Date: Wed, 21 Jun 1995 18:58:15 -0700 Reply-To: Naomi Hayashi Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Naomi Hayashi Subject: X-File: #A274-D33 part 6 of 17 In-Reply-To: <9506220124.AA11857@mercury.sfsu.edu> 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 6 of 17 by Albert Low "And it's the same for all the victims?" "All of the victims who were autopsied," Mulder confirmed. "That's about half of the hundred odd cases I'm aware of. They were all in virtually perfect condition." "Except for anomalies like this one in New York. Kurgan. The autopsy revealed damage to the vocal cords," Scully commented. Mulder nodded as he turned the car around onto a side street. "I know that case. There were indications the throat experienced severe trauma, but his vocal chords still worked." Scully continued with her analysis of the case. "And other than this strange 'perfection' of their bodies there's no common link between all the victims. They belonged to various age groups, came from all races, and worked in different fields. I can see why you didn't think much of my earlier theories, Mulder. The only link between the victims is one that no one could have known about. This doesn't remotely resemble any behavioral profile for serial killers that I've ever seen." "I know. But there's another common link between the victims you forgot to mention." "And that is?" "Their histories, Scully, or, to be more precise, their _lack_ of histories." Scully absently nodded in agreement. Of the two dozen cases she'd gone through, police investigation into the backgrounds of about two-thirds of the victims revealed that either their histories had been fabricated or that they had no past. It was one more mystery added to the others surrounding this case. "Here we are," Mulder announced, pulling up and parking before a large two-story house. Scully straightened out here brown jacket and matching skirt as they walked up the stairs and rang the bell. A few moments later an attractive woman in her thirties opened the door. "Yes?" "Mrs. Wilson?" asked Mulder. "Yes. Who are you?" "We're with the FBI. I'm Special Agent Mulder and this is Agent Dana Scully." They showed her their badges. "We'd like to speak with your sister. The police informed us she was staying with you." "That's right. Come in. I'll tell her you're here." She left them in the living room and returned a few minutes later with an even more attractive younger woman. Mulder introduced them again as Scully clinically studied Margaret Franklin. She appeared to be holding up although it looked as if she'd been crying and hadn't had much rest. "We're sorry to disturb you. We won't take up too much time," Scully told them. "We've just got to ask a few questions." The young widow nodded but said nothing. "You told the police that your husband had no enemies. Since then, have you been able to think of anyone who might have had a reason to kill him?" "No. Agent Scully, you've got to understand. No one had a reason to kill my husband. In all the time I knew him, he never made any enemies." "How about past enemies?" Scully continued, Mulder apparently content to let her do the questioning. "Did he ever mention anybody who might have had a grudge against him?" "No. Never." "But you told the police your husband rarely spoke about the past," said Mulder. "Did he ever tell you why? Is it possible he was running from something or someone?" "He always said that the past wasn't important. Anyway, I'm sure he never made any enemies, let alone any who would want to kill him. He was the kindest, most gentle man I've ever met. The closest he came to angering anyone is...I mean, was, when he beat Duncan at chess." "Duncan?" Scully asked. "Duncan MacLeod. He's an old friend of Chris's. They used to play chess two or three times a month." The name sounded familiar to Scully, so she continued the line of questioning. "You say he was an old friend of your husband's. So he knew him before the two of you were married?" "Oh, yes. Actually, if anyone could tell you about Chris's past it would be Duncan." "Were there ever any strong disagreements between the two of them?" "Never," Margaret said firmly. "Next to Chris, Duncan is the most gentle person I've ever known. He wouldn't hurt a fly." "Do you have an address for Mr. MacLeod?" "He owns a dojo in the city. Let me find the address." She left the room and quickly returned with the address. "May I ask what else you're doing to find the man who killed my husband?" "The police are trying to get a description from the florist who delivered the flowers and bogus note to you," Mulder informed her. The two agents asked a few more questions, then thanked her and left. "Did you notice that name she mentioned?" Scully asked as they got into the car. "MacLeod?" "Yeah. Duncan MacLeod. His name was mentioned in connection with some of the murders here in Seattle." She flipped through an X-File. "It's the same MacLeod, all right. I think we should take a closer look at him." "I agree," Mulder said. He tossed her a rather thick folder before he pulled out into traffic. "What is it?" "All the information the police have on one Duncan MacLeod. I asked for it while you were performing the autopsy." "How did you know we'd need it?" He shrugged. "A hunch, Scully." He smiled sardonically. "Spooky, huh?" Scully sighed and began looking through the folder. MacLeod stepped out of the elevator onto the dojo floor to see that the place was empty. He walked into the office to find Richie