By Saundra Mitchell
slash_evidence@ameritech.net
Date: Fri, 22 May 1998
Feedback: Please!
Archive: Yes
Category: S/CRA (Mulder/Other|Scully/Other)
11 Cents Category: NA
Rating: PG-13 (Adult situations, language)
Summary: The Feds and the Baltimore Poh-leece
find out the hard way that X files were never meant
to go to trial.
Spoilers: The X Files: "Pilot," "The Host," "Unusual
Suspects," "Patient X," "The Red and the Black";
Homicide: "Extreme Unction," "Cradle to Grave,"
"A Model Citizen," "The Documentary"
Original Posting: alt.tv.x-files.creative, X-Files
Fanfic List, 11 Cents
Do NOT post to alt.tv.x-files.creative
Keywords: Mulder, Scully, Pembleton, Bayliss, trial,
x file, romance, slash, Homicide, Baltimore.
Disclaimer: Scully, Mulder and "The X-Files" are
copyrighted by 1013 Productions. The cast of
"Homicide: Life on the Street" including Bayliss,
Pembleton, et al, are copyrighted by Baltimore
Pictures. "Trace Evidence" and "Inadmissible" are
copyright 1998, Saundra Mitchell. All rights
reserved by the respective companies and author.
Notes: "Trace Evidence" follows and continues the
stories in "Forward Slash"; many of the aspects will
make a lot more sense having read the first four
stories. They can be found at
http://netdirect.net/~vii/fanfic/index.html After
"Forward Slash," my stories have completely
diverted from the actual shows, so don't expect to
see aftermath resulting from them here!
Also, this was written in a television court style, not
a real life court style. Don't get mad at me if the
procedure isn't perfect; it's not supposed to be. A
real trial would take hundreds of pages and end up
being deadly dull.
Thanks to: Jason Walters, deejay, Iain-Padraic
Jackson, Pamela Rush and Wendi Jeff for all of their
wonderful suggestions and constructive criticism.
Special thanks to Margaret Schnall for making me
aware of a continuity error, and to everyone who's
been kind enough to write me regarding this series.
This trilogy is for you.
Office of AD Walter Skinner
"It's good to have you back, Agent Mulder."
Mulder nodded at Skinner as he reclaimed
his badge and service weapon. With a pleased half-
smile, Scully watched him slide his gun back into its
holster and, closed the break with a satisfying snap.
"Now, Agent Scully," continued Skinner
stiffly, pulling a triplicate form from his desk drawer.
A wash of confusion rolled over Scully's face as he
turned the pages to face her.
"What's this, sir?"
"It's a disciplinary action report. If you
could
read over my notes, initial them, then sign at the
bottom, I think we'll be done here."
Mulder cast his eyes over surreptitiously,
reading what he could before Scully picked the
sheets up to examine them. Insubordination.
Superior Officer. He raised his eyebrows, staring at
Skinner.
"Sir," he started to protest, but Skinner
held
up a hand.
"Spare me the melodramatic defense,
Mulder. I'm not interested."
Setting her jaw, Scully took a pen from her
pocket and signed the papers. "Pink copy is mine?"
"This isn't right," Mulder insisted.
"White copy." Skinner pulled the document
apart, placing his copies back in his desk. "That'll be
all."
Standing, Scully silently pleaded with Mulder
to walk out of the office without argument. He
hesitated, taking a long look at Skinner's impassive
face, then turned on his heel to hold the door open
for his partner.
"What was that all about," Mulder asked as
soon as they were a safe distance from the AD's
office.
"It's really not that important."
He stopped in front of her, forcing her to
face him. "It's important to me."
Scully shrugged. "When one lies to one's
superior officer, one is lucky to walk away with a
warning."
"You know how the third person neutral
turns me on," he joked. Frowning at himself, he took
his place at her side again. "I'm sorry. . . and thank
you."
She smirked at him. "'Thank you' won't do
it
this time, Mulder. You owe me."
University Hospital
"I really can do this myself," Bayliss
protested weakly, trying to balance several stuffed
animals, a floral arrangement and a half-deflated
balloon bouquet in his lap. He was glad to be leaving
the antiseptic cleanliness of the hospital behind; even
happier that he wouldn't be awakened at two a.m.
every night for this test or that, or forced to share a
television with the sour-faced man in the next bed. If
he'd been able to dance, he would have.
"Just let me push the wheelchair," Frank said
irritably, trying to maneuver into an elevator. It took
several tries, and with each attempt, he banged the
foot guards against the sidewall. Finally, on the
fourth, he succeeded.
"You know what I need," mused Tim. "I
need a grilled cheese sandwich."
Frank punched the button for ground floor,
then stared down at his partner. "What?"
"A grilled cheese sandwich. And a beer.
From the Waterfront."
"You want me to drive you all the way to the
Waterfront for a grilled cheese sandwich? I know
how to make a grilled cheese sandwich."
"Well, I know the owners. If you want, I'm
sure they'll let you make it for me."
"I'm not taking you to The Waterfront."
The Waterfront
"No beer," Frank yelled from the kitchen.
"You can't have alcohol with your painkillers."
Tim grinned at Munch, encouraging him with
a nod of the head.
"I don't know, Timmy," Munch teased as he
poured the beer. "Mom said no."
"Bring it over here," Bayliss whispered
frantically. "Hurry up!"
The doors to the bar burst open, bright light
flooding in. Tim covered his eyes, and made out the
shapes of Lewis and Kellerman.
"I heard there was a gimp in our bar," Lewis
announced dramatically. "So I had to see for
myself."
Tim pointed at Lewis, lifting his beer mug.
"Good to see you too, Meldrick."
Kellerman walked by, gently slapping Bayliss
on the shoulder. "Leave it to you to find a way to
get the best parking spot. . . and the best bathroom
stall."
"You've got class, Mike, don't let anyone
tell
you anything different," Tim scoffed, taking a long
drink. He made a sour face and looked up at Munch.
"Oh come on! Near beer?"
Smiling guiltily, John motioned toward the
kitchen door. "When forced to choose between two
equally vengeful psychopaths, I choose to fear the
one who runs fastest."
Mulder and Scully's Office
"Batboy is on the loose again," Mulder
commented, flipping through the pages of The
Weekly World News.
Scully hummed her acknowledgment, not
looking up from her laptop. "Is he still in New
Mexico?"
"Vancouver. He ate some kid's class pet."
"Poor kid," she mumbled.
They fell into a comfortable pattern. She
edited her reports, and he occasionally read aloud
from his tabloid when the story was particularly
interesting. Secluded in the basement, they were
protected from the outside world. There was a great
part of their lives they couldn't share with people
unfamiliar with these four, cluttered walls. Scully
glanced up at the poster, repeating its daily
affirmation (I WANT TO BELIEVE) in dignified
silence. Shaking her head, she turned back to her
notes.
"Oh, hey, this is a good one. Giant hamster
terrorizes southwestern town. Here, you have to see
this."
She sighed to herself and looked. A twisting
smile crept to her lips. For better or worse, this was
her world.
Home of Frank and Mary Pembleton
"Can I have a ride, Uncle Tim? Please, just
one ride? Please?"
How could he say no? Tim had been utterly
smitten with Olivia Pembleton since the first time he
laid eyes on her round cheeks and angelic halo of
dark curls. Smiling, he held open his arms, letting
her climb into his lap. "Just one."
Slowly, Tim wheeled around the perimeter
of the kitchen, trying to stay out of Mary's way.
Olivia bounced gleefully on his knee, urging him to
go faster.
"Honey, be gentle. Uncle Tim is still trying
to get better."
Sighing with a disgust completely indigenous
to four year olds, she laid her head softly against
Bayliss' shoulder. Poking at the pale collarbone that
peeked above his T-shirt, she looked up at him.
"Does it still hurt," she whispered.
Tim smiled at her softly. "Only a little."
"I'm glad you're better. It was sad when
daddy cried."
Squeezing the little girl, Bayliss enjoyed
a
warm sense of family for the first time in years.
Mulder and Scully's Office
Skinner tapped on the office door, then let
himself in. His agents looked up at him guilelessly.
Mulder didn't even try to hide his Weekly World
News.
"Mulder, Scully, you may remember Ed
Danvers," he said, stepping aside to allow Danvers
entry. He looked around at the walls, hiding his
surprise and amusement under a perfect poker face.
"It's good to see you again," Dana said,
crossing the room to shake his hand.
"What can we do for you," Mulder asked,
rising from his desk.
"I was in town on a convention when I got
the call, so I thought I would tell you in person,"
Danvers hemmed, opening his briefcase. "Elsa Bettis
has decided against the plea agreement."
Mulder's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"What?"
"It's going to trial. Motions start next week,
and I'll need you two to prepare to take the stand,
go over the evidence with me. . . here are the
summonses."
"I've taken the liberty of approving an
apartment for the both of you," Skinner said
pointedly.
"I only found out a few hours ago," Danvers
added. "My office has already been inundated with
calls from all of the major networks. This is going to
be. . . a popular trial."
"Do. . . do Frank and Tim know about this?"
Scully stared at Mulder incredulously.
"If they've turned on a television in the
last
hour, absolutely. I'm on my way to talk to them
now. I'm sorry this is such short notice."
They exchanged the pleasantries necessary
for parting company, then Mulder and Scully stood
silently as Danvers and Skinner disappeared into the
hallway together. Looking at each other, a mutual
sense of dread settled over the room.
"This is going to suck," Mulder understated.
(End Part One)
Title: Trace Evidence: Inadmissable (02/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: vii@netdirect.net
Rating: PG-13 (Language, adult situations)
Home of Tim Bayliss
Struggling with Tim's keys, Frank finally
found the right one, forcing it into the lock. Inside,
the phone rang incessantly, punctuating his growing
headache.
"They said they'd have a ramp in," Tim
mumbled apologetically.
Shaking his head, Frank wheeled the chair
around to pull it in backward through the door.
Once inside, he threw Bayliss' keys on a coffee table,
then scanned the room for the telephone.
