XxXxX

Chapter Six

XxXxX

The crack of dawn parted to reveal a bitter gray sky with low-
slung clouds, as if the ashes from the night hung suspended in 
the air over us.  The wind rattling the panes of my window, I 
shivered into my clothes with haste and escaped into the quiet 
shadows of the hall.  Mulder's door was still closed.  I debated 
a minute whether to knock, but then decided I should search out 
some coffee before searching out Mulder.

Downstairs, the kitchen radiated warm light and the scent of 
cinnamon and black coffee.  I gathered that either Cathleen was 
an early riser by nature or the events of the previous evening 
had troubled her sleep.  I felt a prick of conscience, 
remembering my talk with Mulder about consequences.  It seemed 
unfair of us to drag ours into her home.

Nearing the door, I stopped short at the sound of voices coming 
from within the kitchen.  Kazdin had apparently decided it was 
okay to set foot inside the house and was saying something about 
the sink.  "...just need another U-joint and a new valve here.  
It would be no problem for me to..."

"No, John.  It's fine.  I'll take care of it."

There was a short pause and the sound of his boots scuffing on 
the hardwood floor.  "Silly to pay someone when I can do it in 
an hour."

"No.  I appreciate the offer, really.  I just don't think it 
would be appropriate."  

"Appropriate?  I must have put months of my life into this place 
by now.  What does one more hour--"

"Amy Quinlan."  Her voice was so soft I nearly didn't hear her.  
But Kazdin did.

"Makes no difference," he answered tightly.

Cathleen sighed.  "She's good for you, John, and I think -- "

"No!  I do not want to have this conversation with you."

I felt trapped, having listened too long but unable to break 
away.  When at last I turned, I bumped into Mulder's chest.  His 
hands gripped my arms.

"What's going on?" he asked in a low voice.

"Kazdin's here."  I could tell from the look on his face that 
he'd drawn the same conclusions about Kazdin's relationship with 
Cathleen.  "We should go."

Mulder nodded, but before we could move, Kazdin pushed into the 
hall.  "Hey," he said, crowding with us into the narrow space.  
He cleared his throat.  "I, uh...I dropped off a car for you to 
use while you're here.  It's nothing special, just an old 
department Chevy, but it'll get the job done."

"Thanks," Mulder answered, and we all found cracks in the wall 
to study as the awkward moment lingered.  Finally, Kazdin spoke 
again.

"I checked some old newspaper clippings this morning, and Regina 
Tuttlesworth was involved in Katherine Centara's trial.  She was 
a neighbor who testified about the time of the gunshots coming 
from the Centara's house.  She also saw Lee-Lee running out the 
back door a few minutes later."

"What about Joe Bowman?" I asked.

Kazdin shook his head.  "Don't know yet.  I'll search the 
official records today and let you know what I find."  He held 
out his hand, dangling the keys between us until Mulder reached 
for them.  "See you at noon," he said, and then stalked out the 
front door.

"High noon on Main Street," Mulder murmured after he left.  "I 
hope you remembered to pack your white hat and spurs, Scully."

"No, but I've got my six shooter."

"My hero," said Mulder, and we went into the kitchen for coffee.

XxXxX

The rain arrived before we finished breakfast, so Mulder and I 
waited out the hours before our showdown with the Purcell family 
at Cathleen's house.  She set us up in her own living room with 
a roaring fire -- dutifully contained by an iron screen -- and 
plush golden chairs.  I let the warmth from the hearth chase 
away my chill as I pored over autopsy reports, but Mulder stood 
with the floor lamp by the window, as far away as possible.  
Between the howling wind and crackling fire, I could only hear 
snatches of his phone conversation.   I knew he was trying to 
get through to Dr. Vitton, the man who had treated Lee-Lee after 
her breakdown.

At eleven-thirty, he finally sat down, his eyes on me and not on 
the fire. "We should get going soon." 

"Did you reach Dr. Vitton?"

"Yes."

The rain filled his silence, pattering against the window panes.  
"And?" I prompted eventually.  "Did he talk to you?"

"Some.  He's very fond of Lee-Lee.  You can add him to the list 
of people who think she's incapable of committing these crimes."

"Fifteen years is a long time to be hospitalized for a mental 
disorder, Mulder.  There must have been something wrong with 
her."

He nodded.  "Vitton said she had some kind of dissociative 
disorder, presumably brought on by the abuse from her uncle and 
the trauma of his murder.  Lee-Lee didn't speak for almost a 
whole year after that night.  Since then, she's had recurring 
panic attacks every time they push her to talk about the 
details."

"It sounds vaguely like post-traumatic stress disorder," I said, 
and Mulder agreed.  "But then that doesn't make sense with the 
length of her hospitalization," I continued.  "People with PTSD 
are usually out-patients."

