Date: Sat, 24 Jun 1995 21:10:42 -0700 Reply-To: Naomi Hayashi Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Naomi Hayashi Subject: X-File #A274-D33 part 11 of 17 This is being posted for the author, who currently doesn't have internet access. Please direct all comments you want to be passed on to the author or requests for missing parts to nhayashi@sfsu.edu X-File: #A274-D33 Part 11 of 17 by Albert Low "This is where the body was found. There was no evidence it was moved after death, and blood stains in the area support the conclusion that Franklin was murdered here." Scully and Mulder stood in the grassy courtyard behind Franklin's mansion. Scully was reading from the police report she was looking through. "The police think he was attacked in the dining room, carried out here, and executed," she continued. Mulder nodded and hunkered down to get a better look at the crime scene. Apparently he didn't find anything, because he got up after a few seconds and gestured for her to continue. "Fortunately for us, the rain stopped soon after the body was discovered, so the crime scene is remarkably intact. What is it, Mulder?" He wandered off while she'd been talking and had ended up near the flower beds along the long wall that separated the two stairways that led up the terrace. He'd bent down, looking at something, and now gestured for her to come over. Scully walked over and bent down next to Mulder. He said nothing, just pointed at the ground. She looked down and saw a pair of faint but distinctive footprints in the mud and grass. "Now look over here." He walked a few feet along the edge of the flower bed. She followed and saw another pair of footprints, these facing the first pair. "In order to make the deep indentations, these footprints must have originally been made with great force, like they were pressed in deliberately, or..." He looked up at the terrace which was a good twelve feet above the courtyard. "That seems unlikely, Mulder. For all we know, these footprints could have been made by some of the police." "It's possible," Mulder said blandly. "But you don't believe it." It was more a statement than a question. "Not for a second." He headed for one of the stairways, and she followed after a moment. Once on the terrace, the two agents gave the area a cursory glance. The glass of the French doors leading to the dining room had been shattered, and the panes had been boarded up. The bulbs of the terrace lights had apparently been broken as well. After a few moments they walked inside, Scully glancing at the report again. "When Mrs. Franklin came home the lights in here were on, and her husband's coat was on the back of one of the chairs. A couple of chairs were scattered about, indicating a struggle took place. It all supports the police's theory." "Agent Scully." She turned to see the detective in charge of the case come in from the hall. "Yes, Lieutenant Kominski?" "Mrs. Franklin has gone over everything, and nothing important is missing. Her jewelry, money, silverware, they're all accounted for." "You said nothing important was missing. Was anything at all taken?" Kominski hesitated before answering. "Well, she can't find her husband's address book." "An address book?" "Yes, but, according to her, it was a couple of years old, and he kept an updated version at work. So it's possible he simply threw it away and didn't tell her." "An address book," Scully repeated, considering what significance, if any, it might have. "Hey, Scully, Lieutenant, look at this." Scully and Kominski walked over to Mulder, who was standing by the terrace doors looking at a light switch. "Lieutenant, according to your report, the dining room lights were on when Mrs. Franklin came home, but the panes of the terrace doors were shattered, as were the outside lights." "That's right," the detective answered, obviously not seeing where this was leading. Neither could Scully. "And you haven't determined what shattered the doors and lights? Or why?" "We're assuming the killer did it for some unknown reason. We do know the doors were opened when the glass was broken." Mulder nodded, looking somewhat pleased by the answer. "Has anyone touched this?" He pointed at the switch for the terrace lights. "I don't think so," Kominski replied. "Why, is that important? Does it mean something?" Scully looked at the switch and saw it was in the off position. It took only an instant for her to realize the significance. She looked at Mulder who gestured for her to explain to the police officer. "What Mulder means is that, if no one flipped the switch, it was off when the murder took place." Kominski still looked confused, so she continued. "It makes your theory that Franklin was knocked out in here, then carried outside to be killed, much less likely. If that were the case, the murderer would have turned on the terrace lights so he could see while going down the stairs. It's possible he came back and turned them off, but it's unlikely since he, or," she corrected herself, "she, left the doors open and inside lights on. It's now almost certain Franklin fled outside and was chased down." Kominski nodded, apparently to indicate approval of her reasoning. "By the way, I'd like you to have your experts take a look at some footprints we found near the flower beds." "I'll have them get right on it. What's