Disclaimer: Anything to do with the "X-Files" belongs to Chris Carter and FOX. If you don't know that by know then you've been living under a rock and most likely don't have a computer to read this, so why am I bothering to write a disclaimer in the first place? This is a crossover, but I'm writing it so that the reader does NOT have to be familiar with the thing it's crossed over with. If I tell you now it'll give too much away, anyway. Sans Avertissement (Il Peut Y Avoir Seulement D'un) by Rhondda Lake (part 1/?) 5 MILES NORTHWEST NEW IBERIA, LA BAYOU TECHE 10:00 AM MONDAY Rochelle clipped her Iberia Parish Police Department badge to the neck of her faded gray t-shirt, so it hung right between her breasts. Pulling back her mass of unruly dark curls to be clipped into a ponytail, she slipped under the bright yellow crime scene tape and inhaled deeply. The air was rich with the earthy, green heavy scent of the Teche. The cry of birds echoed through the black willow and water locust. Her golden eyes caught the movement of a snake as it disappeared into the greenery, most likely it was highly annoyed at all the activity disturbing its morning sunning. Ahead three uniformed cops were talking to three boys between the ages of twelve and fourteen. The coroner's van was pulled as close to the dock as it dared and the soft, spongy earth threatened to trap it. A team was already taking notes and pictures and pretty soon the whole area would be crawling with the carrion eaters commonly known as the press. "What've we got?" she approached the nearest cop. "We got a dead man, 'tective. What'd you think we got?" Shelly rolled her eyes. "Too much t'ask for intelligence, huh?" She shoved past him to the end of a ancient, tilted dock most likely held together by the moss and mold covering it. Three fishing poles lay abandoned. Peering into the murky water she saw the bloated remains and smelled the putrid addition to the swamp aroma. The photographer moved off the sodden wood to give her room. "Been least three days. Looks like the gators been snackin'. What's this make, four floaters this year?" She looked up at the forensic photographer who shrugged, making his dreadlocks touch his shoulders. "'Bout that, Shell. First one like this. He's gonna be hard identifyin'." Louis Marcell gestured to the top of the corpse. "That's why we have fingerprints now, ain't it?" She left the dock approached the kids who had found lucky number four. The bayou had long been a popular dumping ground for those who had died of other than natural causes. What the wildlife here did not consume, the water helped to scour away. Evidence became obscured easily. "'Kay, who snagged our friend back there?" XXXX IBERIA PARISH COURT HOUSE 1:00 PM WEDNESDAY Rochelle LeCroix paced the small office closed off from the noisy action of the bullpen. She spun on her heel when the door opened and Captain Kincade walked in. "What the hell's this crap?" She tossed the file she'd been holding on his desk. "This is *MY* case. I don't need any jackass Feds trompin' their asses through my investigation. I got enough trouble without addin' this." "Sit your ass down, LeCroix." Kincade ran a huge hand down his dark face. "It's not like I had much choice. Your John Doe case has a lot in common with some cases across the country. As soon as you entered the particulars in the database a red flag went up. Now we got no choice but to let these people look around. An' I'm tellin' you here and now, you're gonna cooperate with them completely. You hear me? No losin' information or forgettin' where you put reports." Rochelle's face darkened. "I don't operate that way, Cap'n. And I resent the implication." "Shelly, I ain't accusin' you of anythin'. I just want to drive home the seriousness of this." "I got a three-day-ol' floater. I consider it pretty serious. I don't need any killers foulin' up the bayou. I'm sure you read the paper today." She crossed her arms and tilted her head. The chief winced. He'd read. Rochelle was one of the most outspoken down-right PUSHY women he knew. He always suspected that her daddy, having no sons to raise, treated his only child like a son. That would explain why she wasn't as polite, or as demure as most women in his Parish. It also explained how she got to be a detective. There were few females out here wearing the uniform and walking the beat, even fewer who got beyond that. Rochelle had got where she was by sheer will, hard work and the pure tenaciousness of a pit bull. The men on the force didn't know what to make of her, though most accepted her as one of their own. It was that very spirit that was causing problems now. This, her first murder case, had too few leads, little evidence and a body that still remained unidentified. If it went unsolved she would look bad, and she didn't deserve that. If she got this solved with the help of the Feds, she could honestly say she didn't want them herein the first place. If it STILL remained unsolved it could be pointed out that the Feds couldn't solve it either. Both ways, she would win. Unfortunately, she was too damn stubborn to see that. "Then take the help of these Feds. You're rankin' officer on this case. You know the bayou. You keep these Feds from becomin' gatorbait, kay? That way I don't have to read anymore headlines about headless corpses." Kincade maneuvered his considerable bulk into the chair behind his desk. "Merde, I don't like it." She scooped the file back up. "I didn' ask you to like it. But you're gonna be doin' it so scratch ass and get glad." Rochelle growled and stormed out of the office, muttering Cajun oaths under her breath. "Now why am I already feelin' sorry for those Feds?" Kincade shook his head. XXXX LAFAYETTE AIRPORT THURSDAY 9:16 AM Rochelle handed Louis a cup of coffee. "Tell me again why I'm here with you?" Louis took a sip of the too-strong brew and offered her a lop sided grin. "My incredible winnin' personality, chere." She managed not to spew her own coffee. "Yeah, right. You got all the girls just swarmin' all over you." "New girl every night. It's my charm." Rochelle smirked; it was more likely his looks. He looked like Denzel Washington with a scar along his jawline and a funny hairdo. Louis was the only black man she had ever met with those damn Jamacian Dreadlocks. "It's your camera. I heard all your lines pertaining to getting a woman to pose nude for you. You're a real charmer a'right." Rochelle had been forced to ask Louis Marcell to play chauffeur. He had a brand new Cherokee and because as her best friend he had a hard time denying her anything. She cursed her aging and decrepit Buick for the thousandth time this morning. She'd tried using its refusal to turn over this morning as an excuse not to pick up the Feds taking her case from her. Kincade did not want to hear it. "How're we gonna know these guys from the tourists?" Louis peered into the swarming mass of people shuffling through the airport gallery. "Look for bad suits, an' attitudes," Shelly grinned, tapping her badge in its customary place, the first place men tended to look after her eyes. "If they're worth their salt, they'll find us. If not, I just tell Kincade we couldn't find them." "Looks like they found us." Louis inclined his head to the advancing figures. Rochelle formed an immediate opinion on first site. The man was a jerk. Incredibly good looking, but totally lacking in manners. They had an equal number of luggage a piece, yet he made no offer to carry any of his partners, despite the fact that the woman was a tiny, fine boned little thing. Rochelle felt like an overtall, overfed lummox in comparison, and immediately got angry at herself for caring. Five foot ten was a perfectly decent height, and so what if she wore a size twelve, she had all the right curves in all the right places, and long legs to boot. And just who the hell did she want to impress