"Ah, hello," he fumbled, watching his partner
trying to close the door on his own.
"Frank?" The voice on the other end
sounded surprised.
"Yes, this is Frank Pembleton," he replied
formally, distracted as Tim pushed his way into his
apartment, looking around himself in wonder.
"Frank? This is Dana. . . I must have called
the wrong number."
"Who is it," Tim asked, rolling up next to
his
couch. With careful motions, he let down the arm of
the chair, and slid himself over onto the cushions,
infinitely pleased with himself.
"No, I'm at Tim's," Frank said, raising an
eyebrow as Bayliss leaned back, crossing his arms
behind his head with a self-satisfied grin.
"Have you talked to Danvers," she asked.
"Not today," he answered tersely, starting
to
get irritated.
"Elsa Bettis recanted. She wants a trial."
"Well we're screwed," he answered
miserably.
Two Weeks Later
Thames Street
With masked resentment, Tim allowed the
cab driver to help him into his wheelchair, then
handed him a crumbled ten. Pushing himself up the
ramp, he noticed that someone had scratched their
initials into the mortar between the bricks;
something he'd have never seen if he'd been walking
into the building. Enjoy the pleasure of small things,
he though wryly to himself.
A uniform was kind enough to hold the
doors open for him. He wasn't sure why it was so
important for him to return to the unit. He couldn't
do anything there but make coffee and phone calls,
fingering through cold cases as he took up space.
Physical therapy had started a week before, painful
straining exercises that left him exhausted, and the
doctors still weren't sure how long it would take for
him to get back on his feet.
The little nine-millimeter round had gone
right through; through his shirt, through his flesh,
through his lung, and coming to a particularly
inconvenient rest next to his spine. They had told
him he was lucky he wasn't dead; luckier that the
invading projectile had only disrupted his quiet state
of bipedal being instead of destroying it forever.
Now, inside the building at Thames Street,
faced with an "Elevator out of service" sign, he
didn't feel very lucky. Defeated, he wheeled himself
back to the lobby, staring up the long staircase
between himself and Baltimore's homicide unit.
"When someone says, 'I've heard this one
before', that's usually a signal to stop telling the
joke," Munch complained, glaring at Lewis as they
pushed open the glass doors into the lobby. Looking
up from their small drama, they saw Bayliss gazing
up the stairs, seeming so small in his wheelchair.
"Hey Timmy," Munch said, laying a hand on
his shoulder.
"Elevator's out," he replied softly, not
complaining.
Silently, Lewis kicked the wheel locks
closed, then grasped the arm of one side. Munch did
the same, and lifting at once, they began to carry
Bayliss up the stairs. It would have been comical if
not for the stern, determined looks on their faces.
With only the two of them, the maneuver was
incredibly difficult, but it was easy considering the
alternative. They could have had help, two more on
each side, but only if they'd been carrying Tim to the
mournful strains of Taps.
Mulder and Scully's Office
As Mulder made last minute adjustments to
his tie, Skinner walked into his office quietly,
dropping a file folder on his desk.
"What's this?"
Pursing his lips, Skinner crossed his arms
over his chest. "Your review."
Leaning over, Mulder flipped through the
first page, nodding to himself. When he got to the
last page, he was surprised to see none of the
formalities filled out, covered instead by a green
stamp, proclaiming the document to be pending.
"Pending," he asked, pulling on his jacket.
"I've been asked to wait until you return
from the trial to finish the evaluation."
Mulder shook his head. "To see just how
much Scully and I embarrass the department."
"I don't have to tell you to be discreet,"
Skinner said darkly. "Much of your research and
most of your projects are classified."
"She murdered a cop. 'I can neither confirm
nor deny' isn't going to play well on the stand."
Turning on his heel, Skinner headed for the
door. "I'm not going to tell you how to testify,
Agent Mulder. I just wanted you to know what was
at stake."
Ed Danvers's Office
"We're going to lose," Danvers said
seriously, stacking case files one on top of the other.
He looked over at Pembleton and Bayliss, taking in
their dispirited expressions.
"Then why are we even going to trial," Frank
demanded quietly, knowing the answer.
"We offered her a plea, she wouldn't take
it.
I don't have to tell you this case is one hair away
from being a civil suit with your names on it, but I
don't have a choice. We let one cop killer walk away
without a whimper and it'll be open season."
"We've gone to trial without a weapon
before," Bayliss reasoned. "Just because we don't
know how she did it doesn't mean she didn't do it."
Danvers sighed at the detective. "The jury
doesn't like dirty murders, Tim, and this is as dirty as
it gets. I have to go argue about having cameras
during the trial. Is there anything else I need to
know before we get started?"
Both men shook their heads no.
Baltimore City Courthouse
Sitting in the humid hallway outside the
courtroom, Mulder paced over the same four
squares of worn stone tile, staring up at the ceiling.
He was up early by his estimate, a bright and early
nine a.m., waiting for his chance to be destroyed on
the stand.
"Sit down," Scully ordered wearily, tired
of
watching him switch back and forth like a weather
vane. "You know this is going to take a while."
"I should have claimed jurisdiction," he
complained. "This would have never happened if
we'd claimed jurisdiction."
"If wishes were horses," she began. "It's
going to be okay, Mulder. Have you seen anyone
else yet this morning?"
"Hey you," Lewis half-shouted from down
the hall, walking just ahead of Munch and Falsone,
his tan trench coat still billowing behind him as he
walked. Apparently, the Columbo look was
cultivated, Scully decided. Hopefully he wouldn't
pass out from heat stroke.
"Ask and ye shall receive," Mulder
commented lightly.
"This is a bunch of bullshit," Lewis said,
sliding up and taking the seat next to Scully.
"And how are you this morning," she asked,
smiling.
"Good morning, Dana," Munch said
smoothly, his eyebrow elevated just enough to signal
his less-than-pure thoughts. His features rolled into a
stone mask when he greeted Mulder.
"I wonder how long we're gonna be down
here," Falsone complained. "I have names in red."
"Why don't you make yourself useful and get
us some coffee?" Munch stared through Falsone,
ready to ignore any negative response. As far as he
was concerned, Falsone had integrated too quietly
into the squad; John made it his personal mission to
change that.
"You want coffee," Falsone asked Scully,
putting on his most charming smile.
"Thanks, no."
Lewis and Mulder both caught the
understated irritation in her voice, but Lewis was the
only one to do anything about it.
"Come on, Dana," he said, holding out the
crook of his arm. "I'll buy you some coffee."
She stood up, waving away his offered
escort, but walked with him down the hall. "Thank
you, Meldrick. You're a man among men."
Yelping like a kicked puppy, Falsone started
after them. "Hey, there something wrong with my
coffee?"
Mulder watched them with a good-natured
smile, until he realized he was alone. With Munch.
Division 14
Danvers sat at the prosecution table,
listening to the defense's opening arguments.
Incompetence, tampered evidence, vendetta, frame
up. David Caplan, Esq. had taken every theme from
the O.J. Simpson handbook on jury trials, and
twisted it to fit this one.
"And I will prove to you that the Baltimore
homicide unit not only planned to frame Miss Bettis,
but they manufactured evidence against her to do
so! They didn't explore other leads, they didn't even
consider other suspects because they had _created_
one. They didn't need to do police work; they had an
innocent young woman in their sights, and they
pursued her relentlessly, badgered her into a
confession, all because one of their own, a cop, was
dead!"
Rubbing his temple, Danvers leaned back in
his chair, his poker face unwavering. It was a
convincing opening argument, and it gave him a few
good ideas on where to tread in his direct and cross
examinations, but he wasn't holding out much hope.
There was too much that could go wrong.
Hallway
With a sigh, Mulder shifted uncomfortably
on the wooden bench, catching sight of Munch
staring at him again from the corner of his eye.
Finally, he shook his head and spoke up.
"Why are you always staring at me like
that?"
Munch's eyes widened from behind his
darkly tinted glasses. "Considering the way we met,
you're lucky I just stare."
Knitting his eyebrows, Mulder pondered
that. "I asked you where I could find Giardello or
Bayliss. . . "
For a moment, Munch stared at him,
dumbfounded. Then, slowly, a sinister smile spread
across his face. "You don't remember, do you?"
Confused, he shook his head. "We met in the
squad room, you were on the phone."
Munch laughed, leaning his head against the
wall behind him. "No, we met in a warehouse."
"What are you talking about?"
"I can't believe you don't remember," Munch
said, still laughing. "I'll have to make a note in my
journal."
Anger bristled the hair on the back of
Mulder's neck. "What the hell are you talking
about?"
"You really don't remember," Munch
repeated. "Let's see. . . it was 90? 91? No wait, it
might have been 89. . . a muggy Baltimore evening,
filled with QRT members, government conspiracy
and. . . naked federal agents babbling incoherently in
wooden crates."
Absolute confusion reigned in Mulder's mind
for a moment, but gradually, the memory came back
to him. Susanne Modeski was wanted by the
government and he had followed her to a warehouse
where. . .
"You," Mulder hissed in surprise. "You were
the detective who questioned us."
Munch nodded, his grin never fading.
Hanging his head in embarrassment, Mulder
pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh god."
Pounding him heartily on the shoulder,
Munch stood up. "Well, my work here is done. But I
must say, it hurts that you didn't remember."
(End Part Two)
Title: Trace Evidence: Inadmissable (03/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: vii@netdirect.net
Rating: PG-13 (Language, adult situations)
Thames Street
Bayliss drummed on the dashboard, waiting
for Frank to finally drag himself out the building and
get behind the driver's seat. They were already a half
an hour late for court, classic Pembleton. Watching
the doors, willing Frank to appear, Bayliss was
surprised to see Taylor burst down the steps,
teetering uncomfortably in half-heeled shoes.
He called out to her, and when she
pinpointed the direction of the voice, she looked
over. A smile washed over her face, and she came
up to the car.
"Hey, Tim, long time no see," she said
cheerily.
