Date: Wed, 21 Jun 1995 18:19:39 -0700 Reply-To: Naomi Hayashi Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Naomi Hayashi Subject: X-File: #A274-D33 part 5 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 5 of 17 by Albert Low "I'm finished, Mulder. You can come in now." Mulder looked up from the desk he'd been sitting at to see Scully standing in the doorway to the morgue bay. She pulled off her white surgical gloves and tossed them into a wastebasket. Mulder put down the report he'd been reading and followed her into the other room. He'd remained outside going over the latest information on the case while Scully had performed the autopsy on Christopher Franklin. He wasn't a particularly squeamish person, but he hadn't seen any point to being present if he wasn't needed. Scully had covered the body, but now she pulled back the sheet. He looked at the body impassively. "So what did you find?" "Well, to begin with, the cause of death was the obvious," she said as she stripped off her surgical gear. "He was decapitated by a very sharp blade, definitely larger than a knife." "Like a sword?" "That's possible," she admitted. "It looks like it was a single stroke that was delivered at a downward angle." Mulder nodded absently as he took a closer look at the neck. "Of course, my report won't be complete until the toxicological comes in," Scully said as she washed her hands. "Toxicological?" "It's probable some sort of drug was used to immobilize or incapacitate the victim. I mean, it's a bit hard imagining him doing nothing while someone was attacking him." "Good point," he admitted. "What else did you find?" Scully hesitated before answering, but the look on her face told him his instincts about this case were dead on. "Aside from the fact that he's dead, there's nothing wrong with him." He looked at her questioningly. "His heart, his liver, all his organs are in perfect condition. I've never seen anything like it. There is no evidence of _any_ deterioration before death." Mulder nodded, his suspicions confirmed. "Anything else?" "Well, yes." She walked over to the body and pointed at the chest cavity. "The victim was a fairly heavy smoker. This is indicated by the empty pack of cigarettes found on his body and some faint traces of nicotine on his teeth. But look at his lungs, Mulder." His gaze followed her hand. "There's absolutely none of the damage prolonged smoking would cause. There's not even any buildup of tar, or any of the other waste products that smoking should leave, on the lung walls. Nothing." To his mild amazement, Mulder saw she was correct. "How do you explain it?" "I can't," she said in frustration. "It shouldn't be possible. What the hell is going on here, Mulder?" "A better question is, 'What the hell _has_ been going on?'" He gestured for her to follow him back into the other room where he opened his briefcase and extracted a bundle of folders, each one marked "X-File." "Take a good look, Scully." He stepped back and waited as she leafed through the half dozen or so case files. Mulder didn't need to glance at them with her; he knew what she would find. He'd gone through them many times himself trying to figure out what they represented. And he was close, so very close, to figuring it all out. It was like a jigsaw puzzle; all he needed were a few more pieces so he could see the big picture. Scully looked up at him. "All these murders took place in Seattle within the last two and a half years?" It was more a statement than a question, but he nodded anyway. "The same cause of death, all the murders took place in isolated settings...it looks like we're dealing with a serial killer, Mulder, and a fairly brutal one at that." "I'd agree with you, Scully, except..." He pulled out some more folders and handed them over. Scully flipped through the files. "Murders in New Jersey, New York, Colorado...they all have the same MO Mul-" She broke off suddenly and flipped back a few pages. "Mulder, if the estimated times of death are correct for these cases, there's no way one person could cover the distances in the time allotted. There's more than one killer." He nodded. "And that's not all. Check out the dates on the files on the bottom." She did so, looking twice at a few of them. "Mulder, some of these cases go back over a half a century." "And I've got more back in the office, some dating from the 1900's. They're all virtually identical to our current case." Scully took a moment to take all this in before she spoke. "It's obvious we're not dealing with a single killer or even a family of killers. The rather bizarre method of murder is almost ritualistic. I think we're looking at the work of some twisted cult passing on a sick tradition to new members." Mulder looked at his partner incredulously. "Like the Hare Krishnas gone bad? C'mon, Scully!" "What do you think is going on, then?" she asked in frustration. "That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question, Scully. If