anyway? Her honey-colored eyes raked over both agents. Obviously not them. The big bad wolf and little red riding hood. "Detective LeCroix?" The man set down his bag and offered her his hand. She shook it, warily but firmly. "That's me. This is Louis Marcell, sometimes primary forensic specialist, all time cop." The woman was next to shake Shelly's hand. "I'm Agent Scully, this is Agent Mulder. How soon can we view the body?" Shelly felt herself warming to Agent Scully immediately. They shared a get-to-the-point attitude. Differences in physical appearences aside, they were both women in a man's world. Shelly grudgingly decided to give this Agent Scully a chance. Her partner was still a jerk, though. "As soon as we check you into your hotel. Unfortunately the local wildlife had three days to nibble on it." Rochelle gestured to the airport exit. Louis nodded and, without missing a beat, bent to pick up the bags Agent Scully had put down to greet them. Agent Scully looked a bit offended. "I can carry those." "No doubt you could, Agent Scully. No doubt you could. But my momma would spin in her grave if I forgot my manners with a lady." He flashed white teeth at her. "This way, please." He led the way, and Rochelle smacked him on the shoulder. "C'est assez. You're pourin' it on thicker than cane syrup and just as transparent." Louis shrugged as he loaded the bags in the back of his car. "You get nowhere without tryin', chere." "You get nowhere WITH tryin', mon ami." Rochelle rolled her eyes as Louis bustled away to open the passenger side door for Agent Scully. The woman offered him a slightly amused smile for his efforts. "Is he always this... enthusiastic?" Agent Mulder asked her as he loaded his own luggage. "Only when he's tryin' to charm a lady. Just ignore him, and he'll go away. At least that's what I keep telling myself." They both climbed into the back seat. Rochelle 'accidently' poked Louis in the head with her elbow. "So... you got a lot of floaters to look into?" Rochelle asked after the first five minutes of the forty minute drive to New Iberia proved uncomfortably silent. "Floaters..." Mulder half muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Yeah, you know, the floating dead. Vic bobbin in the water. Floaters." Shelly caught the two agents exchange a look and mentally berated herself for treating Mulder as an idiot. A mannerless pig, he may be, but he was no idiot. Shelly rolled down her window to feel the wind in her face. Her daddy always said she was half hound dog, with her love of sticking her head out an open car window. Right now it whipped her long, dark curls about like her hair was a living creature with it's own will. "Once in a while. But it was the body's OTHER condition that interests us." Mulder had to speak up to be heard over the rush of wind and sounds of traffic. "Half gnawed on?" Shelly wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Headless." Mulder corrected her. Shelly laughed out loud, a throaty chuckle. "Then you're wastin' your time. Our poor boy made a gator's lunch. Didn't you read the autopsy report? Cause of death unknown, but those bite marks round the neck give a clue." Agent Scully twisted in her seat and locked eyes with her partner. It was a meaningful look. It was an 'I-told-you-so' kind of look. "We just want to be sure. It's possible the alligator took a bit after the fact." Mulder insisted. "I suppose. We still haven't ascertained the cause of death. Wouldn't be surprised if he was shot execution style." "What makes you say that, Detective LeCroix?" Scully turned to face her. "Shelly, please. If you're gonna work with me, Shelly's easier to spit out. Anyway, we've had floaters before. A backdoor man who got caught by a pissed-off husband was the first this year in January. Then there was the drug distributer who was cheatin' his dealer. Still unsure about the third. He's still unidentified. Of those three, Mr. Backdoor and the skimmer were shot in the back of the head with 9 millimeter rounds. Very common. Different scores on the shell, before you start wonderin'." "And the third?" Mulder stared at her, challengingly. Shit, Shelly thought, he knew. "Third guy was stabbed through the heart, eviscerated and got his head lopped off. That there set off a lot of speculation, and even more fear in the bayou." Louis piped in. Ever the helpful, Shelly thought. "Yeah, someone also electrocuted the corpse. But before you get all moon-eyed over another headless wonder, the latest suffered no pre-death mutilation that we can tell. Serial killers escalate, they don't go backwards." Shelly felt obliged to point out. "There was enough of our latest vic left to establish that." The Cajun woman tapped her teeth with a fingernail before sending a sidelong glance Mulder's way. "So why didn't y'all fly down here after the first headless floater? We did establish decapitation as the final cause of death there." Mulder shrugged. "Because a single decapitation, while gruesome, is unfortunately, not as uncommon as you might think. But two, this close together in both time and location... That's a pattern in one of our case files. I wouldn't be surprised if more headless corpses show up around here in the next few years." "Thank you, Mister Sunshine." Shelly glared. She shifted her gaze to meet Louis' in the rear view mirror. He looked upset at the prospect. They entered Iberia Parish's territory in silence. This time it was Agent Scully who broke it. "I feel like we're in the middle of some primeval forest." She seemed to be attempting to peer into the cool shadows of the trees. "We like it this way. The Acadians were chased out of Nova Scotia by the British in the seventeen-hundreds. We settled here and on into Texas. The remoteness allows us to keep our own ways and traditions. Most Acadians don't much care for city life." Shelly waved her hand at the passing vegitation. "Or strangers. In central New Iberia they like tourists and their money. But on the outskirts... they don't know what to make of strangers. It's a lot like one big family, mon ami." Louis put in. "Ever hear of Southern hospitality?" That remark earned Mulder another glare from Shelly. "Ever hear of manners? Someone oughtta' give your momma a call, Agent Mulder." Agent Scully turned to look out the windshield again. Shelly detected a tell-tale shaking to her shoulders. End part 1... Disclaimed in part one, and in the final segment. Sans Avertissement (Il Peut Y Avoir Seulement D'un) by Rhondda Lake (part 2/?) IBERIA MEDICAL CENTER THURSDAY 3:18 PM Rochelle reviewed her current choices. It looked like it was going to be a Snickers bar or pre-bagged Chex mix. The basement vending machine needed to be restocked. Inserting the proper change she opted for the Chex Mix. She didn't need the chocolate making her any more hyper then she was. She sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair and absently picked the melba toast out of the mix as she read The Daily Iberian. She didn't need to go into the Autopsy suite with the two FBI agents and the Parish Coroner. She had been present at the first autopsy as she hadn't wanted to miss some vital clue that could have been caught by the coroner. The good Doctor smiled indulgently at her green complexion and determined interest and correctly guessed it was the first possible homicide she was ranking officer in. She folded the paper closed with disgust. Some hot-shot reporter had managed to ferret out the previous decapitation death and was peicing together an ugly picture. People in the parish were going to become frightened. Frightened people tended to act irrationally. There were sure to be more prowler reports and accidental shootings because of this. And to top it all off, if this case remained unsolved the public was going to look at her and point the finger. Now out of melba toast she turned to picking the pretzels out of her