"How are you," he asked solicitously. "What
brings you to Baltimore?"
"Walk with me," she said, straightening up.
"I can't," he mumbled.
A stray glance of ire fell over her face.
"Well
fuck you, then."
"No, wait," he shouted after her. "I mean
I
really can't."
She leaned back down, glaring at him. He
nodded toward the backseat, and when she got a
glimpse of the wheelchair, she blanched.
"Oh god, I'm sorry. What the hell happened
to you?"
"Shot. S'okay though. Physical therapy's
going great. I'll be back on my feet in no time. So
what _are_ you doing in Baltimore?"
"Applying for a job," she scowled. "Didn't
get it, though. I guess Edmonds has been making the
rounds, talking to anyone and everyone before I get
there."
"I could put a word in for you," Tim offered.
She considered it a moment. "Nah, no point.
Thanks away, though."
"So how long are you going to be here,
maybe we could get a drink or something?"
"I wish. My train leaves in about an hour.
Off to New Yawk City, maybe they have an opening
for a slightly tarnished cop."
He nodded. "I hope you get it."
"I don't know if I do anymore or not, but
thanks."
Frank appeared from nowhere, a half smirk
on his face as he opened the driver's side door.
"You done playing kissy face with Taylor,"
he asked, putting the key in the ignition.
A soft blush crept up Tim's neck. "You didn't
even say hello to her, Frank."
"Oh, I saw him upstairs," Taylor grinned.
She reached in, giving Tim's shoulder a squeeze.
"I'm outta here. Hope you get to feeling better
soon."
Division 14
"So you never heard Agent Scully or
Detective Pembleton read Miss Bettis her rights, did
you?"
"No sir, but I . . ."
"No more questions," Caplan shouted,
walking back to his table.
Danvers scowled. "Redirect?"
Judge Rush nodded, sitting back in her chair.
"Why weren't you present for Miss Bettis'
Miranda recitation?"
"Objection," called Caplan. "Calls for
speculation, facts not in evidence."
"I'll rephrase," Danvers said before the judge
could rule. "Were you present when Miss Bettis was
arrested?"
"No sir."
"Why not?"
"I was responsible for transporting Agent
Scully and Athena King to Mercy Hospital. When I
left, Detective Pembleton and Miss Bettis were still
in the room."
"Thank you, no further questions."
Hallway
Mulder's first look at Tim, wheelchair bound,
struck him through the heart. Bayliss was thin, his
skin pale from a long hospitalization, but seeing him
sitting passively in the chair as Frank pushed him
down the hall chilled him to the bone.
"They haven't called us yet," Mulder said,
not standing up.
"I left my notes in the car," Pembleton
announced coldly. "I'll be back."
"How do you feel," Mulder asked quietly.
"Helpless," Tim spat, shaking his head.
Mulder didn't know what to say. He wanted
to reach out and touch his hand, somehow comfort
him, but he didn't dare in the middle of the
courthouse hallway.
Tim looked over at him sadly. "We still
haven't talked."
"Tonight?"
Bayliss shrugged. "If you want."
"What's wrong?"
Tim set his mouth. "I didn't get over being
angry just because time has passed."
"Okay," Mulder nodded, his stomach
twisting into knots. "That's fair."
A bailiff stepped out into the hallway. "Agent
Mulder?"
Division 14
Sitting in the witness stand, Mulder looked
out over the faces in the jury. Some of them looked
bored, others looked downright uninterested. That
didn't bode well, considering the science evidence
hadn't even been presented yet. He shifted in his
seat, trying to get comfortable.
"For the record, would you please state your
name and your qualifications for the jury?"
"My name is Fox Mulder, I'm a special agent
for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I studied. .
."
Caplan stood up, rolling his eyes. "We'll
stipulate."
For the first time since the trial began,
Danvers half smiled. Picking up his notes, he
approached the witness stand.
"How did you become involved in the
investigation of Laura Ballard's murder, Agent
Mulder?"
"The crime scene appeared to have the
hallmarks of a copy cat killing," Mulder explained. "I
was the profiler for the case which preceded it."
"So you were invited to participate?"
"On the Ballard case, yes."
"Could you please explain your capacity as
a
profiler to the jury?"
Mulder nodded, looking over at the twelve
citizens deciding Elsa Bettis' fate. "Profiling is a
general term for interpreting crime scenes and
evidence to extrapolate a psychological
representation of the murderer."
"Based on evidence, you guess what kind of
person might have committed the crime?"
"That's correct."
"Did you work up a profile for the Ballard
case?"
"Yes, I did."
"And what did this profile describe?"
For more than two hours, Mulder answered
Danvers' carefully constructed questions, explaining
his participation in the Ballard investigation. There
were very few objections from the defense; most of
them were solely on procedural issues. Mulder
began to feel more confident about this trial, until
the last wave of questions started.
"Agent Mulder, in your professional opinion,
is Miss Bettis in any way incompetent to stand
trial?"
"Objection," shrieked Caplan. "Agent
Mulder can't make that kind of diagnosis!"
"Your honor," Danvers said with a cold
smile. "Mr. Caplan stipulated that Agent Mulder was
an expert in psychology at the beginning of this
testimony. He can't take that back now."
Judge Rush nodded at Caplan. "Would you
like to hear the recitation of his educational
background now?"
"No," scowled Caplan.
"Objection overruled. Please answer, Agent
Mulder."
"In my professional opinion, no. She is aware
of her surroundings, completely competent."
"Was she similarly competent during her
interrogation?"
"Yes, she was."
"Was she mistreated during her
interrogation?"
"No, she was not."
"How long was she in the interrogation
room, Agent Mulder?"
"Perhaps a half an hour? It wasn't more than
an hour."
"So, she was competent, she was not
interrogated for a long period of time, and she was
not mistreated. Did Miss Bettis confess?"
"Yes she did."
"No further questions," Danvers said,
returning to his table.
Hallway
From all appearances, the third grade
homicide class was out for recess in the courtroom
hallway, quietly squabbling with one another as they
tried to pass the time.
"That is not how you play dots," Scully
complained, taking the pencil from Tim's hand and
redrawing the board.
"She right," Lewis said, playing with the
foil
around his hot dog. "Otherwise the first person to
play would always win."
"This is how I learned to play," Tim
frowned, looking up. His partner stared down at
him, watching the game with little interest.
"I don't know why you'd want to play dots
anyway," Pembleton shrugged. "It's a stupid game."
"Do you have a better suggestion," Scully
asked, pointing at him with the pencil.
"No. I do not have a better suggestion."
"There's always I Spy," Munch piped in.
"There's nothing in this hallway to spy,"
Falsone answered, pushing his hair from his face.
"That's 'cause you ain't looking," Lewis said
with a gentle leer. "I spied a paralegal with legs
from. . . "
"Thanks for sharing, Meldrick" Scully cut
in.
"How about hangman?"
Tim exchanged an enigmatic glance with
Frank. "No, I don't think so."
"Forget it, I'm going to find a news stand,"
she said, handing the pencil back to Tim. "You want
anything?"
(End Part Three)
Title: Trace Evidence: Inadmissable (04/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: vii@netdirect.net
Rating: PG-13 (Language, adult situations)
Division 14
"Tell us again how you narrowed the field of
suspects," Dave Caplan said, warming up on cross.
He folded his hands in front of him, waiting for
Mulder's answer with a guileless face.
"First we spoke to Detective Ballard's
partner, to determine if he knew anything about her
activities after hours. Then, because the body of the
crime was very unusual, even for a copy cat, we
started with friends and acquaintances of the first
murderer; then we matched that up with what our
few witnesses told us."
"I see. You spent a lot of time talking to
drug dealers, didn't you?"
Mulder felt the jury's interest rise
exponentially. "Yes, we did."
"And why would you be talking to drug
dealers during a murder investigation?"
"Because the autopsy showed that Laura
Ballard had ingested controlled substances the night
she was murdered."
A murmur went through the courtroom. He
could hear reporters scratching furiously on their
notepads as they envisioned that night's headlines.
"Which controlled substances were those,
Agent Mulder?"
"Methyprylon, a prescription sedative.
Psilocybin mushrooms, a hallucinogen."
"Was she drunk?"
"Objection," Danvers interceded. "How
would Agent Mulder know if she was drunk?"
"I'll rephrase. What was Laura Ballard's
blood alcohol content at the time of her autopsy?"
"As I recall, point oh nine four."
"That's pretty high, isn't it?"
"Objection, calls for conclusion."
"Withdrawn," Caplan said lightly. "After you
spoke to the drug dealers, who else did you
question?"
"We questioned a lot of people," Mulder
hedged. He wasn't sure where Caplan was going
with this, and he wasn't going to give him any
leeway.
"Did you speak to Lineida Mirskinsky?"
"Yes."
"Who is Mrs. Mirskinsky?"
"I'm not sure I understand the question."
"Why would you speak to Mrs. Mirskinsky
about this case? Did she know Miss Ballard?"
"No."
"Did she come forward with information
regarding the case?"
"No."
"Then why did you question her?"
Mulder shifted uncomfortable in his seat.
"She's the president of the Erzebet Bathory fan
club."
Looking over at the jury incredulously,
Caplan pretended to ponder the connection. "What
did that have to do with this case, Agent Mulder?"
"Erzebet Bathory was a 16th century
noblewoman. She believed if she washed in the
blood of young, beautiful women, she would stay
beautiful forever. It was my impression that our
killer was attempting the same, and therefore I went
to Mrs. Mirskinsky to ask for her membership
roster."
"How were you aware of such an
organization, Agent Mulder?"
"I worked with her before, she mentioned
her club," he replied succinctly.
"That's quite a leap, Agent Mulder."
"Is that a question," Danvers asked,
appealing to the judge.
"Mr. Caplan," Judge Rush said, her tone
warning.
"You're not really a profiler, are you?"
"Objection!"
"Sustained."
"Are you assigned to the behavioral sciences
unit?"
Mulder hesitated, hoping Danvers would
object. When he didn't, he answered the question
negatively.
