?"
"Listen, I'm going to go make a few calls, see if I can
get an appointment as soon as possible," Jorgensen said,
already heading out of the room.
Scully took a deep breath and began the examination.
She did what physical checking she could, given the lack
of equipement, asked questions and received enough terse
answers from the girl to ascertain that neither she, nor
the baby were in any immanent danger. She knew she wasn't
a patient person, even though it was obvious that this girl
felt embarrassed about the whole situation. This was the
reason she preferred the dead over the living. The dead
never lied, didn't try to sway a person towards one answer
or another, didn't need coaxing and prodding. There was
always a clear cut answer with the dead, once you asked
the right question, the whole story was revealed.
Hannah on the other hand, revealed just enough, not an
iota more.
She finished, repeated her recommendations, and watched
Hannah scurry off to her room. Good deed for the day
all done, she only wanted to get back to the hotel
and take a nap. She just needed some time for herself,
to not think of what she couldn't give him, what she
couldn't have. She'd let Mulder soothe the rest of it
out of her tonight, he'd gotten quite good at finding
the hurts and making them go away, and she'd gotten
better at letting him.
A wave of self-pity lapped at her, so she distracted
herself by wandering over to the bookcase to see what
Jorgensen liked to read. There was the usual panoply
of general knowledge books, atlases and dictionaries
and a well-thumbed Roget's International Thesaurus.
Jorgensen had some of the same texts as Mulder -
the Crime Classification Manual, the Death
Investigator's Handbook, Sexual Homicide: Patterns
and Motives. Oddly enough, she also had several True
Crime books, which Scully would have thought Jorgensen
would avoid, considering her day job. Then again, even
she herself had a few titles stuck somewhere in the back
of her closet.
"Agent Scully?" Kris was standing in the doorway, anxiety
writ large on her features, "How's my girl?"
"It looks like some minimal spotting, no abdominal
pains, so I think we're in the clear. But she needs
to see an OB/GYN as soon as she can."
"I've got her got an appointment with my doctor at
Illinois Masonic, 11 am tomorrow. I'm on duty, but my
best friend Rachel will take her." Scully's response
had smoothed out the tension in her face, and she sighed
with relief. "Excuse me for a sec, I need to inform my
darling daughter of her upcoming itinerary."
Scully wanted to get going, she'd pulled herself together
again, but was sure it would last long if she had to be
part of a mother and child reunion. Her cell phone
trilled in her pocket, "Scully."
"Miss me?" Mulder's innuendo was just what she
needed to hear.
"I'd say it's you who misses me. You're the one calling,
after all."
"Busted. We'll, I do have another reason for interrupting
your busy day at the morgue."
"I'm not at the morgue. Jorgensen's daughter need a
medical evaluation and so the good Detective and I are
at her house."
"Anything serious?"
"Well, the daughter's pregnant and there was a possibilty
of miscarriage...everybody's good, though.
"Including you?" He knew something like that would weigh
heavy on her.
She waited a beat, "Yeah, I'm OK. What was the reason
you called?"
"The interrogation was a washout. I did meet somone who's
guilty of several murders, but not the one's we're
investigating. And just as a parenthetical aside, he didn't
leave enough evidence for anyone to do anything about
the killings he's actually responsible for. I spent the
rest of the afternoon doing a little record diving.
And you, Agent Scully? You come across anything tasty?"
"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it tasty, but one of the
deceased smelled of alcohol. Rum, I think. I asked for
all the tox screens to be run again, and tissue samples
to be taken on every one, since this particular man's
autopsy report didn't show anything but trace amounts
of beer, peanuts and possible residual use of PCP."
"Why all the tox screens? Sounds like you're playing
a hunch, Scully."
She could hear the amusement in his voice. "You're right,
the end of civilization must be at hand. Seriously, I just
want to make sure we don't miss anything. What about you,
did you come up with anything?"
"Well, for one thing, facts in the police reports and
the local papers pretty much mirror each other. The
killings were so well publicized, coverage so detailed,
that we could have anyone of a number of copy cat killers
at work here. One thing struck me, though. Since the murders
started about two weeks ago, they've occurred every three
days. So we're due soon for another, if the pattern holds."
"That's the good news?"
"That's the news. I tracked down Gonzales' girlfriend
at home, and it's probably a good idea we talk to her.
Alex Ruiz-Cardenas was a witness to his shooting. Maybe
she can help us to connect Gonzales and the other deaths,
maybe give some idea where to look for suspects. She's
at 424 Diversey Parkway. At least it's near the lake,
Scully."
She looked up to see Kris back in the room, motioning
that she was ready to go. "I'll have Jorgensen drop
me off...424 Diversey Parkway? I should be there..."
Jorgensen mouthed 'thirty'. "In a half hour."
"Good. I'll be in the lobby. Hey, Scully?"