small bag of mix. She made it to the last one before the FBI agents burst through the double doors, so focused on their own discussion they didn't notice her. "Okay, but why would anyone electrocute a body post mortem. Further, where was the point of entry? His missing arm? His missing head? Jesus, Mulder, why exactly are we here?" Agent Scully spoke softly as they strolled right past Shelly. "I'd love to know the answer to that, myself." Shelly chimed in as she fell into step behind the two. They both spun, almost surprised to see her there. Shelly tried to mask her annoyance. What did they think, she'd run off with Louis after they got their own rental car? "Je ne pense pas ainsi," she muttered under her breath. I don't think so. "What was that?" Mulder frowned. Shelly smiled brightly, "I said I'd love to know why you're here, myself." "I thought we already covered that on the drive over." Mulder ushered Scully along with a possessive hand at the small of her back. "You implied my Parish might be playin' host to a serial killer, Agent Mulder. I'd like to know why you're assumin' that." Shelly moved to Mulder's other side. "There have been sixty four decapitations in major cities in the last six years. These deaths are not linked to any unfortunate accidents. All are listed as murders." "Have y'all looked for a psycho with a guillotine?" Shelly stepped into the elevator before them. "Sixty four is a pretty high number. Anyways, I'm not sayin' it can't be done, mind you, just that it'd take one determined killer not to get caught by now." "You haven't heard all of it," Scully looked slightly amused. "Many of these slayings have happened in time frames and locations that make it impossable for a single killer to travel." "You're implyin' a cult of head whackin' crazies? Now that... I'm findin' difficult to credit." Shelly walked out of the elevator first, at the main floor. "Well, all of the bodies do suffer post mortem electrocution causing some cellular damage. And those found immediately do have another common characteristic. They are all in remarkably good health." Mulder continued, "Autopsy reports have mentioned no cellular breakdown in any of the major organs." "Which is unheard of," Scully cut him off. "As we age our cells do replace themselves but all organs suffer damage over time, slowly replacing less and less damaged cells resulting in the organ failures associated with the aging process." Agent Scully suddenly stopped for a heartbeat and focused solely on Agent Mulder. "That's what has your interest, isn't it? It isn't these deaths themselves, but the enigma of the bodies." The two agents once more seemed to have tuned Shelly out completely as they walked to the main entry of the hospital. "The electrical storms witnessed near some of the death scenes also caught my eye. Some of them occured in cloudless skies. I think those electrical storms account for the post mortem electricution." Mulder removed his hand from Scully's back as they approached the car. "Mais sa c'est fou." Shelly spoke up as she climbed into the back seat of their rental without asking. "That's crazy." She translated for them. "Now you're sayin' some magical killer is summoning storms. I got it, the killer is a disenchanted Indian medician man doin' a Rain dance after he kills." Shelly offered a cheeky smile. "Now there's one theory he hasn't offered yet." Scully buckled herself in. "Well, y'all better come up with a better theory fast." Shelly handed Scully the paper. "Sooner orr later the press is gonna zero in on you two." "I'd like to see where the last body was found." Mulder looked at Shelly as started the car and Scully scanned the article with a look of distaste. "Get on North one eighty-two. I'll get you there." Shelly checked her watch. "And when ya'll are done there, I'm gonna treat you to dinner at Daddy Dion's." Shelly was aware that anyone who knew her would have considered her smile warning enough. But these two were going to have to learn for themselves. XXX 5 MILES NORTHWEST NEW IBERIA, LA BAYOU TECHE THURSDAY 3:45 PM Shelly wandered a bit away from the dock. It was pushing ninety five degrees and the sun was shining down with a punishing weight. The heat bugs made their music in the thick vegetation, heedless of their audience. The water danced in firework sparkles to their waltz. The plopping slurp of something surfacing then retreating back underwater was a lonely sound. There was no crime scene tape now. Just a lone strand wrapped around one of the dock supports. A yellow ribbon for someone who would not be returning. Shelly managed a small smile. Agent Mulder had refused to heed her advice about removing his summer weight suit coat. Now he had it slung over his shoulder as he peered into the water. For a moment he appeared to her like some mystic oracle, searching the reflective surface of the water for some clue scried into it's memory. Then he stood up from his crouch and ruined the effect. He was just a man. One with a sweat sheened face and a fancy shirt clinging to his skin. Agent Scully had been a bit more pragmatic. Her jacket was in the car, and her sleeveless white shell top was not nearly as damp. She was peering at some catty-nine-tails to the side of the dock. "Were these like this when you found him?" Scully turned to question Shelly, prompting the detective to step, wearily, back onto the rickety peer. There were several broken stalks and bent leaves. "Not as bad. Some of that was done by Louis as he searched for any traces of blood, or gun shells. There were signs of someone passing through the growth. I believe I noted that in my report." She frowned, slightly scolding. "I was pretty sure it was done by the kids who found him, or their dog." Leaning over to peer over Agent Scully's shoulder Shelly had to stifle a sudden urge to giggle. The agent's short, auburn hair was not quite capable, in it's current sweat dampened state, to cover a faint hicky behind her ear. A relatively fresh one at that. Shelly moved slightly away and gestured to the end of the dock. "He was found floating belly down at the end here. His remaining arm was loosely hooked on the piling here." As she explained she looked at Agent Mulder out of the corner of her eye and managed to keep her observation to herself. He was good looking, she'd give him that. There had to be something there besides ill manners and annoying attitude if he'd been the one to cause that skin discoloration. Agent Scully struck Shelly as the discriminating type. Mulder bent to examine one of the dock's pilings. "Did you see this?" Shelly tried to follow his eyes. There was a deep cut in the wood. "Not particularly. That one over there has 'Byrom loves Sue' carved in it. What's your point?" "This one was recent." He pulled a sliver that was sticking out a bit from the gash. "Did I mention it was three boys who found the body? This here dock has hosted kids fishing for as long as I can recall. Kids love to doodle on wood. It's part of growing up. Didn't you ever carve something into wood?" Shelly crossed her arms. "Yeah, just last weekend I carved 'Lestat Sucks' into a park bench. But kids don't cut half way through a piling." Mulder stood up. "Something sharp hit this at a downward angle, with enough force to cut half way through. Have your lab look at this." He pulled some more of the old wood loose and handed it to Shelly. Shelly pulled a zip lock from her jeans pocket and deposited the chunk of wood. She realized she couldn't remember when she had first started carrying zip locks in her pockets. Most likely the same time she started stashing rubber gloves in her glovebox. "Alright. Is there anything else you think we missed?" Shelly looked around. "You said you had someone search the lake-bed?" Shelly nodded silently. "Then that's all for now." Mulder turned and inclined his head toward the boathouse where it stood back