"Aren't profilers assigned to behavioral
sciences?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes they're assigned
field duty, in regional offices."
"Do you work in a regional office?"
"Your honor," Danvers complained, "Is this
going anywhere?"
"I have a point," Caplan said to the judge.
"Get to it. Answer the question, Agent
Mulder."
"No. I work from headquarters, in
Washington."
"So, if you don't work in behavioral sciences,
and you don't work in a field office, what do you
do?"
"Objection! He's badgering the witness!"
"Overruled."
"I work on the X files," Mulder said softly,
looking down at his lap.
"And what are these X files?"
"Cold cases."
"Meaning what?"
"They weren't solved during their original
investigations."
"So your day to day work doesn't actually
involve profiling, does it, Agent Mulder?"
"Actually," Mulder emphasized with a smirk,
"I'd say my day to day work involves a lot of
profiling."
Caplan frowned. "Move to have that
comment stricken as unresponsive, your honor."
Hallway
Sitting next to Lewis, Falsone peered down
the hallway, watching Scully chatting amiably with
Bayliss and Munch. He studied her motions; the
frequent, gentle touches she dropped on Tim's
shoulder, the way she leaned her head and laughed
when Munch spoke. Raising an eyebrow, Falsone
elbowed Lewis. Looking up from his newspaper,
Meldrick turned his head slowly to stare at Falsone.
"What?"
Flicking a finger in Scully's direction, Falsone
shook his head. "I think she's prejudiced."
"Now why would you say something like
that," Lewis asked incredulously, folding his paper
against the grain until it was a small mass of
unrecognizable origami.
"She acts like she's better than us," he
explained. "Look at the way she talks to them."
Leaning back, Lewis closed his eyes as if
trying to visually block Paul's words. "You crazy,
Falsone. Touched in the head."
"Hey, she won't even talk to me. I've offered
to buy her coffee twice now, and she just smirks at
me like she's some kind of goddess."
Lewis chuckled quietly. "Maybe she just
don't like you? Ever consider that?"
"No," Falsone said proudly. "Everyone likes
me."
"See, that's where you're wrong," Lewis
answered, unfolding his newspaper again.
"What? Who doesn't like me?"
"I refuse to divulge their names to protect
unit harmony."
"It's Kellerman, isn't it?"
Lewis stared up at Falsone. "Get over
yourself, boy."
Division 14
"What kind of relationship do you have with
Detective Tim Bayliss?"
Danvers shot out of his seat. "Objection,
your honor! Relevance?"
Judge Rush looked from the defense to the
prosecution, then sighed. "Approach."
Both attorneys walked up to the judge's
bench, and began arguing even before she'd covered
her microphone.
"I wasn't aware that Agent Mulder was on
trial here," Danvers spat, glaring over at Caplan.
"All of the law enforcement officers are on
trial here," Caplan insisted. "This goes toward
credibility. They are liars, they used her as a
scapegoat; I'm trying to prove that."
Leaning over and lowering her voice to a
raspy whisper, Judge Rush scowled as she spoke.
"I'm going to overrule your objection. . ."
"Your honor, he's. . ."
"Let me finish, Mr. Danvers," she said,
glaring. "I am going to overrule your objection for
now, but if you make this courtroom into a duck
shoot, Mr. Caplan, this line of defense is over, do
you understand?"
"Thank you, your honor."
Caplan smirked with victory at Danvers, then
walked back over to face Mulder. "Let me repeat
the question for you. What kind of relationship do
you have with Detective Tim Bayliss?"
"We have a professional relationship,"
Mulder said. "We're also friends."
"Just friends?"
"Asked and answered, your honor," Danvers
interjected.
"Overruled. Please answer, Agent Mulder."
Mulder felt his throat constrict. "Close
friends."
Caplan walked back to the defense table,
sharing a quick wink and a smile with his client as he
picked up a file folder. Marching back over to the
witness stand, he laid the folder on the bench in front
of Mulder.
"Do you recognize this file?"
Picking the folder up, his heart sank. "Yes."
"Could you tell the jury what this file is?"
"It's a copy of my personnel file."
"I'd like to have this entered as defense
exhibit four, your honor."
"So noted."
Caplan leaned over, flipping to a section
of
pages marked with a paperclip. "For the record, who
is Assistant Director Walter Skinner," he asked.
"My direct superior."
"Please read the highlighted section, Agent
Mulder."
Clearing his throat, he scanned over the
words. "Disciplinary action number 4439271,
Mulder, Fox William. Action: Suspension. Cause
and Regard: Insubordination. Refusal to respond to
a direct order."
With a reptilian smile, Caplan nodded. "And
the section highlighted below that, please."
"Notes: Agent Mulder's suspension lifted
when explanation for apparent missing hotel receipts
was forthcoming. Agent admitted to residing with
Detective Tim Bayliss during Baltimore and latter
parts of Indianapolis investigations. See DAR
4439272, Scully, Dana Katherine. Signed ADA
Walter Skinner."
Gradually, everyone in the courtroom made
their conclusions. Caplan let Mulder sit in
uncomfortable silence while he produced another
folder, admitted it into evidence, and folded it open
for Mulder to read.
"Could you read the highlighted portions,
please?"
"Disciplinary action number 4439272,
Scully, Dana Katherine. Action: Probationary
reprimand. Cause and Regard: Insubordination.
Offering false information regarding a direct order."
"So basically," Caplan nearly crowed. "You
and your partner were sanctioned for lying to your
superior officer. Is that correct?"
Mulder looked down at his hands. "Yes."
"And you both lied about the nature of
_your_ relationship with Detective Bayliss, didn't
you?"
"I did. Agent Scully did not."
Caplan looked surprised, but covered it
quickly. "Really. . . and what was Agent Scully's lie,
then?"
With a sigh, Mulder looked helplessly over
at
Danvers. "She lied about the nature of her
relationship with me."
If Caplan had been allowed to dance in the
courtroom, he might have. "Are you having an affair
with Agent Scully?"
"Objection," shouted Danvers. "His personal
relationship with his partner isn't relevant."
Judge Rush shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr.
Danvers. He made it relevant. Answer the question."
"I am not having an affair with Agent
Scully."
"Have you ever had an affair with Agent
Scully?"
"No, I have not."
"But Agent Scully said you did, isn't that
right?"
"Yes, she did."
"She lied to your superior officer about
having an affair with you, didn't she?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The single word question hung between
them, heavy and hard. The jury which had been so
disinterested not two hours before were sitting up in
their seats, straining and waiting for the answer.
Mulder looked over at the judge, pleading with her
eyes, but she sat in passive silence.
"She was trying to protect me."
"She was trying to protect you from
admitting your affair with Detective Bayliss, wasn't
she?"
Opening his mouth, he considered lying
again. Every fiber in his being twisted him toward
perjury, but he couldn't do it.
"Yes."
"So, you and your partner are both liars.
You have a romantic relationship with the primary
detective on a case investigating the death of one of
his co-workers, but you still insist the arrest of my
client was unbiased and fair?"
"Objection, argumentative!"
"Sustained."
Caplan smiled winningly at the judge. "I'd
like to have this witness available for recross, your
honor."
(End Part Four)
Title: Trace Evidence: Inadmissable (05/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: vii@netdirect.net
Rating: PG-13 (Language, adult situations)
Hallway
Standing outside the door, Munch,
Pembleton, Lewis and Scully could hear the excited
murmur of the crowd inside the courtroom.
Pembleton sighed to himself, standing stiffly.
"This can't be good," he said.
Suddenly, the doors burst open, and Mulder
walked out, escorted by two bailiffs. He shook his
head. They stared at him in disbelief.
"Sequestering us," he said before he was
ushered away. "I'm sorry."
Snack Bar
"Um, Tim," Munch said, leaning over and
lowering his voice. "You might want to hear this."
Bayliss allowed Munch to wheel him over to
a television set turned to near silence. Adjusting the
volume, his already pale face blanched to pure white
when he heard what the reporter was saying.
". . . Ballard murder trial has already taken
a
shocking turn following the testimony of FBI Agent
Fox Mulder. During cross examination, David
Caplan, attorney for Elsa Bettis, elicited testimony
that Agent Mulder and his partner Agent Dana
Scully had both been censured for lying to their
superior office regarding Agent Mulder's
homosexual relationship with Baltimore's Detective
Tim Bayliss. He also admitted to working in the
FBI's X Files division, investigating old cases
frequently pertaining to paranormal activity. At this
time, we're still not positive why this testimony was
important to the defense, but I'm sure in the coming
days it will become apparent. Back to you, Anne."
"Fuck!" Slamming his hands down on his
wheels, Tim started to push himself out of the snack
bar, his pallor giving way to a livid blush across his
neck and cheeks.
"Hey," Munch called out, catching up with
him. "Where are you going?"
Bayliss glared up at John with cold eyes.
"I
have to call my mother before she sees the news,
John. Then I have to call my sister, and then. . . then
I have to murder Mulder and kill myself. Wanna be
the primary? I'll confess now to make it even easier.
. ."
"Calm down, Timmy," Munch said softly.
"It's not the end of the world. I mean. . . I'm
shocked, I won't lie. . . "
"Well I'm glad you're comfortable with this,"
Tim snapped. "Because I'm sure as hell not."
Division 14
Pembleton had been called next to testify.
Much of his familiar swagger had fallen away,
leaving behind a nervous and angry man. News had
traveled quickly through the courthouse, reaching
the sequestered detectives despite their new
isolation. This trial wasn't about a dead cop
anymore; it was a dirt digging expedition to darken
the names of everyone involved in the case. A
smokescreen to hide the fact that Elsa Bettis had
seduced and murdered Laura Ballard.
Direct examination was a breeze. It was facts
and times and procedure, detailing what they had
done from the time they found the body til Elsa
confessed in the box. Thrown in for protection's
sake, Danvers also asked if there had been a plot to
frame Bettis, if the death being a co-worker's had
had any bearing on the direction of the investigation.
