if Agent Garson insists we meet all you will hear is what you've already read in the official report." She tucked the purse under her arm. "By the way, Agent Garson knows the truth, too."
Mulder rose as she left without looking back, and stayed on his feet.
A high-speed drum covered with coarse sand-paper.
"Sculy—"
"Don't say it."
"But you saw—"
"I saw the pictures, yes. I read the report, yes. But given the time frame we're working with, unless Paulie's father and sister are incredibly off-base with their sense of timing, there's no way it could happen like that."
He looked down at her, pale under the table light. "It happened, Scully. It happened."
She leaned toward him, arms resting on the table. "Then explain it to me. Explain how some-one could assemble an apparatus of that size, bring it down to the river without being seen, put the boy in it, kill him, take him out, and get away Again, without anybody seeing a thing."
"The girl—"
"Saw nothing we can substantiate. Ghosts, Mulder. She said she saw ghosts."
"And whispers," he reminded her. "She also said she heard whispers."
Scully slumped back and shook her head. "What does it mean? I don't get it."
"I don't either." He yanked open the drapes, turned off the lights, and dropped into the chair opposite her. "But so far, everyone who's talked to us has—" He stopped, dosed his eyes briefly, then moved to the bed and stared for a moment at the telephone on the night table.
"Mulder?"
"Konochine," he said, and picked up the
receiver "Why do we keep bumping into the Konochine?"
"While you're at it," she said. "Give Garson a call and find out why he's so reluctant to tell us the truth."
Donna looked helplessly at the two dozen car-tons stacked in her spare room. They were all ready for shipping, or for hand delivery to area shops. A permanent cold seemed to have attached itself to her spine, to her stomach. She couldn't stop shaking. She had denied cheating anyone, of course, and had even shown him the ledger to prove it. But it had been close. There had been no apology, only a lingering warning look before he left, slamming the door as he went.
She had to get out.
All the potential money in this room wasn't going to do her any good if she wasn't around to spend it.
She looked at her watch. If she hurried, she could clean out out the bank account, be packed, and be out of this godforsaken state before mid-night. Leave everything behind. It didn't matter. The house, her clothes . . . none of it mattered. Just take the money and get out.
But first she would have to make a phone call. She couldn't leave without saying goodbye.
Garson wasn't in his office, and no one there knew where he could be found. The secretary thought he might be at the ME's office.
The second call was to information.
When the third was finished, Mulder replaced the receiver and began to wonder.
"What?" Scully asked.
"According to his sister, Paulie picked up a piece of jewelry from one of the local shops. A sil-ver pendant of some kind." Mulder looked up. "She thinks it was Konochine."
"And?"
"And I don't remember seeing it as being with his effects."
"Such as they were," she reminded him.
"Whatever. It wasn't there." He rose, and paced until Scully's warning groan put him back in his chair.
"That woman, the one who handles the crafts."
She flipped open a notebook, paged through it, and said, "Falkner."
"You want to take a ride?"
"Mulder—"
"The connection, Scully. You can't deny we have a connection."
The rental car had been delivered, and the clerk at the front desk gave him a map and directions to the address he had found in the telephone
book. The parking lot was on the north side of the Inn, through a gated entry in the side wall. As he slipped behind the wheel, Mulder noted that the car seemed to have every gadget known to Detroit, except perhaps an orbital trajectory track-ing system.
It took him a few seconds to get oriented, and a few seconds more
Mulder rose as she left without looking back, and stayed on his feet.
A high-speed drum covered with coarse sand-paper.
"Sculy—"
"Don't say it."
"But you saw—"
"I saw the pictures, yes. I read the report, yes. But given the time frame we're working with, unless Paulie's father and sister are incredibly off-base with their sense of timing, there's no way it could happen like that."
He looked down at her, pale under the table light. "It happened, Scully. It happened."
She leaned toward him, arms resting on the table. "Then explain it to me. Explain how some-one could assemble an apparatus of that size, bring it down to the river without being seen, put the boy in it, kill him, take him out, and get away Again, without anybody seeing a thing."
"The girl—"
"Saw nothing we can substantiate. Ghosts, Mulder. She said she saw ghosts."
"And whispers," he reminded her. "She also said she heard whispers."
Scully slumped back and shook her head. "What does it mean? I don't get it."
"I don't either." He yanked open the drapes, turned off the lights, and dropped into the chair opposite her. "But so far, everyone who's talked to us has—" He stopped, dosed his eyes briefly, then moved to the bed and stared for a moment at the telephone on the night table.
"Mulder?"
"Konochine," he said, and picked up the
receiver "Why do we keep bumping into the Konochine?"
"While you're at it," she said. "Give Garson a call and find out why he's so reluctant to tell us the truth."
Donna looked helplessly at the two dozen car-tons stacked in her spare room. They were all ready for shipping, or for hand delivery to area shops. A permanent cold seemed to have attached itself to her spine, to her stomach. She couldn't stop shaking. She had denied cheating anyone, of course, and had even shown him the ledger to prove it. But it had been close. There had been no apology, only a lingering warning look before he left, slamming the door as he went.
She had to get out.
All the potential money in this room wasn't going to do her any good if she wasn't around to spend it.
She looked at her watch. If she hurried, she could clean out out the bank account, be packed, and be out of this godforsaken state before mid-night. Leave everything behind. It didn't matter. The house, her clothes . . . none of it mattered. Just take the money and get out.
But first she would have to make a phone call. She couldn't leave without saying goodbye.
Garson wasn't in his office, and no one there knew where he could be found. The secretary thought he might be at the ME's office.
The second call was to information.
When the third was finished, Mulder replaced the receiver and began to wonder.
"What?" Scully asked.
"According to his sister, Paulie picked up a piece of jewelry from one of the local shops. A sil-ver pendant of some kind." Mulder looked up. "She thinks it was Konochine."
"And?"
"And I don't remember seeing it as being with his effects."
"Such as they were," she reminded him.
"Whatever. It wasn't there." He rose, and paced until Scully's warning groan put him back in his chair.
"That woman, the one who handles the crafts."
She flipped open a notebook, paged through it, and said, "Falkner."
"You want to take a ride?"
"Mulder—"
"The connection, Scully. You can't deny we have a connection."
The rental car had been delivered, and the clerk at the front desk gave him a map and directions to the address he had found in the telephone
book. The parking lot was on the north side of the Inn, through a gated entry in the side wall. As he slipped behind the wheel, Mulder noted that the car seemed to have every gadget known to Detroit, except perhaps an orbital trajectory track-ing system.
It took him a few seconds to get oriented, and a few seconds more
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