a bit from the dock. "You checked out there?" "Of course we did. It was locked, the hinges were still rusted in place, but we checked it out anyway. We took hair samples from the three kids so we know if the contaminated the body. We bagged the vic's hand. We took pictures of the tire tracks in the mud, for all the good it'll do us." Shelly sighed and turned to Scully. "Look we did follow the procedures. I want to get this guy maybe more then you do, if we do have a serial killer on our hands." Scully frowned. "We aren't accusing you of anything, Detective LeCroix." Shelly let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm a bit defensive here. This is my first potential homicide case. I've had to be twice as good and work twice as hard as every man in the department to get just as far as I have. I take everything personally. I have to." "Sometimes, you lose sight of things if you don't step back and see the whole picture. Don't you have a partner?" "My partner was Travers DeChase. He retired a month ago. They haven't gotten around to sticking someone else with me." She shrugged. Scully pursed her lips and nodded, as if noting something. "That all you need here?" Shelly gestured to the insect laden, swampy lake edge. "For now." Mulder started back for the car. XXX Daddy Dion's was filled with dim light and cigarette smoke. However the smell of good food over-rode the smell of tobacco. The restaurant was thick with Acadian atmosphere. Zydico was playing on the jukebox and the conversations of the clientele were punctuated by both Cajun-French and English. Shelly saw Louis immediately. His head bent close to Daddy Dion himself, talking in rapid French. Both looked up as she saw them. A pair of smiles greeted her and her 'guests'. "Well look what the cat done drag in. If it ain't Shelly 'I'm-too-damn-busy-to-visit-Daddy' LeCroix. I almost didn' recognize you, been so long." Daddy Dion looked about sixty, but his build was trim and athletic. He moved with the leashed power and grace of a hunting cat. In the past several rowdy patrons had found this out to their detriment. His first name was Lame, but no one ever used it. "C'est vrai, been about a whole week. Lay off the guilt trip, Daddy. I brought you two more patrons to make up for it." Shelly sat down at a table close to the bar Louis was leaning against. "Mind if I join you, chere? I was just about to order, myself." Louis watched the two FBI agents seat themselves, and took the last remaining chair. Facing the two foreigners he offered a toothy smile. "So have ya'll found anything new?" "A few things." Mulder muttered as the waitress arrived and handed Scully and him menus. She didn't offer Shelly and Louis any. "Iced tea tonight, Annie. I may still be on duty." Shelly looked at the others sharing her table. "I'm off duty, chere. The usual." Louis winked at the waitress waving his bottle of beer. "Two Cokes." Scully ordered for them both. "Need time to make up your minds or do you want to order now?" The dark eyed waitress smiled a sloe smile at Mulder. "Give us a few." Mulder looked amused. "I'll have some of Daddy's Jambalaya." Shelly looked at Mulder, "I recommend it. Best in the state." Scully nodded, "sounds good." "Make that three." Mulder handed his menu back. "Blackened catfish for me, chere." Louis tossed in. Shelly met Annie's eyes. "You know how I like it." "Peuvent-ils prendre la chaleur?" The waitress inclined her head to the agents in question. Shelly just shrugged and the server moved away. "What did she just ask?" Mulder frowned. "If you had Jambalaya before." Shelly answered. Louis almost choked on the beer he was nursing. End part 2... Disclaimer in part one. Sans Avertissement (Il Peut Y Avoir Seulement D'un) by Rhondda Lake (3/?) DADDY DION'S NEW IBERIA, LA 5:23 PM Agent Mulder's face was a very interesting shade of red, Shelly mused as she speared another piece of shrimp with her fork. She passed him his glass of coke with her other hand. He grabbed it quickly and downed the full glass in three long gulps. "Bread or crackers cut the burn faster." Shelly helpfully passed the breadbasket as well. Rochelle raised her glass of tea to salute Agent Scully, however. The woman had taste, and aplomb. The female agent speared another group of vegetables from her own plate and ate without flinching. The cayenne and peppers were actually a bit weak today, Shelly noted, most likely Daddy was taking pity on the poor Northerners. "What's in this?" Mulder managed to gasp out after swallowing a mouth full of cracker. "Shrimp, tomato, okra, beans, chicken, just about any ol' thing Daddy had on hand in the kitchen. A bit of cayenne, some peppers and tobasco. I apologize that it's a little tame today." Shelly calmly sipped at her tea. "Tame?" Mulder looked at his partner in astonishment as she continued to lay into her own meal. "Scully, how can you eat this stuff?" He reached for some more bread. "Annie, get Agent Mulder here a po'boy dressed. His palate is used to tamer meals." Shelly called over to the waitress. "Mulder, I spent time in the south when I was twelve. I know Cajun food." Scully smiled sweetly at him. Rochelle guessed by his glare that she'd pay for not warning him, later. "I am impressed. Now this, here, is a lady with taste and spirit. I do believe I am in love." Louis grinned across the table at Agent Scully. "C'est assez, Louis. Laissez la fille seul." Rochelle smacked his arm. "Why, chere? You jealous? I mean there is only so much Louis to go around." Louis threw his arm over Rochelle's shoulder. "I'm sorry, neither of us speak French. And I seemed to have gotten burned by not knowing half the conversation before..." Mulder looked highly annoyed. "I told him to lay off and leave your partner alone." Shelly responded honestly enough. She elbowed Louis. "Any northern gal who doesn't even sweat at Cajun cookin' is sure to kick your ass, Louis." "See, she is jealous. Why, Shelly, all you ever had to do was ask..." Louis' eyes sparkled with mischief. "I think I'm gonna be sick." Shelly rolled her eyes. "If my paycheck was as big as your ego, Marcell, I could retire and live easy the rest a' my days. I'm just glad I didn't know you before some angry husband decided to add spice to your pretty face." She brushed the scar along his jawbone with the back of her finger. "Did you two see that? She just made a pass at me." Louis almost laughed at Mulder and Scully. Mulder seemed to be mellowing out, and Scully appeared to be enjoying the floor show. "Louis, if I made a pass at you, your legs wouldn't hold you. Sorry, suga' I was just commenting on your insufferable personality." Agent Mulder eyed the sandwich set before him dubiously. He looked like he was going to poke it with his fork any minute. "It isn't gonna bite you. Leastways not like the jambalaya. It's a regular sandwich. Don't tell me I got ya' all jumpy now, G-man." Shelly beamed. He looked at his partner's amused face. "You're really getting a kick out of this, aren't you?" Agent Scully shrugged. "It is mildly entertaining, yes. But the sandwich is safe." The meal was just about finished when Shelly and Louis' beepers went off at one time. "Only one thing make us this popular, chere. Daddy, got ta use the phone." Louis excused himself and retrieved a phone from behind the bar. Three pair of eyes followed him. The conversation was short and he returned to the table with a strange expression. "They got a fingerprint match on your John Doe, Shelly. Two matches, actually. The files are bein' faxed to the office now. Name's Billy Ingols or Jack Ingersand. Both got a rap sheet longer then my arm. Mostly misdemeanors but get this... Ingols was a suspect in a decapitation murder in Dallas two months ago. Police there have been lookin' for 'em." Louis finished off his beer. Rochelle frowned. "Pick a name Louis. One or the other. Unless one name is an alias." "Tech