No, and no. When Danvers sat down, Pembleton
waited warily for Caplan to start his dog and pony
show.
"Detective Pembleton," the defense attorney
began, "During the Ballard investigation, were you
made aware of your partner's relationship with
Agent Mulder?"
"I was not," Frank enunciated.
"You had no idea?"
"I didn't say that," he scowled. "I suspected
that their relationship had a personal aspect, but I
had no confirmation of my suspicions."
"Did you ask your partner for confirmation?"
"No, I did not. Detective Bayliss' personal
life is none of my business."
Frank knew it was a fudged answer. He had
asked Tim a lot of questions, but he had never asked
him if he and Mulder were having an affair.
Therefore, it was close enough to the truth that it
wouldn't bother him when he stepped down.
"You have a personal relationship with
Agent Scully, don't you?"
"Yes I do. My wife and I consider her a
good friend."
"You spend time together off duty, don't
you?"
"On occasion, yes. We do."
"Do you trust Agent Scully?"
"Yes."
"Do you confide in her?"
Frank wrinkled his brow. "The only person
I
confide in is my wife."
"But you say she is a good friend?"
"As much as I have friends, yes."
"Would you lie for her?"
"Objection, your honor, what is the
relevance?" Danvers wondered if he should even
bother objecting anymore. He was pleased when the
judge sustained this one.
"How many times have you been to court,
Detective Pembleton?"
"I'm a homicide detective. I don't remember
how many times I've been to court."
"More than 10?"
"Absolutely."
"More than 100?"
"Yes."
"More than 500?"
"I doubt that," Frank sighed.
"And all of these court appearances, they
were criminal trials?"
"No. Not all of them."
"In fact, you were sued by one Pamela
Wilgis, also known as Mary Maude or JMJ for
violating her civil rights during interrogation, weren't
you?"
"Yes."
"And what was the verdict?"
Pembleton scowled angrily. "There was no
verdict. The matter was settled out of court."
"Isn't it true that you encouraged Miss Wilgis
to burn herself with matches during your
interrogation?"
"That is not what happened," Frank spat.
"Objection, your honor, this has nothing to
do with the Ballard case."
Caplan shook his head violently. "Your
honor, this has everything to do with the Ballard
case. Detective Pembleton has a history of violence
or inappropriate behavior during interrogation,
which I think is imminently relevant."
"Tread lightly, Mr. Caplan," the judge
warned. "Overruled."
"You also investigated the faked kidnaping
of Congressman Wade, did you not?"
"I did."
"And you lied to him during interrogation,
didn't you?"
"I absolutely did not."
"You told him he wouldn't be charged if he
admitted to making a false report, isn't that right?"
Frank could hear his answer, and the next
question, echoing from the last trial. "I said he
would not be charged by me."
"But he was charged?"
"Not by me."
"You misled Congressman Wade into
believing there would be no charges filed if he
admitted his wrongdoing, did you not?"
"It was not my intention to mislead him,"
Frank said coldly. "He made his own interpretation
from what I said."
"You worked with J.H. Brodie for over a
year, didn't you?"
Frank shook his head, confused at the
sudden turn in questioning. It only took him a
moment to figure out where it was heading.
"He was employed to film crime scenes as
evidence for us."
"Where is Mr. Brodie now?"
"And he used out take footage from his work
with the Baltimore homicide unit and made a
documentary, didn't he?"
"Yes, he did."
"He won an Emmy, didn't he?"
"So I heard."
"Your honor, I'd like to enter a copy of Mr.
Brodie's documentary as defense exhibit 12a."
"So noted."
Caplan walked over and pushed a copy of
the tape into the VCR. Frank watched in quiet
resignation as he played the section of the taped
called "Fender Bender Aphrodisiac." He watched
himself (and his partner) smooth the truth over after
a minor accident at an intersection. The smile on his
video counterpart's face wrenched through his
stomach. When the section was over, Caplan walked
back over to the witness stand.
"You lied to that woman, didn't you?"
"I bent the truth."
"Lied, bent the truth. . . you didn't read
Elsa
Bettis her rights, did you?"
Witness Sequester
The discomfort between Tim Bayliss and his
counterparts was palpable. The wheelchair had been
bad enough- it reminded every one of his colleagues
that they too could fall at any time. Now, with his
personal life being played out on the noon day news,
their sense of solidarity was gone, replaced by
astonishment tinged with disgust. He could feel their
eyes as they tried not to stare, he sensed the stiffness
they felt. They all wanted to say something, but none
of them dared. Scully sat next to him, the only
person in the room whose feelings hadn't suddenly
changed. This was the only Tim Bayliss she'd ever
known.
"Sure is taking long enough," Falsone finally
said, breaking the silence.
"Well, it takes time to really destroy an
entire
police division," Lewis answered bitterly.
Division 14
"I read her rights," Pembleton growled, tired
of answering the same question over and over in
minutely different formats. "She signed the Miranda
waiver."
"You accused Miss Bettis of being a
vampire, didn't you?"
"It was a metaphor."
"That's a yes or no question, Detective."
"Yes."
"Did you believe she was a mythical
creature?"
"No."
"Then why would you ask such a thing?"
"Our working theory," Frank explained
slowly, as if speaking to a very stupid child, "Was
that Miss Bettis believed murdering young women
and drinking their blood would keep her young. She
was referred to us by one witness as a clan vampire,
someone who dresses up and pretends to be a
vampire. It seemed a reasonable question to ask."
"Did Miss Bettis ask for a lawyer?"
"No, she did not."
"Did she state at any time that she no longer
wished to answer questions?"
"She may have said something like that, but
she didn't ask for a lawyer."
"Yet you continued to question her after she
stated she wanted to end the interview?"
"She didn't ask for a lawyer," he repeated
stubbornly. "She willingly continued to answer
questions posed by myself and Agent Mulder."
"But how could she have known to ask for a
lawyer," Caplan exploded. "You never read her
rights to her!"
"Miss Bettis was apprized of her Miranda
rights the moment she was taken into custody!"
"And yet you have no witnesses to back that
up, do you Detective?"
"Objection!"
Caplan ignored the objection, and pushed
further. "You deliberately ignored Miss Bettis' civil
rights, didn't you?"
"Objection, your honor!"
"Sustained! The last two questions will be
stricken from the record, and the jury will ignore
them."
Caplan shrugged. "No further questions,
your honor."
(End Part Five)
Title: Trace Evidence: Inadmissable (06/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: vii@netdirect.net
Rating: PG-13 (Language, adult situations)
Secondary Sequester
Pembleton walked into the oak and
mahogany room angrily, slamming the door shut as
hard as he could. Mulder jumped at the sound,
putting down the tattered copy of Ladies Home
Journal he'd been skimming.
"I got treated like a dog in there," Frank
exclaimed, his cool tone of voice a study in
contrasts. "He made it sound like that vampire
bullshit was my idea."
"It's just defense rhetoric," Mulder said
softly.
"It makes us sound like idiots," Frank
shouted. "We look like the Keystone Kops in there.
If I didn't know better, I'd think we did try to frame
that girl."
Mulder sighed. "She confessed, Detective
Pembleton. You know she's guilty."
"But that jury doesn't!" Anguish tinted
Pembleton's words, playing across his face. "So far,
that jury thinks that we sat down in some
adulterous, gay love nest and planned to take Elsa
Bettis for a ride because we didn't have anything
better going. They think we needed a scapegoat and
we found one in some poor girl unlucky enough to
join a fan club!"
"They'll change their minds. Scully and Cox's
science evidence is unimpeachable, and we still have
Athena King. I know I'm the weak link here, but
even my presence can't taint hard scientific fact."
Frank leaned over the table, fixing Mulder
squarely in his gaze. "This is going to be Baltimore's
first misdemeanor cop killing."
Division 14
Lewis stepped down from the witness stand,
straightening his suit jacket. His direct and cross
examination had been one of the easiest in his
career. It was all standard; what did you do, why did
you do it. True, he wasn't the primary, but he held
on to hope that the trial wasn't going as badly as the
media portrayed it.
Out in the hallway, he could hear the judge
calling it a day, admonishing the jurors to avoid
newspapers and television news reports. A few
moments later, Danvers burst out of courtroom,
storming down the hall until he caught sight of
Lewis.
"We're getting routed in there," Danvers
complained, dropping into step next to the detective.
"I dunno, Ed. Seemed pretty calm to me."
"Well, so far you're my only witness who
hasn't been torn to shreds by Caplan. Apparently I
didn't ask the right questions during interviews,
because there's all kinds of shit flowing in that
courtroom that I'm hearing for the first time."
"More flowing this way," Lewis said
laconically. "The hounds are loose."
Before he'd finished his comment, they were
surrounded by a bank of reporters, each one
shouting questions louder than the last.
Home of Tim Bayliss
After a day in court and an hour of physical
therapy, Tim Bayliss returned home, weakly
navigating himself through his cluttered apartment.
The light on his answering machine blinked
furiously, and he wasn't looking forward to listening
to the messages. His mother wasn't home when he'd
called earlier, but she had definitely seen the news by
now. His whole world was falling down around him,
and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He
wasn't ready to talk to his mother and he wasn't
ready for his co-workers to know the intimate
details of his life, either. Now, everyone in Baltimore
knew his name and the contents of his date book.
Reluctantly, he pushed the button on the
machine, and forced his way into the kitchen to
retrieve a beer.
"Tim, this is your mother. I got your
message, and messages from all three tv stations. I
don't know what's going on, but I hope this is some
kind of joke. Call me back."
He raised his beer to his mother's voice,
and
waited for the next voice.
"Tim, this is Emma. I hope you're happy,
mom's absolutely hysterical. The least you could
have done was told us before it ended up on the
news!"
"I don't want you around my kids anymore,
Teej. You faggots make me sick."
One by one, disembodied voices cast
judgement, asked for interviews, or begged for
explanation. Sinking in his chair, Tim downed his
beer as he shuddered with each new beep. Finally,
the messages ended on an odd note with a strange
comment, unadorned by name or return phone
number.
