From: cybill@pacbell.net   
      
   XXXXXXXXXX   
   CHAPTER 2   
   XXXXXXXXXX   
      
   SHERRIFF KEN HARTLEY'S OFFICE   
   KENT, CT   
   MAY 27, 1997   
   TUESDAY - 3:30 PM   
      
   We walked up the rickety steps of the small building that housed   
   the town's only law enforcement office. The weathered boards   
   creaked with age, as if each pound weighed heavily on its wooden   
   surface.   
      
   Mulder pulled the gentlemen card by opening the heavy, thick   
   door, which had seen better days from the looks of it. Upon   
   entering, my nose was immediately overwhelmed with the smell of   
   cigar smoke. Small town, old habits. They didn't worry about   
   secondhand smoke or labor laws that prevent smoking in any   
   governmental facility within the United States. Who was I to crack   
   down on them?   
      
   I crinkled my nose in discomfort and Mulder swiped at the air. It   
   was a futile attempt at removing the stench that was now creeping   
   into the fabric of our clothes. It would take one hell of a dry   
   cleaner to remove the lingering stench I foresaw in the near future.   
      
   "Excuse me, anyone here?" Mulder asked to the empty room. We   
   heard something that sounded like a grumble coming from around   
   a corner.  Mulder and I slowly walked towards it. The stream of   
   smoke billowing in the air was like a beacon in the dim room.   
      
   We turned the corner to find the profile of St. Nicholas himself.   
   Except, it wasn't exactly a jolly fat man in a red suit we saw.  It   
   looked more like a fat man in a burlap sack with his tan uniform.   
   His big feet were up on his desk, a newspaper open wide over his   
   round belly, and the offending cigar dangling from his wet lips.   
      
   Mulder cleared his throat to announce us. I sighed with irritation.   
   The fat man looked at us over his wire-rimmed glasses with a   
   detached interest.   
      
   "You those FBI agents who came to look into the Fuller murder?"   
   He wasn't exactly rude but his tone and demeanor did border on it.   
      
   "Yes, we are. Fox Mulder, and Dana Scully," I announced,   
   introducing us. The man slowly folded up his paper and set it on   
   his desk. He removed his feet from the gritty surface and stood.   
   Leaning back and stretching, his stomach protruded over his belt   
   buckle. I was losing my patience with every tick of the clock.   
      
   "Look, Sheriff," I began. I looked at his nametag and continued,   
   "Hartley. We came all the way from D.C. to look into this case. Do   
   you still have Brad Crane in custody? We'd like to speak with him   
   as soon as possible."   
      
   "Nope, we don't have him anymore. He's been released," the   
   Sheriff announced.   
      
   "Released! Our headquarters were told that he had been picked up   
   for questioning about Christina Fuller's murder. He was supposed   
   to be held until we were able to interrogate him upon our arrival."   
   My fury was starting to take over. Lack of sleep and grief could   
   bring out my fiery Irish temper.   
      
   Mulder placed a gentle hand to my forearm. The gesture took away   
   some of my frustration but not much.   
      
   "Sheriff Hartley, why was Mr. Crane released?" he asked in a calm   
   but firm tone.   
      
   "He didn't kill, Christina." He sat on the edge of his desk, as if   
   holding up the weight of his belly was too much for his spindly   
   legs to take. If he had been a woman, he would be eight months   
   pregnant right now.   
      
   "Then who did?" I asked in the nicest voice I could muster. We   
   were getting nowhere with the man.   
      
   "Don't know." He shrugged.   
      
   Was he for real? Could he string together more than a couple   
   words at a time? Jesus! Christina was a wonderful doctor and my   
   friend. How could he be so uninterested? I couldn't believe that her   
   death was being investigated by a caricature of a law official.  Law   
   and Order, my ass.  This was more like Mayberry, RFD.   
      
   "Would you like to expand on that for us, Sheriff?" Mulder was   
   amazing. He was standing there with a bland expression on his   
   face and a hand in his pocket, leaning his lanky frame against a   
   tall   
   file cabinet. If you didn't know him, you'd think he was ambivalent   
   about finding out about Christina's death, but I knew better. He   
   was trying to show the Sheriff an aura of trust. He was not holding   
   a defensive pose, like the one I was sporting right now. He was   
   calm and collected and the Sheriff was buying it.  Sometimes it   
   paid to have a psychologist for a partner.   
      
   "Like I said, he didn't kill her. There were fingerprints all over   
   the   
   woman's body and not one of them were his."   
      
   "How is that possible?" I asked, frustrated. "He was her fiance;   
   surely, he touched her at some point that day?"   
      
   "Because he left their house before Christina took her morning   
   shower. She was killed after work. We figure the murder took   
   place some time between going to the grocery store after leaving   
   her office, and right before making it home to Mr. Crane that   
   evening," he said.   
      
   Finally, we were getting somewhere.   
      
   "So, where are you with the case?" Mulder chimed in.   
      
   "We're interviewing the grocery store attendants and trying to pin   
   down the exact time of death. There had to be a reason she pulled   
   over to the side of the road. We figure she must have known her   
   assailant, or she was picking up a hitch hiker."   
      
   "She wouldn't do that," I said softly. "Pick up a hitch hiker, that   
   is," I clarified.   
      
   "You know, Agent Scully, I get the impression that you knew Ms.   
   Fuller," he said kindly.   
      
   "Yes, I did, Sheriff."  That was all I was going to say about that.   
   Mulder's eyes met mine. They held a hint of sympathy within them   
   and I looked away quickly. I couldn't break down here.   
      
   "Would it be possible for us to get copies of everything you have   
   on this case to date?" Mulder asked the Sheriff.   
      
   "I guess it couldn't hurt." He moved with more speed than I   
   thought possible to make the copies for us.   
      
   I was sure he just wanted us to get the hell out of here. I'd bet he   
   was thinking that us big fibbies who came into small towns and put   
   their noses and fancy suits into the mix just mucked everything up.   
   A small laugh escaped me before I could tamp it down.   
      
   Mulder looked at me and grinned. He's thinking the same thing.   
      
   Just as the Sheriff returned with the copies, a young man briskly   
   entered the small office.   
      
   "Sheriff! We got him!" My heart jumped in anticipation.   
      
   "Who, Deputy?" It was the first speck of animation we'd seen from   
   the Sheriff since we entered.   
      
   "Ronald M. Graceson!" he exclaimed.   
      
   "Ronnie? Deb's boy?"   
      
   The young deputy nodded his head excitedly.   
      
   "Now what did he go and do this time?" the Sheriff asked.   
      
   "He killed Rebecca Stowe!" The young man's wide smile couldn't   
   be tamed even by the subject matter. My hopes for Christina sank.   
      
   The Sheriff's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding! Are you sure?   
   You have to be sure or his Mamma is going to have the entire town   
   trying to string us both up by the balls."   
      
   "We have a full confession. We're bringing him in now." The   
   young man jittered from side to side, clearly there was too much   
   adrenalin running rampant through his system.   
      
   Mulder and I stood to the side, silently watching the debacle   
   unfold. The young man's face finally registered that someone else   
   was in the tiny room. He hooked a thumb at us. "Who are they?"   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)