"Yeah?"
"I need a house call, Dr. Dana...I 've got this
condition..."
"Good bye, Mulder." She hit the off button, but there
was just the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.
~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X~x~X
diehard
Chapter five(?) - Penthouse Suite
By Diehard and Dryad
They could see the north end of Lincoln Park as they
rode in the glass-walled elevator, dotted with the red
orange stands of trees saluting the peak of Midwest autumn.
Directly across from them, Lake Michigan shimmered
burnished gold as the edges of the sun's fading western
light dappled its waves. Looking down, Alexander Hamiliton's
bronze countenance pointed the way toward the running path,
with its after-work joggers, and the black wrought iron,
gated entrance to the zoo was just visible at the far end.
Cardenas was waiting for them in her 26th floor penthouse.
It was Scully who spoke first, "Well, I'd say you won that
pissing match." There was a slight smirk caressing her
lovely face.
He was rocking back and forth on his heels, feeling flush
with victory. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."
Neither one of them looked at each other, but they could
see their wavering images in the glass.
"You know damn well what I mean. I realize that our
thick-necked friend at the desk was being a tad too gung-ho
in his zealousness to protect the tenants."
"Extremely rude, I thought."
"OK. But when he asked you what our business was, I
believe your response, 'F. B. I. Business. Business that
doesn't concern you', accompanied by brandishing your badge
close enough to his face to give him whiplash,...That was
very... Alpha male of you."
"Well, I suppose I could've been silent and just let you
shoot him. You do seem to be able to fire on a man in order
to make a point."
"And I can do it again, don't forget."
"So you admit I'm not the only one with aggressive
tendencies, eh, Scully?" He turned and leaned in
toward her.
She tilted her head in his general direction, "You know,
Mulder, other couples seem to be able to flirt with each
other without mentioning gunplay. One of us seems to always
bring it up."
"That's what makes us special, Scully. By the way, is that
what we're doing here, flirting? I thought you were
reproaching me for unseemly conduct. We're still on
the clock, partner..."
As the elevator slowed and stopped, the doors opened just
in time to save him from her retort.
The first things they saw were a small hallway with mauve
colored walls, a gilt framed oil of what Mulder recognized
as Old Habana in its heyday, and an enormous ginko in a
planter. Walking toward them with her outstretched right
hand was tall, elegant figure of Dr. Alejandra Ruiz-
Cardenas. Her other hand was kept behind her back.
She was what used to be his type, tall, with a curvy
figure beneath white jeans and a loose white sweater.
She wore no jewelry, nothing gilded her heavy-on-
the-cream cafe-au-lait skin.
"Agent Mulder? Elliot told me you were on your way up.
I'm Alex." She'd given him the full wattage of her
perfect smile. Even, white, beautiful teeth. It would've
been lovely except Mulder couldn't help but notice
that her smile never reached her eyes.
Looking at his companion with something less than
delight, she drawled, "And this must be your...
assistant?"
"I'm Special Agent Mulder," he dryly replied as they
shook hands, "and this is my partner, Special Agent
Scully." He made sure there was just a hint of extra
emphasis on the word 'partner.'
"Ah, I see..." Turning to the other woman, Cardenas
made a show of seeming apologetic. "Please forgive
me, Agent." Again, the outretched hand.
"We appreciate you making time to see us." Scully replied,
her smile now just as dazzling. Interestingly, her smile
never made it to her eyes either. The handshake was
phenomenally lukewarm.
Alex eased her hand away and looked at the two of them,
"Where are my manners? Please come into my home, we can
talk there." She turned on her heels and walked back
into the open door just a small distance away. As she did,
both agents noticed her left hand was wrapped
in a bandage.
Mulder and Scully's eyes were set on scan as they followed
Gonzales' former girlfriend into the huge suite, as she
led down a long foyer. Almost simultaneously, they noticed
an oil painting of St. Peter next to the door, which Mulder
would guess was 17th century Spanish. Otherwise devoid
of decor, the only other items were a small marble-topped
table that held a faience vase of Bird of Paradise.
By contrast, the painting was glaringly out of place with
its ornate, colonial-style gold leaf frame.
The foyer opened up into the living room and the rest of
the penthouse. It too, was starkly furnished, very
Bauhaus, white rugs, black leather and shades of gray
as accents, chrome tables and lamps. One whole side was
wall to ceiling glass, with a spectacular view of
the lake. An oil portrait of Our Lady of Mercy, in an
elaborate wrought iron frame hung in counterpoint to all
the simplicity on the far wall. The bedroom, kitchen,
and study all clearly visible, coming off the main room
like the spokes of a wheel. The living room was by far
the largest room, but the others were by no means small.
Alex turned to her guests, "Please feel free to look around.
Let me make you both un cafecito. I'll just be a moment."
Scully replied, "Really it's not necessary."