"I can make this all go away," it rasped.
Tim rolled his eyes, punching the delete
button on the machine. Wheeling back into his living
room, he was frustrated when someone began
knocking on his door.
"No comment," he shouted, turning on the
television.
"Tim, it's me."
The Waterfront
Scully sat at one of the rear tables, playing
with a glass of brandy. She wondered how Mulder
was dealing with the sudden spotlight of attention,
but tried not to dwell on it. She was scheduled to
testify the next day, she could talk to him then. For
now, she enjoyed the solitude of her secluded table
and the low, slow background noise of blues and
chatter.
"Dana," Munch smiled as he walked over to
her table. "How's it going? Want another drink?"
She returned the smile. "I haven't finished
this one."
Pulling up a chair, Munch joined her. "Big
day, huh?"
"You could say that," she murmured,
brushing her hair from her eyes.
"Heidegger said. . ."
"No platitudes, please."
Munch nodded. "Okay. I can carry on a
normal conversation. I'm one of the few remaining
great conversationalists."
She laughed softly. "I believe you."
"That's why I'm a cop. A bartender. People
need to talk. Do you need to talk?"
"Why are you hitting on me," she grinned.
He looked caught. "I would never presume
to. . ."
"I just asked why. No one said stop." She
laughed out loud at his bewildered confusion.
"Are you toying with me, Dana?"
"Absolutely."
He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"You're so suspicious, John. That's why
you're a cop."
"That's beside the point," he said. "What.
. .
what if I asked you to dinner?"
"I'd say yes."
"Really?" This time the surprise was genuine.
"Is there any reason for me to say no?"
"Well then. . . would you like to join me
for
dinner?"
She swirled the brandy in her glass in lazy
circles. "I'd be delighted."
Home of Tim Bayliss
"You're not supposed to be here."
"I said we'd talk tonight," Mulder mumbled.
"I meant it."
Tim nodded, pushing himself out of the way
so Mulder could close the door.
"Have a seat," he said, seeming oddly formal.
"You know where the kitchen is if you want
something to drink."
"I'm okay."
They looked past one another for a long
time, the strained distance between them almost
painful.
"I don't know where to start," Mulder said,
kneading his fingers together.
Tim smiled bitterly. "Why don't you start
with why you walked out on me?"
Another silence. Mulder licked his dry lips,
trying to find a logical place to begin. "I honestly
thought I was protecting you."
"From what," Tim shouted, all of his pent
up
anger and frustration breaking the surface. "What is
it that suddenly walked up and said 'Leave Tim!
Leave his ass out in the cold! It's for his own good!'
What was that, Mulder? Huh?"
"I found a pack of cigarettes, Morleys, in
your apartment," Mulder fumbled, the explanation
seeming both nonsensical and ridiculous.
"A pack of cigarettes. . . you left me because
you found a pack of cigarettes in my apartment? Do
I look like an idiot? Do I?"
Mulder's head snapped up. "It wasn't the
cigarettes, Tim, it's what they mean. I can't. . ."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Tim
narrowed his eyes, leaning forward in his chair.
"You thought I'd started smoking? You thought I
was cheating on you? Come on, give me an
explanation, Mulder. Preferably one that meshes
with you protecting me, because so far, I don't see
the connection!"
"I have to start at the beginning," Mulder
said, frustrated. "It won't make sense unless I start at
the beginning."
Tim held up his hands. "Start explaining."
Home of Frank and Mary Pembleton
Curled in his wife's arms, Frank felt safe.
He
could hear his son cooing in his crib, and feel Mary's
warm breath across his throat. The house was
mostly quiet. Sane. If he let himself, he could
temporarily forget the day's events. It hadn't been
just Mulder and Bayliss' names being smeared in the
press. He'd been labeled the bad cop, the cop who
didn't read innocent girls their rights. The cop who
bullied people into making false confessions. The
cop who lied.
Giardello had been on the news that night
in
rare apoplectic form, trying to defend his detectives,
but the press was proving to be more a hydra than
any spin control could handle. Frank had made Mary
turn it off in the middle, unable to watch his
reputation and career wash away on the six o'clock
news.
"I know you're tense, Frank, but you're going
to have to calm down," she whispered, propping
herself up on one elbow. She traced the proud lines
of his face with her index finger.
"It's a house of cards," he said, looking
into
Mary's eyes. "It's a house of cards and it's falling
down on top of me, of us."
"There's been bad publicity before," she
sighed. "It all goes away eventually."
"Some things won't just go away. This is too
big, too tempting to ignore. It's journalistic manna
from heaven, Mary, and every reporter is going to
get his bite. A feast on the flesh of the Baltimore
homicide unit, come one, come all!"
She half laughed at him. "You're being
melodramatic. Maybe something more interesting
will happen."
He raised his eyebrows. "Like what? What
could possibly take attention away from this comedy
of errors they're calling a trial?"
"A. . . what do you call them. . a red ball.
Maybe a redball. A triple, no quadruple slaying. On
the Inner Harbor. Two nuns, the mayor and David
Caplan."
Despite himself, Frank laughed. "My wife."
"My husband," she replied warmly, brushing
her lips across his.
Outside The Admiral Fell Inn
"You don't find that remotely funny," Scully
asked, barely disguising her laughter.
"What is funny about Admiral Fell? He was
a
great man. They named a point after him. He's a
national hero."
She took his elbow as they stepped up on the
curb just outside her hotel. Sea birds shrieked into
the night, their songs wavering eerily over the water.
They were one of many couples out along the harbor
at this hour, but they made an odd pair; Scully
painted sunset colors from her warm russet hair to
the soft rose of her cheeks, Munch a cold contrasted
study of black hair, white skin, black clothes.
"The Admiral Fell Inn, that's what's funny,"
she insisted. "The admiral fell in?"
"Dana, that's not funny at all," he grinned.
"I
think you've had a little too much to drink."
She rolled her eyes at him. "One brandy does
not a drunkard make, Munch. Sometimes, on very
rare occasions, I like to have fun. This would be one
of those occasions."
"Hey, far be it from me to rain on your
parade."
"It's late, I'd better turn in," she said
softly. "I
have to testify tomorrow."
"No nightcap?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Don't push your
luck."
Munch smiled, and squeezed Scully's hand.
"Thank you for a lovely evening."
"Thank you. It was nice." Stepping up
one
more stair, she tilted forward and kissed him gently
on the mouth. She smiled at him one last time, then
disappeared inside the lobby.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Munch
headed down the street, a twisted half smile on his
face. It was the first time in his life he'd been called
"nice" when the subtext hadn't been "loser."
(End Part Six)
Title: Trace Evidence: Inadmissable (07/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: vii@netdirect.net
Rating: PG-13 (Language, adult situations)
Home of Tim Bayliss
It had taken until three in the morning, but
Mulder had finally told Tim everything. He
explained about Samantha, the x files, his theories,
the Cigarette Smoking Man, his quest and his fears.
Now he waited silently, patiently for Tim to
respond.
"You should have asked about the
cigarettes," Bayliss finally said, sliding himself from
the wheelchair onto the couch. "They're mine."
Mulder stared in disbelief. "Yours?"
"More accurately, Kelly's. I caught her with
them, I don't know, a couple of months ago. Instead
of throwing them away, I kept them. I don't know
why; I just did. Sometimes, when things were
especially bad, I'd light one, hold it. . . it was
something to cling to, something familiar. I did it
after you left that morning, I was scared. Waiting for
everything to blow up, I guess. Then it did." He
smiled bitterly. "Get what you ask for, huh?"
Covering his face with his hands, Mulder
bowed his head in shame. "I'm a miserable bastard."
"You just made a mistake." Tim paused and
considered that for a moment. "Actually, we both
did. You didn't trust me. . . and I didn't realize that."
"Where does that leave us?"
Tim shook his head. "I don't know."
Baltimore City Courthouse
Division 14
Scully on the witness stand was a force to
be
reckoned with. Her clear voice and earnest eyes put
the jury at ease, despite the fact that the defense had
already labeled her a liar. She did a good job
following up on Cox's testimony about the autopsy,
and explained with indubitable clarity the detailed
and often dull process of DNA testing. The jury had
been duly informed that the blood pumped from Elsa
Bettis' stomach for evidence was a mixture of Laura
Ballard's and Athena King's. They knew that Athena
King would have died without transfusions. They
knew that the blood in Laura Ballard's stomach
belonged to Eliza Barret. The links between Barret
and Bettis had been firmly established. The link
between Bettis and Ballard was clear. When
Danvers sat, he smiled at her in encouragement.
They could win this case yet, his eyes told her.
When David Caplan stood up, he assessed
the jury. They liked Scully, so he'd have to be
careful. A defendant can lose a case if a popular
witness is maligned. Like in any other arena in life,
the courtroom was a place of cliques, popularity
contests and appeal. Unfortunately, he made his first
mistake early on.
"Miss Scully," he began.
"Sir, I'm a doctor and a federal agent," she
reminded him.
A pained expression contorted into a smile.
"Forgive me. Dr. Scully. How did you come to work
with Agent Mulder?"
"I was assigned to the x files, to monitor
his
progress."
"Is it accurate to say you were assigned to
discredit his work in the x files?"
Scully shook her head. "That's not quite
accurate. I was assigned as an unbiased witness. We
filed separate reports on the same cases to gain a
greater part of the whole."
"An unbiased witness," Caplan repeated.
"Aren't the x files just cold cases?"
"They are cold cases, it's true, but they
frequently deal with reports of supernatural or
paranormal phenomena."
"Could you give us an example?"
"Unless asked about a specific incident
within the purview of public knowledge, I cannot.
I'm sorry."
Caplan raised an eyebrow. "Stricken as
unresponsive, your honor?"
The judge looked down at Scully. "Please
explain your answer to the jury."
Scully turned to face the twelve men and
women in the jury box. "Much of what Agent
Mulder and I do is related to government projects
and other sensitive areas of national security.