he looking at?" Scully turned to see that Mulder had gone out onto the terrace and was closely inspecting parts of the railing. "I have no idea," she said. The two of them walked outside and joined Mulder. He didn't bother to look up as they arrived. "What do you make of this?" He was pointing at a long gouge in the stone railing. "What could have caused that?" Kominski asked. Mulder looked at Scully but said nothing. He didn't have to. "An extremely sharp metallic blade," she said reluctantly. "Like a sword," Mulder said. "I don't know how we missed this," Kominski said apologetically. "At night, with only flashlights to see by, it would be almost impossible to spot. Besides you weren't looking for it. I was." Mulder took out a small brush and ran it down the length of the gouge, collecting some tiny shards of metal in a plastic bag for storing evidence. He closed it and held it up for the others to see. "Good work," Kominski told him. "Thanks, Lieutenant. Let's get this to the local FBI lab, Scully." "No offense to the police labs, Lieutenant," Scully said diplomatically. There were times where her partner forgot about procedures and the necessity of working with the local authorities. "None taken," the detective assured her. "To be honest, I'll welcome any help you can offer if it helps solve this case." He paused. "There have been too damn many cases like this recently." "The odds are this murderer isn't responsible for the others," she told him. He sighed. "I know. But if I can solve just one of these cases..." "Well, we're not going to solve anything just standing here," Mulder interjected. "Then let's get going," Scully said. "Thanks for coming by, Duncan" "It was my pleasure," he told Margaret. "I know it's going to be hard on you for the next few days. If you need anything, call me." "I will," she promised. She continued talking, but he lost track of what she was saying as he sensed another immortal. "Duncan?" He looked back at Margaret. "It's nothing, but I really have to go." She nodded. "I understand. Bye" "Good-bye." He kissed her on the cheek and walked down the steps to the street, scanning the area. MacLeod almost didn't see him. Then, he looked back again. Stocker was sitting in a car parked about a hundred feet away. The other immortal must have realized he'd been spotted, because he started his engine. But he didn't pull out until MacLeod had gotten into his car. *What's he playing at?* Stocker drove through the streets at a relatively slow pace, MacLeod following at a distance of roughly fifty feet. Every time he tried to close the distance, the other car would increase speed. So he followed and waited. After a few minutes, Stocker pulled over in front of a small building and walked through a pair of large doors set in tall stone walls next to the structure. MacLeod parked and cautiously walked through the gates. He found himself in a small, unmistakably Japanese, garden. He took a few more steps into the garden and found Stocker standing in front of an altar. It confirmed his suspicions that this was a Japanese shrine and was, therefore, holy ground. It was also deserted but for one old man. "Thanks for joining me, MacLeod. Rather lovely, isn't it?" He stepped up to Stocker and demanded, "Why are we here? Let's go finish this." "We're here because I'm not ready to end this game just yet." Stocker's voice was calm, even placid. "Why did you kill Franklin? Why didn't you just challenge me?" "Two reasons. To begin with, Franklin was weak, a pathetic, frail creature. Darwin was right, you know. Survival of the fittest, MacLeod. Only the strong survive," he said conversationally. "Our kind has known this for centuries, maybe even millennia. After all, in the end, there can be only one. "The second reason I killed Franklin is simple. I killed him because I knew it would hurt your." His voice suddenly hardened. "Have you ever been burned alive? Do you know how it feels to hear the sound of skin frying, how it feels to smell flesh burning? Can you comprehend the horror of realizing it's your body incinerating and being unable to do anything about it? Well, I do, thanks to you!" Then, without warning, his voice resumed its conversational tone. "The pain nearly drove me mad. If I'd been less than I am, I would have gone insane. But I survived. I didn't go looking for you, Highlander, but I most definitely did not forget you. So you can imagine my joy when we last met. Your escape, you realize, was pure luck." *He's insane,* MacLeod realized, *and dangerous. If he's not stopped now, there's no telling what he'll do next; maybe he'll go after Anne.* "Then why don't we go someplace and have it out, Stocker?" Stocker laughed. "We will, MacLeod. No need to worry about that. But it will be at a time and place of _my_ choosing. I'll contact you tonight to tell you where to meet me." He headed out of the shrine, pausing only to call out, "And don't try to follow me. I've found my driving becomes a little...erratic when I get annoyed." Then he was gone. MacLeod just stood there, fists clenched tightly. He knew what Stocker was trying to do. He was trying to anger him, to make him lose control and get careless. MacLeod understood all of this. The only problem was that it was working. "Damn." =========================================================================