"Oh, but it is, Agent Scully." Alex pulled her jet black
hair to one side, draping it over her shoulder. "I'd never
live with myself if I didn't offer you something." With that,
she moved into the kitchen. In a few seconds they could hear
the hiss of an espresso machine. Cardenas' back was to them
as she busied herself at a workstation.
The rest of the suite was furnished in the same spartan
elegance. Black lacquer funiture in the bedroom, chrome
in the study. Luxurious and simple at the same time, but
there was something cold about it. Virtually no personal
effects to be seen, save photos in the living room of
Alex and what both agents assumed were her parents,
and one of Cardenas and Gonzales apparently on vacation,
which rested on a nightstand near the bed. Judging from
the first photo, the attire of two older adults and the
luxurious surroundings would indicate that Alex came
from a wealthy family. How Alejandra Ruiz-Cardenas
was able to afford an apartment overlooking Lake Michigan
on a professor's salary was beginning to make sense to both
of them.
They continued their self-conducted tour as the hissing
of the espresso machine grew louder, accompanied by the
sporadic clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen.
"Rich girl." Mulder said over his shoulder.
"Very rich girl from the looks of things." Scully opined.
"Very rich girl with old money form Cuba, who would seem
to be a little bit of a control freak." Mulder drew close
enough to whisper in Scully's ear.
"You think?"
Even the study was ordered to the extreme, even though it
held a huge amount of artifacts. They were all neatly
labeled and placed on stands or display tables. Mulder
noticed though no strictly religious or ceremonial
artifacts, only those that held functional value or were
objects of personal adornment. There was also a small, rough
looking chest with a padlock and with an oblong cedarwood
box resting on top. It didn't go with the rest of the room.
Scully winced a little as they looked over the perfectly
organized work area, files, computer station. Mulder caught
her pained expression.
"What?"
"Was I that bad, Mulder?"
"I think that's one of those questions like 'Does this make
me look fat?'"
"Thanks." Her lips quirked in a grin.
"Don't mention it." He brought the tips of his fingers to
the small of her back for just a second, and what about to
say soomething else, when a oil paintng of St. Teresa in
a bronze die-cast frame stopped them both in their tracks.
Mulder moved away to more closely inspect the piece.
Touching his elbow, Scully caught his eye and his solemn
nod told her he'd made some connection.
Now the kitchen noise had been replaced with music.
It was clearly Latin, melodic and slowly rhythmic.
Ruiz-Cardenas emerged from the far side of modern kitchen,
and strode leisurely back toward the living room, passing
gray granite worktops, a professional grade stove, and a huge
stainless steel Sub-Zero refrigerator. She reminded herself
she'd have to start interviewing someone to do the cooking
soon, the last girl was a nightmare.
Mulder strolled to the window, ostensibly to check out the
twilight skyline and the boats on the water, but really
he wanted to watch Ruiz-Cardenas' reflection unobserved.
From what Jorgensen had initially told them Nat Gonzales
was a good man, intelligent, a hard worker, but not someone
who moved it the same circles as his girlfriend. Personally,
he figured that anyone who gained the respect of someone
like Hector Dean Shinoda had to fall on the extra side of
ordinary.He had some idea why this woman would be attracted
to a man so far outside her universe.
The two women were at the breakfast bar, which was situated
just outside the main work area of the kitchen, bracketing
the main layout of the living room. Scully was on a stool
on one side, and Alex on the other, laying out an expesso
pot, demitasses, cream, sugar.
Scully said, "Professor Cardenas..."
"Alex, please." Her tone just barely avoided being
patronizing.It was the way one might invite a long-term
employee to useyour first name.
"Alex, I'm really sorry we have to ask you all these
questions again."
"Don't concern yourself. I know it's necessary in order
to arrest Naftali's murderer."
Her expression was one of detachment, an odd one for the
still grieiving lover, Mulder noted, as he turned and walked
toward them, taking a seat next to Scully.
Ruiz-Cardenas gave a close-lipped smile, pulling a leather
covered stool around with her unbandaged hand and easing
herself down. "Allow me a small boast," she requested
as she poured, "Cafe cubano. The only way to drink coffee."
He didn't respond.
"Thank you, for all this effort...especially when you've
been injured." Scully said. Now she was the one with
the slight tone in her voice. It was the voice of Dr.Scully,
and Mulder always enjoyed watching her zero in. "What
happened to your hand?"
Ruiz-Cardenas turned away from them and reached down
into the bar. Jet black hair now spilled down her back,
evenly cut right beneath her shoulderblades. She pulled
out some demitasse spoons and set the on the counter.
"Yes...well it's somewhat embarrassing...when I heard
what had happened. I lost it...threw a glass against the
wall...and cut myself trying to clean it up." Mulder
watched her intently, her expression didn't match what
she was saying. She didn't seem all that embarrassed
to be telling two strangers a story of an supposed
emotional outburst. As a matter of fact, she seemed calm,
too calm, she could've been reviewing her syllabus with
some graduate students.
