TITLE: The Pattern   
   RATING: R for strong language and adult themes   
   ARCHIVE: Ephemeral, Gossamer - yes. Others please ask.   
   AUTHOR: Joann Humby - jhumby@lineone.net   
      
   LEGALLY:   
   We all know the score. The characters are not mine, never will be.   
   They're owned by some combination of Fox, 1013 and CC.   
      
   =========   
   1988   
      
   Bill Patterson had his chair adjusted to its highest position and   
   Mulder had to admit it was working. Sitting here, facing him across   
   the desk, Mulder was feeling about as low as they come.   
      
   Hennessey looked harassed, uncomfortable, as if he'd sooner   
   be anywhere rather than here in Bill Patterson's office. He wouldn't   
   meet Mulder's eyes and that bothered Mulder more than anything.   
      
   "Three weeks. Three weeks - and you give me this?" Patterson turned   
   the profile face down on the desk as if the mere sight of it was an   
   insult. "I could have given the case to a classroom full of rookies,   
   if this was what I was waiting for. Agent Hennessey, do you have   
   anything to add to Agent Mulder's profile?"   
      
   Hennessey looked like he was waiting for the ground to swallow him   
   up.   
      
   Patterson tried again. "Agent Hennessey, do you think Agent Mulder's   
   assessment is correct and complete?"   
      
   "No."   
      
   "Then you're preparing your own behavioral profile for the UNSUB?"   
      
   "Yes."   
      
   "Good. Then you're dismissed."   
      
   Hennessey got up quickly, ignoring Mulder's mumbled "Dave?" as he   
   walked out of the room.   
      
   Just Patterson and Mulder now and the agent almost flinched as   
   Patterson rose from his chair and came to sit in the seat recently   
   vacated by Hennessey. "A con man?" Patterson said, as if the profile   
   was some kind of bad joke on Mulder's part.   
      
   "A con man," agreed Mulder. Well aware that by all the usual   
   criteria he was himself one of those rookies who Patterson claimed   
   could have come up with the same profile in a fraction of the time.   
      
   "High IQ. Over thirty. White collar crime - bank, insurance, real   
   estate fraud. Very successful. Been interviewed numerous times by   
   law enforcement officers but never convicted and probably not even   
   charged. Multiple identities, homes, bank accounts. Disciplined and   
   imaginative."   
      
   Mulder nodded, ignoring the sarcasm in Patterson's tone. The profile   
   was accurate. After three weeks looking for the link between the   
   victims Mulder had concluded that the link was the killer and that,   
   as he'd never seen the same unknown phone number or heard about the   
   same mysterious stranger twice, it was a fair bet that he'd been   
   many different people. "And a psychopath," added Mulder, seeing that   
   his boss was waiting for some kind of verbal response.   
      
   "Why is he killing them?"   
      
   "The ultimate rush. Money wasn't doing it for him anymore."   
      
   "Multiple identities?"   
      
   "Generally he'll live alone. Though he may have told his neighbors   
   that it's just a temporary thing - job-related move - wife joining   
   him later. There may even be a wife, though she'll only know one, or   
   at most two, of his identities."   
      
   "Which gets us nowhere. He could be anybody - unostentatious, quiet,   
   polite, well-groomed."   
      
   Drives a late model sedan, added Mulder, though he was smart enough   
   not to say it out loud, suddenly amused and trying not to let   
   Patterson see it. Sure, the profile sucked. But it was right. Their   
   Unknown Subject was like a giant reflecting mirror ball - no two   
   people would see the same man.   
      
   "Mulder," snapped Patterson, aware that he'd lost the agent's   
   attention. "I asked you - how do we find him?"   
      
   "He'll always approach them in the same way. He'll have a routine   
   that works. I'm thinking that he meets them at something like a   
   trade show or an exhibition. Somewhere busy, where they'll be off   
   their guard. Conversation starts on one subject, five minutes later   
   he's getting the story of their lives and choosing his targets."   
      
   Patterson shook his head, disappointed, tight-lipped. "The art.   
   Where's the art? I thought that maybe there was a spark of something   
   better in you. That you understood what needs to be done. I don't   
   need to hear that someone's painting a picture; I want you to show   
   me the artist."   
      
   Mulder sat very still, incapable of arguing, but refusing to make   
   himself an easier target.   
      
   "You're off the case," announced Patterson, standing up suddenly and   
   looming over Mulder's chair. Mulder didn't bother to look up.   
   "There's a job in San Diego. Somebody cutting up prostitutes, except   
   he made a mistake and took the niece of a Federal Judge. They want   
   to look like they're doing something. You'll fit right in."   
      
   Fuck you, sir.   
      
   ----------   
      
   San Diego felt like a vacation and not just because of the weather   
   or the fact that he'd been able to sneak away for the occasional   
   stroll along the beach. The profile had taken a couple of hours. The   
   strategy had been agreed without so much as a territorial dispute   
   between the Police Department and the Bureau. It was the PD's show   
   and Mulder was a welcome consultant, an analyst assisting the   
   preparation of a shortlist of suspects, and ultimately he would be   
   the secret weapon during the interviews.   
      
   Which left him plenty of time to sketch bat-like things on the backs   
   of envelopes and scrape griffins into the sand. Puzzled over it,   
   played with wing shapes and symmetry, studied tangents and   
   intersections, sought out depth and life in the eyes of the things.   
   Dark magic in the images. He knew it, but still couldn't feel the   
   pull.   
      
   He'd chatted to Diana a couple of times, split the call between   
   murmured words about empty beds and flippant commentary on Bill   
   Patterson's parentage.   
      
   The call that bothered him had been the one he'd made to Hennessey.   
   So Patterson had asked him to prepare a press release? Time to go   
   pro-active. Remind people of those strange drawings. Ask again if   
   anyone had seen their like before.   
      
   Mulder called Patterson from his hotel room. "I don't think we   
   should be publishing the sketches, sir."   
      
   "If we don't then we're allowing people under this guy's thrall to   
   die."   
      
   "I don't think anyone already under his control will come forward."   
      
   "Then it'll give their families the chance to intervene."   
      
   "I don't think so. I think we may do more harm than good. I've been   
   reviewing the files."   
      
   "Really. I thought I told you that you were off the case. I was   
   under the impression that we haven't made any arrests in San Diego."   
      
   "Detective Paul Jennings, the New York victim - he may not have even   
   met the killer. He wasn't working the case but he did ask for a copy   
   of the autopsy report on the tattooed victim. I think he may have   
   just started obsessing over the deaths from there, studying the   
   images. The timing's right. He stopped going to the gym. Looking at   
   his car usage, his mileages went down."   
      
   "Meaning?"   
      
   "I think he used to go driving when he wanted to think, but you   
   can't draw and drive at the same time."   
      
   "So why did we only find a couple of examples of those things in his   
   house?"   
      
   "He destroyed any that weren't perfect."   
      
   "Do you realize how ridiculous this sounds?"   
      
   "Yes."   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)