Because of this, I may not comment on the nature of
these investigations in a public forum."
"Your honor, she's hiding behind her security
clearance," Caplan complained.
Judge Rush stared at the defense attorney.
"Mr. Caplan, I'm sure you're aware that a security
clearance is not a shield for personal use, but can
and has been invoked in court when matters of
national security are at stake. If Agent Scully's
answers are more accurately covered by her fifth
amendment rights, then I will so note it. Please
continue."
"Your partner was featured on an episode of
'Sightings', was he not?"
She nodded. "He was."
"And 'Sightings' is a program which deals
with, among other things, alien abductions, is it
not?"
"I don't watch it, sir, but I believe that's
correct."
"Did you watch it when your partner was on
it?"
"Some of it, yes."
"Why was Agent Mulder featured on this
program?"
"Objection, your honor. He had the
opportunity to ask Agent Mulder these questions
and did not."
"Your honor, I have to be able to establish
the nature of Dr. Scully's working relationship with
Agent Mulder without infringing on her clearance."
Judge Rush pondered it for a moment. "I'll
allow it. Objection is overruled."
"I believe he was being profiled," Scully
said,
her words measured. "Regarding one of our earlier
cases."
"A case which is now in a public forum due
to this program, correct?"
"Parts of it."
"Without overstepping your bounds, can you
tell the jury what the case was about?"
Pushing her glasses up, Scully nodded. "It
involved a mutated humanoid which had adapted to
survive by means of a parasitic lifestyle."
There was a rumble of polite laughter
following her answer. She smiled apologetically to
no one in particular.
"'Sightings' called this humanoid a Flukeman,
didn't it?"
"Yes, I believe it did."
"Was it sentient?"
"Objection, your honor, calls for
speculation."
"Sustained."
"Are you familiar with a magazine called the
Weekly World News?"
"Yes."
"Do you read the Weekly World News?"
"No, I don't."
"Then how are you familiar with it, Dr.
Scully?"
Scully gritted her teeth. "Agent Mulder often
reads it in our office."
With a flourish, Caplan produced a copy of
the black and white tabloid. "This is a copy of the
magazine in question, is it not?"
"It appears to be, yes."
"I'd like to admit this as defense exhibit
23b,
your honor."
"So noted."
He laid the paper down in front of her.
"Could you read the headline for the jury please?"
"Flukeman terrorizes Midwestern town," she
recited dryly.
"And the smaller headline, underneath?"
"Kooky spooky FBI agents claim monster is
loose among us."
Hallway
Standing outside the witness sequester,
Lewis and Kellerman eyefucked perps walking down
the hallway in handcuffs. There was very little fun to
be had in a courthouse corridor, so they were
making the best of it. Lewis had been informed that
morning that Danvers might want to call him again,
eating up another day of his time while he waited for
a maybe. At least he didn't have to sit in that hot
little room. The only one of them left in sequester
was Bayliss, a development which had puzzled them
to no end.
"I would have never guessed," Kellerman
said, slopping coffee over the side of his chewed
Styrofoam cup. "He doesn't look like he goes that
way."
"Will you shut up," Lewis muttered.
"Someone could hear your silly ass."
"You can't tell me this doesn't bother you."
Meldrick watched the hall anxiously,
unwilling to be caught discussing this. "Of course it
bothers me. How do I know. . . how do any of us
know he hasn't been checking us out? He's supposed
to be watching our backs, not our backsides."
Mike shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me."
"I knew something was going on, I knew it.
He hasn't had a woman since he stole my Emma
from me."
"Emma Zoole was never yours, Meldrick.
And that's not true. He went out with that reporter
chick. . . and he and Cox had a thing over
Christmas. I also heard, through the grapevine, that
he and Ballard went out a couple'a times."
Lewis stared at his partner. "What are you,
the office magpie?"
"I hear things," Mike shrugged. "Besides,
you knew about him and Cox."
"Don't seem fair, playing both sides of the
bench."
Kellerman scowled, having finally managed
to dump coffee on his shirt. "Well, what are we
going to do?"
Raising an eyebrow, Lewis leaned against the
wall. "Well, I don't know what you're gonna to do,
Mikey, but I'm gonna pretend I ain't never heard it."
Division 14
"So Agent Mulder's theory was not that Miss
Bettis was murdering these women because she
believed they would keep her young, Agent Mulder's
theory was that Miss Bettis has discovered a
supernatural way to remove victims' blood and stay
young forever?"
Scully frowned. "He never stated it that way,
sir."
"In fact, Agent Mulder attributes most
everything to paranormal phenomena, doesn't he?"
"Not everything."
"Isn't it true that you believe you may have
been abducted by aliens?"
"Objection!"
"Didn't you undergo regression therapy
because of this belief?"
"Objection!"
"Mr. Caplan," Judge Rush started, but
Caplan ignored her and pressed again.
"In fact, didn't you admit. . ."
"Mr. Caplan," the judge shouted, finally
cutting him off. "The objections are sustained. I find
you in contempt of court. Wrap this cross
examination up now."
Caplan shrugged. "Dr. Scully, isn't it true
that Agent Mulder led this investigation based on the
belief that Miss Bettis was a vampire?"
Finally, a question he couldn't twist. She
stared at him confidently, and answered no.
"He didn't?"
"No, sir, he didn't."
"Wasn't that a large part of the
interrogation?"
Scully shook her head. "I don't know. I
wasn't there."
Feeling the first chink in his armor, Caplan
backed down. "Thank you. No further questions."
(End Part Seven)
Title: Trace Evidence: Inadmissable (08/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: vii@netdirect.net
Rating: PG-13 (Language, adult situations)
Hallway
Bayliss wheeled toward the sequester room
quietly, unable to look his colleagues in the face. He
wasn't stupid. Whether they had talked about his
sudden outing or not, they had thought about it. He
would never be the same man to them. He could tell
by the way their conversations bled to a stop when
he entered a room, he could tell by the fact that they
hadn't eaten lunch with him. He was damaged,
irreparably, in their eyes.
Despite all that, he wanted to remind them
he was a cop. Even if they didn't include him in their
conversations, even if they never drank together at
The Waterfront again, he wanted them to remember
that he was still one of them.
Looking up, he acknowledged Stivers, Lewis
and Kellerman with a nod, then he focused his
attention on Lewis.
"It was cold," he said simply.
Meldrick paused, considering the
information. "Cold, huh?"
"Yeah. It was cold."
Division 14
Ed Danvers considered Scully's testimony a
weak victory. Even with alien abduction questions
stricken from the records, the jury would remember
it come time to deliberate. She had stood firm
against Caplan, though, and she had seemed
sympathetic. Deciding they needed another strong
witness before putting Bayliss under the microscope,
he'd shuffled the order and put Athena King on the
stand. If the jury was going to ignore Caplan's
theatric attempt at destroying the law enforcement,
he still had to contend with a living, breathing
witness-victim.
"Miss King," Danvers started, "Do you know
the defendant, Elsa Bettis?"
"Yeah." Athena stared down at her hands.
"From the Erzebet Bathory fan club."
They threaded through the set up, irritating
questions made necessary to avoid an objection on
the basis of assuming facts not in evidence. How did
they meet, what did they do together, the history of
their relationships in minute detail. Danvers felt a
sense of unease based on Athena's demeanor. Two
weeks prior, during witness interviews, she was
angry, ready to bury Elsa Bettis with her own hands.
Now she seemed hesitant. He hoped that it was just
a case of nerves.
"Did you ever share blood with the
defendant?"
"Sometimes," Athena admitted sullenly.
"And what was the purpose of sharing
blood?"
"It was just a thing. It was stupid."
Danvers raised his eyebrow. That was not
the answer he expected. "Were you trying to
emulate Erzebet Bathory?"
"It was just a stupid game."
Danvers gave it up as a loss. "Did Miss
Bettis tell you about her plans to live forever?"
"We talked about it. Who doesn't want to
live forever?"
"Did she ever tell you she had discovered
Erzebet Bathory's secret?"
Dourly, Athena sat back in the witness chair
and said nothing. Danvers stared at her, then asked
the question again. She was going to back up on
him. The one witness in this whole debacle who had
nothing to lose by telling the truth was going to sit
on the stand and lie to his face.
"Did she or did she not tell you she had
discovered the Bathory secret and had indeed
already tried it?"
Caplan stood up laconically. "Uh, your
honor, I believe he's not only badgering his own
witness, but he's also leading."
The judge gazed at the witness, considering
the objection. "Sustained on the last question. Miss
King, you took an oath to tell the truth in this
courtroom; one cannot tell the truth unless one
answers the question."
"I don't know," Athena said finally,
glowering up at the judge. "I don't remember."
Letting out a disgusted sigh, Danvers turned
to the judge. "Permission to treat as hostile, your
honor?"
"Granted. Proceed."
"Elsa Bettis told you she knew the Bathory
secret, didn't she?"
"I don't remember."
"She told you she had already used it, didn't
she?"
"I don't remember."
"She told you she had murdered Laura
Ballard, didn't she?"
"No!"
"You remember that, but not the rest of the
conversation?"
"Objection, your honor, argumentative."
"Sustained."
Danvers picked up a manila folder from his
desk. "You joined Miss Bettis at the Tremont Hotel,
didn't you?"
"Yes."
"She told you she would teach you the
secret, didn't she?"
"There wasn't a secret."
"So now there isn't a secret?"
"That wasn't why we went there."
"Did you kiss Miss Bettis that night, Miss
King?"
"I don't want to say."
The judge sighed. "Please answer the
question, Miss King."
"I don't remember."
Before Danvers could say anything, Judge
Rush covered her microphone and leaned over to
speak to the witness. "Miss King, you can and will
be tried for perjury if you try to pull that in my
courtroom again. Answer the prosecutor's question."
Athena bowed her head. "We kissed."
"But this wasn't a romantic kiss, was it?"
Now she was caught between two lies. She
considered the question, trying to decide what to
say. "It was just an experiment."