I could answer that, we wouldn't be here." "Well, if I'm to be of any help on this case, I've got to go through these X-Files. And we should get something to eat. I'm starving. The food on the plane was horrible." Mulder pulled out a sunflower seed from his pocket, deftly cracked it open, and discarded the shell. "I offered to share," he reminded her. Scully just looked at him balefully as they left the morgue. "Yeah, I'll tell him. And don't worry, I'll keep an eye on the dojo. It's been good talking to you, Charlie." Richie put down the phone and was leaving MacLeod's office when he sensed the presence of another immortal. He looked at the dojo's entrance and saw a handsome blond man enter and scan the small crowd. Richie slowly walked up to him, assessing the stranger as a possible enemy. "Can I help you?" The stranger smiled disarmingly. "Actually, I was looking for an old friend. I understand he owns the place. Perhaps you know him? His name is Duncan MacLeod." "Yeah, I know him. You two are old friends, huh?" "Oh, we've know each other for centuries, although we find it hard to stay in touch. I heard he was in the area, so I decided to drop in and reminisce about old times." Richie relaxed as the other immortal spoke. He was certainly no threat. "I also thought he might be able to tell me where I could find Chris Franklin. It's been a while since I've seen Chris." *Damn, he doesn't know.* "I'm sorry. You couldn't know, but Franklin was killed last night." "Damn! Do you know who killed him?" Richie shook his head. "Well, he'll get his sooner or later. Where's Duncan, anyway?" "I don't know. He went out a couple of hours ago, and I don't know when he'll get back." The other man looked disappointed. "Too bad. I guess I'll have to catch him later." "You want to leave your number or address?" "No that's all right. I'll just...surprise him sometime. Thanks for your help, Mr..." "Ryan. Richie Ryan." "Thank you, Richie" He smiled and extended a hand which Richie shook, noticing that the stranger had one hell of a grip. "My name is Helmut Stocker." "Damn!" MacLeod brought his fist down hard on the coffee table. "What's wrong, Mac?" Richie asked, looking confused. They were in MacLeod's apartment on the top floor of the dojo. MacLeod had returned just a few minutes earlier, having spent the last couple of hours working out his anger and frustrations in the old warehouse outside of town he occasionally practiced in. Richie had just told him about the visitor he'd missed while out. "I think that Stocker's the one who killed Chris." "Then when he came by..." "He was looking for me, all right," MacLeod said grimly, "to settle a fight that started a long time ago." "I'm sorry, Mac. If I had known, I would have -" "Gotten yourself killed. He's good, Richie. Better than you." He left the rest unsaid, but Richie picked up on it anyway. "And better than you?" "Maybe," MacLeod said reluctantly. Then he pushed the unwelcome thought away. "There was no way you could have known, so don't blame yourself." Richie nodded but was obviously still a little disturbed. "Did anything else happen while I was out?" "Yeah, Anne called to say she would be free for dinner." MacLeod must have unconsciously smiled or something, because Richie grinned foolishly and said, "You two are getting serious, huh?" "And if we are?" he said challengingly, his face as hard as stone. Richie must have sensed he'd intruded on a sensitive area, because all he said was, "You're right. None of my business." Then he got up out of his chair and headed for the elevator. But, as he began to descend, he called out, "I'm just glad you two got back together!" MacLeod waited until the young immortal was out of sight. Then he shook his head and grinned. He was about to take a shower when the phone rang. "Yes?" "I've got the information on Stocker," came Dawson's voice. "He's in the area, all right. He arrived about three days ago, but our man lost him the day before yesterday. So I don't know where he is. He could have already left town." "He's still here," MacLeod said with certainty. "How can you be so sure?" "Because he came by the dojo while I was out." Dawson was silent for a moment. "Then he's after you." "It looks that way," he said grimly. "Be careful, MacLeod. I've been reading up on him. He's old, and good. Very good. You ever hear of an immortal named Juarez?" "Yeah, he's one of the oldest of us still around." "He was. Stocker got him last month in Brazil." Another pause. "Watch your head, my friend." "I will, Joe. Thanks." MacLeod hung up and leaned back in his chair. He knew Stocker was out there somewhere, but he had no idea where to look for him. He had the uneasy feeling that he didn't have to worry about finding Stocker. It was more than likely the other immortal would find him first. =========================================================================