insists they are two different people. Ingersand is about thirty years older than Ingols. But no one knows where he's at, either." Louis chewed his bottom lip, looking as confused as Shelly. Shelly noticed both agents exchange another look. When Agent Mulder's attention shifted back to Louis he looked like a kid who'd been just offered candy. "Let's go. I'd like to see those records, myself." The group got up and Shelly took care of the tab. As they filed out she tugged Louis' sleeve. "Hey, how come you got beeped? This was my case, now it's theirs." She motioned to the two already getting into their car. "I was spot forensics on this one. I'm interested in who he was, too. You know I'm not gonna horn in on your territory, there. You got claws and know how to use 'em." Louis nodded to the rental car backing out of the lot. "Looks like you ride with me this time. I do believe you have injured Agent Mulder's frail masculinity." Shelly grinned. "He has NO sense of humor. One little joke and..." she gestured at the retreating car's tail lights. XXX IBERIA PARISH COURTHOUSE NEW IBERIA 5:48 PM Shelly was becoming more and more confused as she read. Irritatingly, Agent Mulder appeared to become more and more excited. Mug shots over the fax were annoyingly bad, but the pictures of the two men were eerily identical. Billy Ingols and Jack Ingersand both had records of assault and breaking and entering as well as a handful of misdemeanors. Billy Ingols was from Connecticut while Jack Ingersand was from California. Unfortunately, Ingersand would be around 65 now. The remains of the victim were closer to Ingols age of 32. Shelly kept reading, then tossed Ingersand's records onto the table. "Damn idiots should have removed him from the database ten years ago. Ingersand was killed in a bank robbery. Shot in the head by a SWAT sharpshooter and pronounced on the scene." Mulder scooped up the record. "That still doesn't tell us why both men have identical fingerprints. This is statistically impossable." Mulder placed both mug shots side by side. "Scully, look at this." Agent Scully peered closely at the pictures. "Well, that might explain it, Mulder. It's quite possible that Ingols is Ingersand's son. The prints were chosen for being 95% accurate, that leaves a five percent margin of error. A familial similarity is possible." "Scully, even identical twins have different fingerprints. Five percent is not a comfortable margin." Mulder began spouting off similarities in the rap sheets. "Mulder, what are you saying? That Ingols is Ingersand? The body we have is far from sixty, and the most recent report on Ingols record lists him as 33. Not even Jack Lalane can pass for a man thirty years his junior." She leaned back, resting her hip on Shelly's desk. "We've seen something like this before, Scully. Tooms." Shelly saw Agent Scully shiver, slightly. "That was due to a genetic mutation that..." "...might not be a lone incident." Mulder finished for her. "Excuse me. Y'all can fill me in at any time now. Before I call the guys in the white coats, that is." Shelly interrupted them both. "We've run into some... genetic anomalies before. One man hibernated for 30 years at a shot and ate human livers." The expression on Mulder's face was completely deadpan. "I see... Look just because I grew up on the bayou doesn't mean I'm some sort of undereducated hick. I've got a serious case here." Shelly tapped the records with a finger. "And a serious attitude problem, detective. I'm dead serious, here." Mulder crossed his arms. It was Louis who spoke up this time. "You really think Ingols and Ingersand are one in the same? Look, even if there was some genetic anti-aging agent at work here, no one just gets up and walks away after getting the back of their head blown off. Ingersand is dead." "I agree. He's laying in cold storage at your morgue." Mulder seemed to have his hackles in a ruff. Shelly didn't need two idiotic alpha males pissing on the furniture, especially when the nearest furniture was her desk. "Arrete. C'est assez." Shelly saw Louis toss a pencil on his desk with barely restrained hostility. "I said, that's enough, Louis. We've got to work together on this. If you don't want to play nice, take a hike." Scully leafed through both reports. "Now, that's odd." The statement was half muttered to herself. "What?" Mulder began looking over her shoulder, his hands falling with easy familiarity on her arms. Rochelle immediately took that as confirmation of her early suspicion. These two were more then partners. "Ingols record sheet starts six months after Ingersand's death. This kind of trouble usually doesn't just start out of nowhere. Juvenile records are no doubt sealed, but this shows nothing until Ingols is 25." Scully pointed to the dates in question. "I'm sure this is all very fascinating. But even if you're right, how does this tie into WHY he's floating without a head in MY bayou?" Shelly glared. "I'm willing to lay even bets that neither Ingols or Ingersand had records or any paper trail prior to their thirtieth birthday. As if they didn't exist. It seems to be a common thread with the victims of most of these decapitation murders." Mulder met Sherry's glare with a look of cool disinterest. "That's it. I'm outta here. Shell, you call me when you're finished with Rod Serling here. I like normal cases, not Star Trek." Louis pushed away from his perch on his desk and headed for the door. "Well," Shelly looked at the two agents, "Looks like you're my ride." XXX 03:35PM Rochelle awoke to an incessant pounding against the front door of her modest family home. She pulled on a robe and stumbled to the door in the darkness, while hiding her glock behind her back. Looking through the window she relaxed and threw open the door. "Louis, if you aren't drunk you will soon be dead." Rochelle turned on the lights as her friend entered the living room and fell heavily on the couch. "We got another one. Only this time he ain't an unknown, and he wasn't any troublemaker." "Get off my couch. I'll just be a minute. We gotta swing round and pick up our 'pals' from the motel. Who is it this time?" Louis wouldn't meet her eyes. Shelly stood stalk still. Something was very wrong. "Louis?" "Lame Dion. Rene' and Jo-Jo found him. He was killed behind the restaurant. It... it ain't pretty, chere." Rochelle bit down on her inner cheek, hard enough to taste the blood. She choked back her tears and took a slow breath to calm the shaking of rage and grief within her body. "I'll go get dressed." In her bedroom she allowed herself the brief luxury of a few tears as she dressed. When she clipped on her badge she stopped the flow. She needed cool detatchment. She needed professional distance. She needed justice. Descending the stairs she faced Marcell again. "Kincade considered calling you off this one. But, considerin' there ain't a cop in the Parish who didn't know Daddy... The Feds are already used to workin' with you..." "Thanks, Louis. I know... you pulled some strings... I..." He cut her off. "Just do the right thing, chere. And if that means walkin' away, don't let revenge warp your mind, and if you feel you can't be objective..." "I'll step aside. Agreed. Let's go." Shelly walked woodenly to Louis' Jeep. end part 3... Disclaimed in part 1. NC-17 for violent imagery. Sans Avertissement (Il Peut Y Avoir Seulement D'un) by Rhondda Lake part 4/? Shelly had not been surprised that there was no answer when she banged on Agent Scully's hotel room door a half hour ago. Nor was she surprised to find Agent Mulder answer his wearing only a pair of blue cotton boxers and a scowl. He barely opened the door a crack and just nodded when she told him why she and Louis were banging on doors at this ungodly hour. Now here they were, looking impeccably dressed and professional as they ducked both the police tape and the reporters gathering like flies with