Mulder leaned back in the chair and tapped his cell phone on his 
knee, looking thoughtful.  "What if I told you that Mayfield 
Hospital was a private institution?"

"You mean her family was paying to keep her there all those 
years?  Why would they do that?"

He shrugged.  "Maybe they know something about her that the 
doctors didn't.  Or maybe she knows something about them.  All I 
know is Dr. Vitton was ready to release Lee-Lee three years ago.  
He said she was nervous but looking forward to leaving."

"What happened?"

"She had a nice long visit with her family and the panic attacks 
started up again."

"So the implication is that they were keeping her sick.  If 
that's the case, why let her out now?  What's changed?"

"I don't know," he said, looking into the fire at last.  "I 
don't think we'll be able to answer that until we find out what 
happened the night Abe Centara was murdered.  There may have 
been a verdict, but there's been no resolution for these people.  
Just look at the way they all treat Lee-Lee like she's still 
fifteen years old.  Time goes forward but not the Purcells -- 
they're still stuck in that one night."

His face was carefully neutral, but I could feel the 
undercurrent in his words, hear the sense of recognition.  "So 
what do we do about it?" I asked.

"Only one thing we can do."  He stood up, his face grim as he 
studied the dying flames.  "We unstick them."

XxXxX

The rain had dissipated by the time we reached City Hall, but 
the wind had doubled in force.   It howled around us and shook 
leaves off the trees like a schoolyard bully as we hurried 
inside from the storm.  Carson Purcell's secretary, a woman with 
small eyes and a cloud of silver hair, gave us a frosty smile as 
we presented ourselves.  She picked up the phone.

"Sir?  They're here."

A moment later a door to our left opened and Purcell appeared, 
beefy hand extended.  "Right on time," he said as he pumped 
Mulder's hand.  "I like that -- shows respect.  You want some 
tea or coffee?  Soda?  I can have Evelyn fix you up in just a 
minute."

"No, thank you," I said.

He nodded, pleased with my answer.  "Just right," he said.  
"Just right.  Best to get down to business straightaway."

Just as he started to shepherd us toward his office, the front 
door flew open and Jeff Purcell lurched into the room out of 
breath.  "What the hell is going on?" he demanded, glaring from 
me and Mulder to his father.  "I stop by the station to talk to 
Andy and find out he's here with Lee-Lee for some hush-hush 
meeting you cooked up.  Funny, but my name seems to have been 
left off the guest list."

Carson Purcell frowned.  "Calm down, Jeffrey.  It's not what you 
think.  The Feds have some questions for your sister, and I felt 
it would be better for her to answer them here than at the 
station."

"You already asked your questions," he said, scowling at me.  
"She told you she doesn't know anything."

"There's been another fire," I answered, and that revelation 
stopped him short for a minute.  

He blinked.  "Where?  When?"

"Our car was torched last night," Mulder said.

"And you think Lee-Lee did it?  That's bullshit."

"Jeff, please.  Not here, not like this."  Carson Purcell's 
voice was low and steely.  I cast a glance at Evelyn, who was 
devouring the scene with clasped hands and eager eyes.  Better 
than the daytime soaps.

"Fine," Jeff growled, straightening his wind-blown coat.  "Let's 
go inside, then."  He started toward the office, but Purcell 
stopped him.

"It's crowded enough as it is.  If you want to wait here, you 
can, and I promise I'll fill you in afterward."

Jeff jerked his arm free.  "You're kicking me out?  I can't 
believe this!"

"Jeff, listen to me..."

"No, you listen!  I don't know what you and Andy think you're 
doing, but I am NOT going to sit in the yard like some goddamn 
dog while you manipulate Lee-Lee with touchy-feely interviews!  
Just because I moved away, just because I got OUT of this shit 
hole doesn't mean you get to tell my side of the story."

"Is there a problem here?"  Andy Purcell emerged from the 
office.  Drawn to his full height, he was a good five inches 
taller than his brother and heavier by about twenty pounds.

But Jeff was not backing down.  He pushed right into Andy's face 
and said, "Finally got what you wanted, little brother?  You the 
man in charge now?  Did you hold her hand and promise it would 
be okay?"

"The fuck you know about it," spat Andy, pushing him away.  
"Where the hell have you been the past fifteen years?"

"Not here!" Jeff's voice was on the edge of tremble.  "So I 
didn't hang around on Dad's coattails.  So what!  You think this 
makes you better somehow?"

"That is enough!" Purcell cut in sharply.  He yanked Jeff by his 
elbow until his son stumbled backward a few steps.  "Get out," 
he ordered.  "Now."

