C019D9C090E03@comcast.net> 6c39bb5f   
   Title - Decoding the Enigma   
   Authors - Amy Jonas and MagsRose   
   E-mail - adjonas2000@yahoo.com or magsrose@comcast.net   
   Rating - FRT-13 (PG - 13)   
   Category - AU/Gen/Het   
   Archive - Just let us know.   
   Feedback - Yes, please. Any kind is always welcome. We just like to know   
   someone is reading this stuff.   
   Disclaimer - Without Prejudice. The names of all characters contained here in   
   are the property of Chris Carter, et. al. No infringements of these copyrights   
   are intended, and are used here without permission. All original characters   
   are the sole property    
   of Mags or Amy and may not be used without the author's permission.   
   Summary - In 1940, Private Investigator, Melvin Frohike thought he was working   
   on a simple missing person case but he soon found himself embroiled in   
   something far more sinister.   
   Authors' notes - After seeing the Maltese Falcon, Amy presented Mags with an   
   idea for The X-Files characters in an Alternate Universe.  Intrigued by the   
   possibilities, Mags suggested a co-authoring effort.  The result is the story   
   you see here.  Thanks    
   to Erynn and Alison for betaing this for us.   
      
      
      
      
   Chapter 3   
      
      
   In the Police Chief's office, Frohike ran through his notes, telling Skinner   
   what the woman had told him.   
      
   "I'm sorry, Mel. But this lead is a dead end."   
      
   "You've talked to this old lady?"   
      
   "More often than we'd like." When Frohike said nothing, Skinner went on. "She   
   calls here once or twice a month. I send my boys out there and it's always   
   some crazy thing. She sees famous people on every dark corner."   
      
   "But what if she's right this time."   
      
   "Do you honestly believe Molly was kidnapped by Charlie Chaplin?"   
      
   "No, but what if it was someone who looked like him?"   
      
   "You're grasping at straws, Mel," Skinner said not wanting his friend to waste   
   time on a dead end. "Last month she said she saw Jimmy Stewart breaking into   
   her neighbor's house. I sent a patrol car out there and there was no sign of a   
   break in or Mr.    
   Stewart."   
      
   Frohike thought for a moment. "So, even if there was a man there, you'd have   
   no idea what he looked like."   
      
    The Police Chief was becoming more and more frustrated with the conversation.   
   "I'm telling you, Mel, this woman is not playing with a full deck. Last week   
   she swore she saw the President himself sitting in a parked car down the   
   street."   
      
   "And was it?"   
      
   "Was what?" Skinner asked shaking his head.   
      
   "Was it President Roosevelt?"   
      
   "Of course not!" Skinner replied with more irritation than he'd planned. "It   
   was just a man waiting for his wife who was visiting a friend. The friend   
   wouldn't let him smoke his cigarette in her house so he was smoking out in the   
   car."   
      
   "Was the man wearing glasses?"   
      
   "What difference does it make?"   
      
   It was Frohike's turn to express irritation. "Just tell me if the man wore   
   glasses!"   
      
   "I have no idea," said Skinner, waving a dismissive hand in the private   
   detective's direction.   
      
   "Can you find out?"   
      
   "I think you've wasted enough of the Police Chief's and this department's   
   time," said a voice from behind Frohike.   
      
   Turning, Frohike was not surprised to see District Attorney Byers standing in   
   the doorway.   
      
   "What do you want, Byers?" Frohike asked with more than a little scorn in his   
   voice.   
      
   "Is this an open case you're with which you're interfering?" the DA asked.   
   Frohike said nothing. He calmly folded his arms across his chest and met the   
   other man's scowl with one of his own.   
      
   Seeing that he was not going to get an answer from the PI, Byers turned to   
   face Skinner expecting an answer from him.   
      
   "He's been hired by the Jennings family to help find their missing daughter."   
      
   "You mean he's preying on their fears to get money out of them." Byers turned   
   his scorn on Frohike. "I'd bet that, in their desperation, it didn't take much   
   convincing to get them to pay you a hefty fee on the false promise that you   
   could find their    
   little girl alive. Did you make them pay the money up front?"   
      
   Skinner came out from behind his desk, worried how Frohike might respond to   
   such an allegation. He stood facing DA Byers but kept his body between the two   
   men. "Did you come here on business, Mr. Byers?"   
      
   "My business is with you, not with this conman," said Byers. "And I suggest he   
   leave before I charge him with obstruction of justice or, at the very least,   
   loitering."   
      
   Boiling at the unfounded accusations, Frohike grabbed his coat off the back of   
   the chair where he'd dropped it and brushed past the DA to exit the office.   
   "I'll talk to you later, Walt," he called over his shoulder. Frohike left   
   police headquarters    
   without turning back to see what reaction his words elicited from the District   
   Attorney.   
      
   Stopping at the watch commander's desk, Frohike asked if Officer Mulder was on   
   duty. Checking his log, the desk sergeant confirmed that the beat cop had just   
   come in from his patrol. Frohike headed for the locker room to talk to him.   
      
      
      
   Wednesday, September 25, 1940   
      
   Frohike arrived at his office early the next morning. He had spoken to Maggie   
   the previous evening and she had expressed her concerns about this new client.   
   Frohike wanted to get there before the man arrived.   
      
   Maggie was already at her desk. "Good morning, Melvin," she said cheerfully.   
   She was relieved to see him. She knew how involved he was with the Molly   
   Jennings case and was afraid she might have to reschedule the new client for a   
   third time and Maggie    
   didn't care to see how the man would react.   
      
   "Good morning," he said with less enthusiasm. "Did I get any phone calls?" He   
   was hoping to hear from Mulder.   
      
   "Just Mrs. Jennings."   
      
   Frohike took the slip of paper out of Maggie's hand. The desperate mother   
   called at least twice a day hoping for news. "I'll call her right now," the   
   private investigator said as he headed for the inner office.   
      
   Maggie watched him shut the door. She could see his shadow against the frosted   
   glass as he moved around his desk. After a few minutes, she heard his muffled   
   voice as he talked to the worried mother. Maggie knew that these phone calls   
   were not easy for    
   Frohike and that each passing day made it more difficult to offer the parents   
   any hope of finding their precious child alive.   
      
   When it became obvious that he was no longer on the phone, Maggie poured   
   Frohike a cup of black coffee and brought it in to him. She stood holding the   
   steaming cup until he looked up at her from his newspaper. She set the coffee   
   on the desk. Frohike    
   picked it up and took a sip of the hot beverage. "Thanks," he said.   
      
   "Mr. Fletcher's appointment is at 10 a.m." Maggie reminded him unnecessarily.   
      
   "Yes, I know."   
      
   Maggie continued to stand by Frohike's elbow. This unusual behavior pulled   
   Frohike's attention away from Carla Mason's daily update on Molly's   
   disappearance in the D.C. Gazette. "What is it, Maggie?"   
      
   "This new client…" her hesitant reply was cut off by the sound of their outer   
   office door opening.   
      
   They both turned to look toward the door not really surprised to hear a   
   familiar voice.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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