equal grace. They approached her with a kind of guarded respect for her privacy. Slow and silent, yet perfectly within view. Shelly looked away from them and back at the mortal remains of one of her oldest friends. She was deliberately unaware of the pain in her arm, from holding the tarp up for so long. She was unaware of the forensics unit, led by Louis, doing their jobs around her crouched grief. She was barely aware of the strobing reporter's flashbulbs. Before her was a sight sure to haunt her nightmares for years to come, and she stubbornly forced herself to stare in mute horror. To silently memorize each grievous wound and brutal atrocity. Daddy Dion had not been bound or gagged, had not been restrained in any way visible so far. However, he'd sustained numerous slashes on his arms, legs and chest; and like the first decapitation victim, he'd been eviscerated. Shelly inhaled deeply, punishing her lungs with the stink of blood and death and shit. Forcing it all into her memory as the edges of her vision blurred to red. "Detective LeCroix?" Agent Mulder's soft voice roused her attention and the color drained from her vision as she forced herself to distance her job from her feelings, even as she punished herself for somehow failing to protect her friend. Her eyes, dry and determined, met Mulder's. He nodded slightly. He offered her the courtesy of not questioning her ability to do her job any longer. Her respect for him rose instantly. "Do we have a time of death?" Mulder peered under the tarp. He paled only slightly, but neither his features nor carriage acknowledged any discomfort. "Coroner's best guess is about one thirty. Daddy always closes at one, despite all bars being able to stay open till two by law. He said he preferred his sleep to drunk swamprats any day." Shelly let her eyes wander to the light above the back door of Daddy Dion's Bar and Grille. "He must have been jumped right after closin'. Most likely on his way to his car. There's blood all over. He put up some kinda fight before goin' down. Whoever did this tortured him, for up to a half hour." She looked back down at the headless remains. Daddy Dion's head was laying next to his own elbow. There was no look of surprise or terror on his blood splattered features. He looked almost peaceful, and that was probably the most obscene thing of all. "Detective, Agents?" A young technician stood to the side holding what appeared to be another piece of tarp. "We found this in the bushes." Unwrapping the tarp he revealed a beautifully crafted sword... a swept hilt rapier to be exact. The blade was covered not only with blood but by traces of nicks and signs of use. "I want that blood analysed ASAP." Shelly stood suddenly, her knees gone shaky. "And someone call in somebody who knows about fencing. I want this scene evacuated now." "The murder weapon?" Scully asked as she peered over Shelly's shoulder. "No. This sword hung over Daddy Dion's fireplace at home. This was HIS." Shelly suppressed a shiver with a brutal mental shove. "Scully, I want you to do the autopsy. I have a feeling Mr. Dion here had something in common with the previous victims after all." Mulder met Shelly's eyes again. Shelly shook her head. "Daddy was a good man, Agent Mulder. He had no criminal record. He wasn't a drifter. I knew him since I was eight years old." "And how much did he age in all that time, Detective LeCroix? Can you recall that?" Mulder asked softly. "I will NOT let you make Daddy Dion into some freak-show-warped-boogy-man. I will not." Shelly tightened her fists, feeling the nails bite into her palms as she tensed for a fight. "Agent Mulder, I don't know what ya'll think you're doin'..." Louis broke in. "I'm doing my job." Mulder cut him off. "That includes looking at all the evidence." Shelly turned her back on all of it. The people, the lights the arguing... She began to walk away. Her gait was stiff and angry. She did not care. She walked past the reporters shoving microphones and mini cassettes in her face and asking questions in one huge rush of senseless noise. When they got in her way she actually shoved them away, as rudely as those mannerless yankees. She found herself sitting in Louis' car, turning the spare key he'd given her two months ago when he bought it. She looked up, into the rear view mirror and glanced him running after her, but she didn't stop. She pulled away from the scene of death and horror and set herself on the road for home, her hands shaking. She only paused when she pulled before her own house to realize she'd just stolen her best friend's car. >Borrowed,< a mental voice interceded. XXXX IBERIA MEDICAL CENTER FRIDAY 7:47 AM Shelly burst through the entrance of the coroner's office, the force of her entry slamming the doors loudly against the walls. One of the orderlies jumped up as she stormed through. Ignoring the kid, she smashed her way through the double doors leading to the autopsy suite. Both agents looked up at her, startled. Agent Scully was dressed in scrubs and the remains of Lame Dion lay on a shallow metal autopsy table. The overhead mike was pointed at her. Agent Mulder was seated on a stool away from the actual autopsy itself, but evidently listening to the findings. "How did you know?" Shelly advanced on Mulder. Scully took a step towards them, her hands covered in the gore of her work in progress. Mulder shook his head at her and Scully advanced no further. "How did you know, damnit!?!" Shelly threw a collection of pictures at him. They fluttered to the floor around him, the dying throes of distant memories. One landed in his lap. "Because it's the one common trait shared with all these murders, with the exception of one woman who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time." He plucked up the picture that had landed on his leg. In the photo he saw a girl of about ten proudly holding up a small alligator. Behind her was a dark-haired man with more than a passing resemblance to the girl, and Lame Dion, still looking about sixty. As a matter of fact only the cut of his clothing and his hair style were different from the man they had met last night. "You never noticed?" Mulder held up the picture. "Who the hell looks for somethin' like this? People change over time and if you're with them every day you don' notice. It's only after a long absence that you really see the changes. Daddy Dion was... stable. Steady. It seemed like..." she refused to say the words. "... like he'd always been here?" Mulder finished for her. He looked over to Scully. "Scully, why don't you tell the detective what you've found?" "It's... it's unusual." Scully frowned. "I can't explain it, but that doesn't mean there is no explanation." She looked pointedly at Mulder. Shelly turned back to face the body on the cold, sterile autopsy bay. Not so sterile anymore. Agent Scully had been at work. "What is it?" Shelly braced herself and took a step closer. It wasn't as bad as it had been in the grass and mud. The body had been cleaned and all forensic trace evidence bagged and labeled. Stripped and splayed like a frog awaiting a biology exam, the corpse became blessedly anonymous. It could have been anyone. The vicious slash that had splayed open his abdomen was almost hidden by this coldly clinical examination. Parts of his insides, including the mangled intestines, were stripped away to be measured and cataloged. Agent Scully pointed to a half healed slash that splayed flesh and muscle on his upper left arm. "When we saw him last night he didn't appear at all incapacitated. But many of these cuts and injuries appear to have been in various stages of the healing process. This slash in his side I'd say has been healing for about two weeks, but there is no sign of sutures, and the length and depth of scar tissue so far would indicate the need for sutures or he would have bled to death." Scully pointed to a cut in