hanging up the phone. "Everybody's gone, Mac. Want me to close up?" "Sure. I'll see you tomorrow." He'd just stepped out the door when he saw them. A rather attractive woman and a tall man were walking up the steps towards him. All his instincts told him they were police. "Duncan MacLeod?" asked the woman. "Yes. What can I do for you?" "We're with the FBI. Special Agents Dana Scully and Fox Mulder." They showed him their identification cards. "Could we have a few minutes of your time?" "May I ask what this is about?" "The murder of Christopher Franklin," said the male agent. MacLeod looked at him closely for the first time, paying particular attention to his eyes. He'd seen that look of fixed determination before, in the eyes of fanatics. Only this man wasn't a fanatic. His instincts told him that. All in all, he had the impression that Mulder could be trouble. "Please come in." He ushered them inside and into his office, telling Richie that he would lock up later. "I understand you and Mr. Franklin were old friends." "Yes, we knew each other for years, Agent Scully. Perhaps you could explain why the FBI is interested in this case?" "It's possible this case is connected with other murders including some committed in other states," Scully informed him. "Do you know anyone who might have had a reason to kill Mr. Franklin?" "No. Chris didn't have any enemies as far as I know." "He never mentioned anyone who might have a grudge against him?" "Never," MacLeod said firmly, confident this line of questioning would lead them nowhere. "How long did you know Mr. Franklin?" Mulder entered the conversation for the first time. "A little over ten years." "And where did you meet?" prompted Mulder. "Here in Seattle, at an auction," he replied after a moment's thought. "Was Mr. Franklin living in Seattle at the time?" MacLeod paused for an instant to remember the details of the background Chris had created. "I believe he was visiting from London. He moved here shortly after that. I don't see the purpose of these questions, Agent Mulder." "We're looking into Mr. Franklin's past, and as his oldest friend, you're our best source of information. You don't have any objections to helping our investigation, do you?" Mulder asked challengingly. "No. Of course not." MacLeod wasn't sure he liked this line of questioning, but he didn't see any way to avoid the questions without arousing suspicion. "Do you remember what line of work he was in at the time?" "I believe he was working for the BBC in some capacity." "But you can't remember exactly?" Mulder pressed. "No, I can't," he said, deciding to end this before he made some sort of slip. "It was a long time ago, and I'm afraid I don't see the importance of these questions." "You're right, Mr. MacLeod," Scully interjected. "But perhaps you could answer a few more questions. We've been checking to see if Mr. Franklin had any relatives so we can inform them of his death. Can you help us?" "I'm not aware Chris had any living relatives. His parents died before I met him, and he was an only child." "So you never met any of his relatives or heard him mention any?" "No. I'm afraid I can't help you, Agent Scully." "How about old friends, friends he might have made before he met you? Would you happen to have any names or numbers you could give us?" *Sure. William Shakespeare, Lord Byron, and a lot of others. Only they've all been dead for centuries.* "No," MacLeod told her, really beginning to worry. "He never really had a chance to introduce me since all his old friends were in England." "But he never even mentioned any of them?" "No, Agent Mulder, I don't believe he did. And if he had, I don't remember. Now, I've tried to be helpful, but you'll have to excuse me. I have an engagement elsewhere." He was herding them out of his office when Scully spoke. "Just one last question. Where were you last night between six and nine?" MacLeod stopped and looked at her coldly. "I don't like what you're implying." "She's not implying anything." Mulder stepped up beside her. "As I'm sure you know, in cases of murder it's standard procedure to ask about the whereabouts of the victim's closest friends and relatives. And since you've told us he had no relatives, and you're his oldest friend, that means you." MacLeod had to admit he was right. "I was here in the dojo, giving some self-defense lessons to a group of elderly citizens. I'm sure you'll be able to confirm that." He ushered them to the exit. "Where are your antiques?" The questions caught him off guard. He turned to Mulder. "Excuse me?" "Your antiques. I understand you used to be an antique dealer." "Yes but I sold the store over a year ago." "But surely you must have kept some of the antiques?" Mulder insisted. "Not really." "You didn't keep just the sword, did you?" "I beg your pardon?" "Just over a month ago, you were waving a sword around in public," Scully told him. "You told the police it was an antique you'd kept from the store." "Yes, that's correct." *Damn!* "I've kept a few items from the store in my apartment. It just...slipped my mind. Now I really have to close up." "Of course. Thank you for your time." And with that the two agents left. MacLeod closed the door and just stood there for a moment, feeling the beads of sweat gather on his forehead. Then he returned to the office and picked up the phone. "Joe? I've got another favor to ask. Can you run a check on two FBI agents? Their names are..." =========================================================================