"So, that was about two weeks ago?"
"Yes, ridiculous thing to do, wasn't it?
"Grief can make someone do things they wouldn't do
ordinarily." It was Mulder's voice now.
"Yes. Yes it can." A momentary shift, in which both
Mulder and Scully could see something a little wild
in Alex's eyes, something that quickly was banished
and replaced with smooth calm and a practiced diffidence.
She poured them all cofee, very deliberate
in what she did, with great economy of movement. Mulder
guessed that being a cultural anthropologist would make a
person hyperaware of what they were doing at all times.
The point was to observe, not be observed. In a way,
psychology was the same thing, only on the micro-linear
scale. And it was his turn to observe Cardenas, observe
and draw the right conclusions.
"But you need me to tell you about that night, don't you?"
Alex was clearly giving the signal that the line of
questioning about her hand was over. "I was already
waiting at the restaurant. I was early. The guest lecturer
for one of my classes cancelled due to illness, so I popped
home and told Naftali I'd meet him there. Our table is right
next to the front window. We like to watch people as
we eat," she smiled briefly. "I had a glass of white
wine. . .spied him stepping off the curb, walking towards
me with that big grin that always means he's had a good day.
A car slowed to let him cross, and I see the window rolling
down, which I thought was odd, because although it's not
winter yet, it was a cold day. There was a flash of light
from the car window, but not from the window itself.
I think it was light from the restaurant glinting off
of the gun. Anyway, the next thing I see is a bright
flash, then he's on the pavement."
Scully hadn't touched her espresso. Ruiz-Cardenas went
into her solititous host routine, "Our cafecitos are an
acquired taste. Perhaps you'd prefer some tea, Agent
Scully...I know how the Irish love their 'tay.'
Mulder finished his and fought a grin as he imagined
the look on Scully's face. No eyebrow, not even a twitch
of the lip, just a straight-on, dead glare that said
'And the horse you rode in on, too'. Ruiz-Cardenas would
learn.
"You didn't recognize the car or the driver?" asked Scully,
icily ignoring that cultural swipe.
"No. All my attention was on Nat. I could have cared less
what the driver looked like. But I've already told the
police all of this, is it really necessary to go back over
it again and again and again?"
"Well, Professor Cardenas, should this go to trial, you'll
certainly be expected to do so again, yes." Her words hung
in the air.
Ah, there it was. Scully's bright head turned towards
him in their traditional 'jump in any time, Mulder'
interview stance. Ruiz-Cardenas looked at him too, her
face losing its let's-be-pleasant-about-this expression
for a moment. It returned when he went on, "You have a
lovely home, Professor. I'm surprised to see there aren't
any objects of veneration displayed in your collection."
"I beg your pardon, Agent Mulder? "
"I found it fascinatiing that you only seem to have objects
of everyday use or adornment on public view ," he replied.
"You must respect other cultures in order to be respected,
Agent Mulder. What about you, Agent Scully, would you mind
if your family bible was torn up and sold as an nothing more
than an item of curiosity? Surely your devout Irish clan
would be besides themselves.'
Scully said nothing, but started sipping delicately
at her espresso.
Mulder jumped on the opportunity. "Point taken, but tell me,
Alex, why would you display evidence of your devotion to
Ellegua, Obatala, and Oya? That's the significance of
those wonderful oils you have, if I'm not mistaken."
The bullet hit the target. Cardenas' cool dissolved and
both agents were treated to a look of shock and anger.
She was however, able to rally quickly. "Why, Agent Mulder,
I didn't realize you were familiar with the Seven Powers.
But I'm hardly a devotee. What would make you say that?"
"The placement of the pictures. Only a devotee would make
sure each image repressenting a god would be placed in its
sacred delegation in the home."
"You flatter me. I'm afraid my attention to detail is
my interest in maintaining cultural sensitivity and a
certain historical accuracy. The paintings were from
an estate in Cuba, pre-revolution. The owners were
important Santeristas, unusual in that they were of the
educated class." A pause, and then a full display of
those beautiful teeth again, "It's a gesture of scholarly
respect, Agents, nothing more. She glanced at the Chanel
watch on her left wrist, "Speaking of scholarly things,
I have office hours tonight, and I'm afraid I'll have to
be on my way soon. Please forgive me for cutting our
discussion short. But feel free to come again, should you
think I could be of any further help."
"Well, actually, there was just one more thing, Alex."
Mulder wanted to cast one more line. "I noticed what
seemed to be a locked chest and a cigar humidor in your
study...those are yours?"
Ruiz-Cardenas looked at him long and hard before
answering. "No, they're just a way to keep Naftali near.
You can't blame me for doing that, can you?"
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