open shoulder muscle. "This one is about a week along, and it should have paralyzed his left arm. But he was using his arm last night." She then moved to the open slash in the flesh of his abdomen. "And this is strangest of all. I wouldn't have even looked if Mulder hadn't insisted. The very edges of this wound had started to heal over. About three days worth. That should be.... physically impossible. He couldn't possibly have lived three days with that kind of trauma." "I take it Agent Mulder has one of his... theories?" Shelly looked over to the man in question. "Yes, I do. He didn't have any of those injuries when we saw him. What do you suspect happened last night, Detective? You had some hunch when you called in a specialist in fencing." Shelly glanced quickly back at the body. "I thought... I thought there had been some sort of lethal fencing match." "The fencing teacher they brought in corroborates that hypothesis. He said some of the scuffle marks could have been made during some standard fencing moves. He consented to look at pictures of the body. He said the wounds would have fallen in line with sword fighting, not pure fencing. More hack and slash than parry and thrust." Mulder crossed his arms. "What happened out there?" Shelly almost whispered the question. "He didn't have those injuries until he entered armed combat with another opponent well skilled in sword fighting. Then, as he was injured, his injuries started to heal at an accelerated rate." Mulder held up the photo he'd plucked from his lap earlier. "He seemed to have been around forever because he damn near was." "Mon Dieu! Mais sa c'est fou," Shelly shook her head, "That's... that's crazy talk. Nobody lives forever." "It would appear that Mr. Dion agrees." Mulder nodded. Shelly spun around and felt the satisfaction of her fist connecting with flesh and bone. Mulder toppled from his stool from the force of the blow. In an instant Scully was there, placing her small frame between Shelly and Mulder. "Back off, detective." Her growl was predatory. A lioness protecting her cub, or her mate. Shelly stood there, shaking out her hand, actually enjoying the feeling of the throbbing in her knuckles, knowing they were bruised or worse. She looked coldly past Scully to Mulder as he picked himself off the floor. "You are one cold bastard, Agent Mulder. The man on that table was my friend. And right now I don't give a damn what he was beyond that. He was a person! With a sense of humor and a kind heart. He didn't deserve to be butchered like a pig, and he SURE as hell doesn't deserve your disrespect!" "You're too close to this, LeCroix." Mulder tested his tender jaw. "And you're so far away you're on another planet entirely!" Shelly glowered. The doors behind her burst open. "Damn! Looks like I missed all the fun, again, chere." Louis strode forward slowly, surveying the scene around him then placing a firm, dark hand on Shelly's shoulder. "I can't leave you alone for one minute, can I? Come on. I think everybody here need to calm down 'afore anyone else get hurt." Shelly spun on him. "You're a fine one to talk!" He held up his hands in surrender. "Me, I'm as easy goin' as the next guy. I ain't the one who apparently just decked a Fed. Not a good career move, Shell. I'm callin' an official time out. I'm getting you outta here, and letting Mr. and Mrs. FBI do their jobs, just like the man said." He stared her down. Shelly's shoulders sagged and she felt as if the weight of the world suddenly settle on them. "Okay. Maybe I do need to step back for a few hours." "At least that. You need sleep, too." Louis wrapped an arm around her shoulders and started steering her to the doors. "The orderlies out there, they saw you comin' in like the wrath a' God and called me right out." Shelly froze and looked suspiciously at Louis. "Why did they call you?" "Because, chere, I'm mighty interested in findin' out what happened to my car." Louis shoved her lightly through the doors and away from the two federal agents. end part 4... Disclaimed in part 1. Sans Avertissement (Il Peut Y Avoir Seulement D'un) by Rhondda Lake (part 5/?) IBERIA PARISH COURT HOUSE FRIDAY 4:34PM Rochelle squirmed slightly in her seat and tried to concentrate on cleaning her nails with a letter opener. Unfortunately cleaning her short nails did not clean her mind. She hadn't thought she'd be able to sleep, but after a cup of chamomile tea prepared for her by Louis, she'd fallen right to sleep. A sleep haunted by nightmares that were unremembered on waking but for the feeling of dread seeping through her body and mind. She'd been awakened by a call that Captain Kincade wanted to speak with her at four thirty. She'd known right away what it was about. She'd struck a federal officer. She was not only off the case but sure to be reprimanded officially, and possibly suspended. Now here she sat, in Kincade's office at four minutes past... no make that five minutes past the time of their meeting and her stomach was twisted in knots. There was no excuse for what she'd done. No clemency she could ask. She'd well and surely screwed herself big-time. The office door opened and she dropped the letter opener. So much for acting cool and collected. Kincade walked in and positioned himself in the squeaky chair behind his desk. "Captain, I have no excuse. I'll apologize at once and..." "Apologize for what?" the captain frowned. "Before you say anything further, detective, I suggest you carefully weigh the next words to come outta your mouth." Rochelle's mind reeled. Apologize for what? Maybe Mulder hadn't pressed charges. No, her luck didn't run that good. "Okay. Why am I here, exactly?" Shelly leaned over the side of her chair to pick the letter opener off the floor. "Lame Dion. Now, I know this whole mess hit you pretty hard. I'm worried about you. There are reasons for the rules involving personal involvement with a case..." "Don't hand me that load of shit. I'm not out lookin' for some patsy to blame for this. I'm not gonna go shootin' no suspect in the back. I want justice, yeah. And I want to gather enough evidence that no jury is ever gonna let this piece a' shit go. I want him to choke to death in the gas chamber, and I want a front row seat. But I want it done right. Through the law." Shelly tossed the small blade on Kincade's desk. "LeCroix, I just want you to take some time to deal with this." Kincade leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "I heard you spent twenty minutes just staring at Lame's remains..." "Why is everybody doin' that?" Shelly stood abruptly. "Doin' what?" Kincade looked up at her, obviously worried she'd lost it. "All his life nobody called Daddy Lame. Now, it's on everyone's lips. Like people are tryin' to distance themselves. Like maybe if they don't use the name his friends called him then maybe death'll be blind to them. It's drivin' me up the wall. Merde, Kincade, you ate at Daddy's many a night, and you called him Daddy to his face. So now that he's dead why are you pullin' this Lame crap?" "LeCroix, listen to yourself. I want you to step back..." Shelly cut him off. "You want my gun and shield? Is that what you want?" She felt the anger well up again. Pure Cajun temper fighting to boil over. Minutes ago she'd been afraid he'd ask for just that, now she was offering them up as a sacrifice to some pagan god of Justice. "Damnit, LeCroix. I don't want your job. I don't want your reputation. I just want what's best." Kincade slammed his fist against his desk. "Pullin' me from this case is gonna kill my reputation and you know it. It'll kill any chance I got at promotion, and you know that, too. So it seems to me you are askin' for just that. You don't want what's best. You want what's easiest." Rochelle unclipped her badge. "Don't." Kincade held up a hand. "It ain't your case anymore, it's the FBI's. So far they haven't asked for you to be