The fury in Jeff's eyes was so strong that for a second I 
thought he would charge at Purcell, knocking him flat on the 
plush gray carpet.  But the rage died impotent, and instead he 
stalked toward the door, kicking over a chair along the way.  
The door closed behind him with a reverberating slam that 
stirred our clothes with its breeze.  Purcell made a low noise 
in his throat and tugged at his tie.

"Sorry for that," he said, nodding at Evelyn to retrieve the 
errant chair.  "Shall we?"

His office was dim thanks to heavy red drapes and the clouds 
outside, and it smelled faintly of stale cigarettes.  Lee-Lee 
sat at the far end of a black leather sofa, huddled inside a 
beige trench coat.  Purcell lowered himself down next to her and 
squeezed her knee.  "Don't you worry, honey.  In a few minutes 
we'll have this all straightened out."

Mulder, Andy and I sat in the chairs provided, and then there 
was a short silence as we tried to figure out where to begin.  
To my surprise, Lee-Lee made the opening gambit.

"I didn't do it," she whispered, raising her eyes to mine.

"Do what?" Mulder interjected.

"The fire at your house last night.  Or any of the ones before, 
either.  Why can't you just believe me?"

"We believe you, honey," Purcell said soothingly, and patted her 
again.  Andy's jaw tightened as he nodded.

"Where were you last night?" I asked.

"Home in bed," she answered.  "I went to sleep early because I 
worked double shifts at the diner yesterday.  I didn't know 
about the fire until Andy called me this morning."

Before we could question her further, there was a short, loud 
knock on the door and John Kazdin burst into the room.  I had 
forgotten that he was supposed to be present for this 
discussion.  "Sorry I'm late," he said, his breathing uneven.  
"But I thought you might like to see this."  

Mulder was closest, so he accepted the piece of paper Kazdin 
offered.  He looked at it for a few seconds and then handed it 
to me without a word.  Purcell frowned.  "What is it?" he 
demanded.

It was a computer printout of the names of the men and women who 
had served on the jury that convicted Katherine Centara of 
murder in 1981.  Number eight, circled in red ink, was Joseph 
Bowman.  I passed the list to Purcell and turned my attention 
back to Lee-Lee.  "What did you think of your mother's trial?" I 
asked.

She looked stricken.  "I...I wasn't there.  I was in the 
hospital."

"But you must have heard about it," I countered.  "You knew she 
was convicted, didn't you?"

Lee-Lee bowed her head and then nodded slowly.  "Yes."

"I don't see what this has to do with anything," Purcell broke 
in with a huff.

"Sir, you said you would let us ask all the questions we want," 
I told him.

He narrowed his eyes.  "Within reason."

Mulder leaned forward in his chair.  "Well, with three dead 
people connected to your wife's murder trial, I'd say these 
questions are not just reasonable but obvious."  He looked at 
Lee-Lee.  "What did you think about your mother going to prison?  
She was trying to protect you, wasn't she?"

Lee-Lee's eyes filled with tears, and she covered her mouth with 
her hand.  "It's all my fault," she whispered through her 
fingers.  "I should have been there."

"Been where?" Mulder pressed.   Lee-Lee shook her head, mute.  
"You were there the night of the murder, weren't you?  Regina 
Tuttlesworth testified that she saw you running out of the house 
after the gunshots."

"Can you blame her?" snapped Andy.  "Kat had just shot Abe in 
our kitchen, for chrissake!"

"Did you see the shooting?" Mulder asked her.  "Is that why you 
ran?"

"I don't remember," she answered, swiping her eyes with delicate 
fingers.  Tears shimmered on her lashes.  "I don't remember that 
night.  But...but I should have been there, at the trial.  If I 
had been there, maybe they would have understood..."  

She trailed off in an aching whisper, but I wanted the rest of 
the thought.  "Understood what?"

"My mother was a good person.  She never meant for this to 
happen...none of us did."

I glanced sharply at Mulder to see if he had caught the odd 
phrasing of her words, and he gave me a tiny nod.  "What do you 
mean, 'none of us did'?" I asked.  Lee-Lee drew back, a little 
too quickly. 

"Nothing, I...I just meant..."  Floundering, she looked to Andy 
for help, and he jumped right in.  

"All right, that's enough.  This interview is over."  He stood 
and extended a hand to Lee-Lee.  "It's all horseshit, anyway."

"Mayor Purcell," Mulder started, but Purcell held up a hand to 
stop him.

"I think my son is right," he said as he rose.  "Lee-Lee has 
been through enough this year, and I don't want her bothered 
with this ridiculous theory any further."

Mulder looked to where Lee-Lee was being led from the room by 
Andy.  "With all due respect, I don't know if that's going to be 
possible.  Someone is burning your town to the ground, and they 
don't show any signs of stopping."