removed. But they ARE in charge, got that? You do what they say. You don't have to like it." "Ya know, I've been hearin' a lot of that lately." Shelly clipped her badge back on and left the office before she made things worse. XXX RESIDENCE OF LAME DION NEW IBERIA 5:30 PM Shelly got out of Louis' car and quirked an eyebrow at him when he did the same. "I thought you wanted out of this." He shrugged a bit and tossed a stray dreadlock over his shoulder. "I decided you need a keeper, chere. One with a cattle prod and a chair preferred. I decided it was in ya'll's best interest if I were to keep my eyes on ya. Never know when you might need a good alibi, huh?" Shelly rolled her eyes and walked up the stairs to the open door of the Dion house with a bit of trepidation. Inside Mulder and Scully had photo albums and personal papers spread over the table. Both seemed to be in deep discussion. Mulder noticed them come in. Scully stiffened at seeing Shelly but Mulder just gestured around the house. "Your friend had a lot of antiques." Shelly nodded. "He said he liked to stay connected to the past." Shelly sat at the dining room table with them, a bit reluctantly. "Look, I'm sorry I flew off the handle this mornin'. I wanna thank you for not..." "We were both out of line. Complaining wasn't going to solve this case." He tapped the photo albums. "Somebody knew we were coming." Shelly felt her jaw drop. "What?" "There are lots of pictures missing. They were re-arranged to try to hide the gaps but it was hastily done. There are also tax returns and all personal papers like birth certificates, legal papers and such missing from the firebox that stored his other important papers. A torn edge from one such certificate leads us to believe someone went through here and cleaned up." There was a bit of challenge in Mulder's eyes. "You think *I* did it? If I was gonna do somethin' like that I certainly wouldn't have brought you my own pictures to confirm your cockamamie theories." Shelly crossed her arms defiantly. "I wish you wouldn't be so defensive, detective. We weren't accusing you. However, someone who knew what we'd be looking for went through this house since the murder, and made evidence disappear. Do you have any idea who'd want to do that? Did Mr. Dion have any family, friends or business associates that might be implicated by such findings?" Scully looked around the room, "Because whoever did this knew exactly what we'd be looking for and precisely where to find it. That means it's someone who knew him. The house wasn't destroyed or trashed, no destruction at all, indicating the person responsible liked Mr. Dion and tried to respect him home, even after his death." Shelly looked around, considering the woman's words. She was correct, of course. Nothing seemed out of place, except for Daddy's sword, which now resided in the forensics lab, and not its customary post above the fireplace. "Daddy didn't have any blood family, mostly friends so close as to be the same thing, like me and Louis." She looked up to see her friend frowning again. No doubt as disturbed by this turn of events as she was. "He ran the bar on his own, no business partners. If he was into anythin' else with someone, its somethin' I don't know 'bout. But its lookin' like there's a lot more I didn' know about Daddy than I thought," she admitted reluctantly. Snapping her fingers, an idea struck her. "The summer place! There might be somethin' over there. But if someone hit his house this quick we better get a move on, 'cause they might know about that, too." "The summer place?" Mulder looked at her, his eyes questioning. "You two best get changed into somethin' a bit more casual. The summer place is a jokin' name for the cabin he has on the Teche. An I do me ON the Teche. It's built on stilts in the midst of the bayou. He'd go there to be alone sometimes, but it was also a great place for fishin' and trappin'. That picture you seemed so fond of, Agent Mulder, was taken there 'round fifteen years ago." Shelly grinned. "We'll come with ya while you change, then go to my place. I'm right on the bayou edge, myself, an I got an airboat." XXX ROCHELLE LACROIX'S HOME BAYOU TECHE 6:24 PM Rochelle had to admit, Agent Mulder could fill out a pair of jeans rather nicely. Unfortunately Agent Scully caught her appreciative smile. Rochelle shrugged at the other woman and raised her hands. After all, she was only human. Louis had not been happy to get dragged along, claiming other caseloads, but Shelly's glare let him know he wasn't getting off that easy. Behind her house the four gathered. Mulder eyed the airboat with an air of trepidation while Scully showed great interest. "She's beautiful." The small agent ran her fingers over the red painted frame. "Is it safe?" Mulder was looking at the elevated seats. "Of course it is. Ya'll ain't goin' chicken on me now, are you, Agent Mulder? I take her out all the time, there's a siren and police light in the box over there as I sometimes have to use her to do official business on the bayou." Shelly climbed aboard and offered a hand in to the others. "Can I ride shotgun?" Scully's curiosity got the better of her as she eyed the controls at the topmost two seats. "Sure. Louis can sit down there with Mulder. Her name is The Swamp Bitch, and she can go just about anywhere." Shelly sat down and buckled in. Noting Scully's appreciation and interest in one of her own pride and joys she continued as she turned over the motor. Speaking a bit louder over the huge rotor fan directly behind them she pulled out onto the water. "She's got a 351 high performance engine, six blade warp drive prop, steel powder coated rigging and'll run dry with five passengers and gear." Shelly grinned openly as they picked up speed and the wind whipped around them. "I've never been in an airboat before. But I've ridden in almost every other kind. This is great." Scully craned her neck forward, seemingly similarly enchanted with the cool wind of their speed. "You can loosen your grip, Agent Mulder. This baby runs as smooth as glass. Bumps are few and far between. Let me guess, you get seasick..." Shelly looked down to see a slight flush creeping up Mulder's neck. "Not on this puppy. No rocking or any of the motions that make seasickness. Relax, enjoy the view, it's gonna be fifteen minutes til we get there." Shelly maneuvered the craft expertly into an area that appeared to branch of from the lack and truly become marsh. Grasses whipped at the side of the boat and the trees grew out of the water itself, all dripping with moss and ivy. "Si on les lancait dans le marais, just pour voir s'ils vont se rendre a la rive." Louis grinned back at Rochelle, his dreadlocks whipping about his head like a tentacled monstrosity. "J'ai pitie des alligators." Shelly shot back with a laugh. "Excuse me?" Mulder looked over his shoulder. He had begun to relax a bit, Shelly noted. "Louis, here, was wonderin' if you can swim." Shelly winked. "I tol' him to pity the gators." The lateness of the hour soon became apparent as the air around them darkened, adding to the majesty and mystery of the bayou. Shelly flipped on powerful headlights and told Louis to man the spotlight, which he did with practiced ease. "Just ahead, now." Shelly slowed the craft as the spotlight and headlights illuminated a single story structure standing over the water on spindly legs, like an unpainted lady lifting her skirts as she waded carelessly. The airboat bumped against a deck that doubled as a dock and she and Louis tied the moors. The place was small, but well maintained. It was unpainted, but the wood had been weather treated regularly. There was little in the way of warping anywhere to be seen, considering the wet blanket atmosphere surrounding it. "Welcome to the summer place. Let's go see if Daddy left us any clues." Shelly helped both agents out of the boat. end part 5...