Purcell wiped his palms on the front of his suit and moved to 
stand behind his sprawling oak desk.  He began shuffling papers 
around, and for a minute I thought he wasn't going to answer.  
When he spoke, his voice was soft, his eyes still on his 
busywork.  "You've got nothing.  A theory, that's all.  If you 
get more, you can come back and we'll talk again.  I'll be 
here."  He paused and looked up at last.  "And so will my 
lawyer."

We were clearly dismissed, so Kazdin, Mulder and I left the 
office under the watchful eye of Evelyn.  "Bye," she called with 
false sugar but true relish.  I would bet good money I knew 
where Purcell made his bed at night.

In the hall, Kazdin let out a long breath.  "I didn't want to 
believe it," he said, "but then I got that list and something 
inside me just went cold.  I'm thinking maybe you're right about 
Lee-Lee, that maybe she's been boiling over her mother's 
conviction all these years and now she's finally getting 
revenge.  I mean, hell, she always seemed sweet to me, but they 
didn't lock her up for fifteen years for nothing, right?"

"Right," answered Mulder, but he did not sound too sure. "Would 
it be possible for me to get transcripts from Katherine 
Centara's trial?" he asked as we walked down the steps toward 
the front door.

"Sure.  Ride back with me, and I'll get you the police records, 
too."

"Great.  I'll be with you in just a sec."

Mulder and I stood by the doors as Kazdin braved the wind and 
rain.  "What are you looking for?" I asked.

"Fishing, mainly.  I don't know."  He scratched his head and 
moved a little closer.  "Scully, when she said that part about 
none of them meaning it to happen...what did you take that to 
mean?  We're talking gut reaction."

I hesitated.  "Well, it could mean anything, I suppose, but I 
had this flash..."

"Yeah?"

I took a deep breath.  "For a second it sounded like her 
relationship with Abe was consensual."

"Exactly."

"You think that's what everyone is trying to hide?"

"Could be.  It might help explain Lee-Lee's guilt over not 
testifying at her mother's trial."

"As in, perhaps the family didn't want her to testify.  
Interesting."  I checked my watch.  "While you're chasing the 
court transcripts, I think I'll head over to the morgue and 
check out Joe Bowman's body."

"Good idea," he said, palming me the keys to our borrowed Chevy.  
"I'll catch you back at Cathleen's then."

And we went our separate ways into the rain.

XxXxX

It was dark when I left the coroner's office, and the rain had 
begun to freeze.  Shivering under my umbrella, I walked across 
the slick street to the municipal parking facility to retrieve 
my car for the half hour drive back to Tiburton.  The garage was 
nearly deserted, filled with long shadows and the stench of gas 
fumes and concrete.  The hollow echo of my heels on the pavement 
underscored my isolation, and I picked up my pace.  

My heart contracted with relief at the sight of my car.  I 
slammed the door and leaned against the steering wheel for a 
moment, feeling ridiculous for letting the jitters get to me.

But I jumped at the sound of my cell phone just the same.

"Scully," I said, leaning back in my seat and running a hand 
through my hair.  Seven-thirty and it was already a long night.

"How was the dead guy?" Mulder asked.  I could hear him cracking 
sunflower seeds, and my stomach rumbled in empathy.

"Still dead.  I didn't get anything more than the county 
coroner.  In all likelihood, the killer used some form of 
accelerant on the body, but with the chemicals from his auto 
shop that blew with the fire, I can't say for sure.  Maybe the 
killer brought his own mix, maybe he just improvised."

"Well, the transcripts make interesting reading."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah.  Guess who blew the whistle to Katherine about Lee-Lee's 
involvement with Abe?"

"Jeff?"

"You're half right.  It was a joint effort by Jeff and Andy."

"No kidding."  I yawned, and when I opened my eyes I noticed a 
piece of paper sitting on my windshield.  Had it been there all 
along?  "Mulder, hold on a second."  I craned my neck around but 
could not see anyone.

"What's going on?"

"There's something on my windshield," I said.  "A paper of some 
sort."  I looked around again and decided to retrieve the slip 
from outside the car.  Phone to my ear, I got out and pulled the 
paper free from the windshield wipers.  It was a hand written 
note, penned in big block letters.

YOU WERE WARNED.

"Well?" Mulder said.  "What is it?"

"Mulder, I think..."  I was stopped by the sound of my own skull 
cracking.  Bright lights flashed in front of me as I fell to the 
ground, chin scraping the pavement while the phone skittered 
away.

Then all went black.

XxXxX

Continued in Chapter Seven.

Thanks as always to my amazing beta readers, Alicia, Gwen, Jerry 
and Jintian.  I am grateful and humbled that such terrific 
writers would take time away from their own work to help little 
old me.

Thanks also to Lisa, who got me to quit playing solitaire and 
write this chapter.  And to Maria for kindly brandishing a twig 
in my direction.

All types of feedback are welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com