He could use that. "An experiment she told
you would help you live forever, isn't that right?"
"No."
"Miss King, did you stay the night in that
hotel?"
"No."
"Where did you spend that night?"
She started to cry, fat tears rolling down
her
cheeks. "Mercy Hospital."
Danvers keyed down his examination.
Brutalizing a sobbing witness looked bad, no matter
what the reason for the tears.
"You were in the hospital because Elsa
Bettis managed to drain most of the blood from your
body, isn't that correct?"
"I don't remember," she mumbled, wiping
her face with her hands.
"Your hospital admission forms state that
you had lost more than 4 liters of blood."
"Then it must be true. I don't know, I don't
remember."
"You have no idea how you lost over four
liters of blood, Miss King?"
"No. I don't know."
"You told Agent Scully that Miss Bettis tried
to kill you, didn't you?"
"I don't remember saying that."
"When was the last time you spoke to Miss
Bettis?"
She forced a smile. "A few days ago."
"Did she ask you to lie in court today?"
"No, she would never do that. She would
never ask me to do that."
Danvers slunk back to his seat at the
prosecution table. "No further questions at this time,
your honor."
Covering a victorious smile, Caplan didn't
even bother standing. The state's ace in the hole had
just become his best witness. "I just have one
question, Miss King. How would you characterize
your relationship with Miss Bettis?"
Athena smiled softly, genuinely. "She's my
best friend."
"Thank you, Miss King," he said, smiling.
"Nothing further."
Fayette Street
Scully relinquished the rest of her change
for
a foil wrapped hot dog from a vendor. Grabbing a
handful of napkins, she walked over to the bus
bench and sat next to her partner.
"I talked to Tim," Mulder tossed out, edging
the chili back onto his dog with his finger.
"Cigarettes were his."
"Oh, Mulder," she sighed, unwrapping her
lunch.
"Anything new and exciting going on with
you," he asked, nudging her with his elbow.
She shrugged, ignoring the fact that he was
already changing the subject. "Nothing really. I had
dinner with Munch last night."
He caught a sharp breath, staring at her.
"Munch? You mean John Munch?"
"Yes, Mulder. John Munch. Homicide
detective. . ."
"A man once described to me as a cadaver in
a bad suit?"
She rolled her eyes, wiping the edge of her
mouth. "Just eat your hot dog."
"No way," Mulder said, putting an arm
around her shoulder. "I'm _interested_. Tell me
more."
"There's nothing to tell, Mulder. It was
dinner. We ate. We talked. You know, dinner."
"Well was it a date-dinner, or just dinner?"
Switching the hot dog into her left hand,
she
peeled Mulder's arm from around her shoulder.
"What's the difference?"
"Well, a date-dinner usually ends with a kiss;
which explains why all the meals we've ever eaten
were just dinner. . . hey." Leaning forward, Mulder
took a good look at his partner's face. Detecting the
slightest stain of a blush, his mouth dropped open.
"Munch kissed you?"
Shoving the last bite of lunch into her mouth,
Scully shook her head. She realized that the bite was
just a little too big, and tried to gracefully maneuver
through the swallowing process. Instead of leaving
her to suffer the last bit of her lunch alone, Mulder
decided to interrogate her.
"Munch didn't kiss you?"
She shook her head no, trying to open her
can of iced tea.
"So there was no kissing?"
Shaking her head again, she glared at
Mulder.
"No, there was no kissing, or no, there
_was_ kissing?"
She slammed a mouthful of tea, then stood
up, ready to walk back over to the courthouse.
"Oh you did, didn't you? You kissed him,"
he
guessed, standing to join her.
Poking a finger into his chest, she lowered
her voice to a growl. "Yes, I kissed him, Mulder.
Wipe that stupid smile off your face right now!"
"John and Dana," Mulder mused. "It has a
nice ring to it."
"It was just one date!"
"Dana Munch, however. . ."
She scowled at him. "I don't recall giving
you a hard time when I caught you kissing another
man."
"I wasn't kissing Munch," he grinned,
jumping the curb and picking up his pace.
Division 14
Each detective who'd had a hand in the case
testified, one by one. Like Lewis' testimony the
previous day, the bit players had an easy time of it.
Last on the docket for the day, and the last person
on the witness list was Tim Bayliss.
Reporters outside were already buzzing at
the seemingly rushed pace of the trial, but Danvers
didn't pay it any heed. Most trials only took three or
four days, and he would be surprised if this one took
more. There wasn't a lot of evidence, only a lot of
witnesses. The science evidence was usually the
longest portion of a trial, and he had dispensed with
that in the course of a single afternoon. Depending
on how long Caplan took, they could have a verdict
back by dinnertime tomorrow.
When Tim wheeled himself into the
courtroom, the bailiffs rushed to put a microphone
on the floor for him. He felt oddly vulnerable, not
being behind the heavy wooden walls of the witness
stand. In deference to his condition, Danvers chose
to stand behind his table rather than approaching as
he normally would.
"Could you state your name and occupation
for the record, please?"
"I'm Detective Tim Bayliss. I work for the
Baltimore homicide unit."
"How did you come to be assigned the
murder of Laura Ballard, Detective Bayliss?"
Tim shook his head. "I was the primary,
primary investigator, in the Jensen case. Since
Detective Ballard's murder was so similar to the
victim in the Jensen case, it was assigned to me. Sort
of an ongoing investigation kind of thing."
"Are detectives always assigned to copy cats
of previous cases?"
"No," Tim shook his head. "Not always."
"What was the difference this time?"
Tim leaned back. "Well, this time it was a
co-worker, and the Jensen case was still fresh in my
mind. I have to assume that my Lieutenant felt I was
the best man for the job."
Leading him through the investigative
questions, Danvers covered the case from the time
Tim first saw Ballard's body lying next to a dumpster
until Elsa Bettis had been taken away from the box
in handcuffs. Bayliss knew the hard questions
would be coming next, questions addressing what
everyone else had said before him. It would be an
attempt to deflate the defense's position, and it
would be ugly.
"Do you have a personal relationship with
Agent Mulder?"
"Yes, I do."
"And in the confines of this relationship,
did
you conspire with him to find a scapegoat for this
case?"
"No. Elsa Bettis was a suspect based on the
evidence, not based on a conspiracy."
"It was very important to you that you
solved this case, wasn't it?"
"It was. Laura Ballard was a fellow
detective, she was one of ours."
"Did you work her case any differently than
you would have any other?"
Tim shook his head. "No. I work all of my
cases hard, into the ground if I have to. It didn't
matter in the process that she was a detective. It just
mattered to me, for my conscience."
"You were the primary on this case. Why
weren't you a party to the interrogation, Detective
Bayliss?"
"That's a little complicated," Tim said. "First
of all, I wasn't the arresting officer. I was several
blocks from the Tremont Hotel when Miss Bettis
was apprehended. Secondly, my partner, Detective
Pembleton, he made the arrest, he's the best
interrogator in our unit. Instead of giving Miss
Bettis time to get comfortable and concoct an alibi,
he questioned her immediately."
"Where were you during the interrogation?"
"Watching, from the observatory."
"And you never tried to join the
interrogation, did you?"
"No, I did not."
"Did anyone else join the interrogation?"
"Agent Mulder did."
"And do you know why?"
"He's a psychologist," Bayliss explained.
"We had never had a suspect quite like Miss Bettis
before, and he felt that Detective Pembleton was
going the wrong way with the interrogation."
"Did you agree?"
"Not at the time, no."
"Did you come to agree?"
"It's not like that." Tim tried to sit up
a little
straighter. "I thought Detective Pembleton was
doing an effective interrogation. I think that
Detective Pembleton and Agent Mulder conducted
an excellent interrogation. I believe she would have
confessed either way, but with Agent Mulder in the
room, it didn't take as long."
"Did Miss Bettis ask for a lawyer at any
time?"
"She did not."
"Did she ever say she wished to stop the
interview?"
"At one point, she said she wouldn't answer
anymore questions."
"And did the interview stop at that point?"
"It did not. Agent Mulder entered the room
at that point, and introduced himself. She voluntarily
started a dialogue with Agent Mulder."
"And after that?"
"After Agent Mulder entered the room, she
never asked to stop the interview and never invoked
her right to an attorney."
"How did Elsa Bettis kill Laura Ballard?"
"Somehow. . . she drained her blood. We
don't know how she did it."
"If you don't know how she did it, how can
you be sure that she did do it?"
"Detective Ballard's blood was in her
stomach. Witnesses placed her with Miss Bettis the
night she died. She told Athena King. . . "
"Objection, hearsay!"
The judge sustained the objection, Caplan's
only victory in Bayliss' direct examination.
"Did your personal relationship with Agent
Mulder have any affect on this investigation?"
"None."
(End Part Eight)
Title: Trace Evidence: Inadmissable (09/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: vii@netdirect.net
Rating: PG-13 (Language, adult situations)
Fayette and Monroe
Pembleton stepped over the body, pulling
out his notebook. That morning, he'd had a choice;
go back to the courthouse and wait in a stuffy
hallway for bits of news, or go back to work.
Without regard to the fact that his job consisted of
picking through murder scenes, he thought he'd
made the more pleasant choice out of the two.
Pulling on latex gloves, he motioned for
Munch to bring him an evidence bag. Carefully, he
picked up a blood encrusted knife and dropped it
into the bag.
"Think that's the murder weapon," Munch
grinned as Frank sealed the bag.
"Nope, but it matches my set of knives at
home."
This case was a dunker; it had solved itself
before Frank Pembleton and John Munch had even
set foot in the rowhouse. Waiting outside in a patrol
car, one Mr. Jacob Everett had confessed during his
911 call, to his neighbors, and to the uniforms first
on the scene. There was no doubt that once he was
safely ensconced in the homicide unit, he'd happily
confess again.
"Hey Frank," Munch ventured, putting paper
bags around the victim's hands to preserve evidence.
"What do you think of Dana Scully?"
Pembleton raised an eyebrow as he fished
through the body's pockets for identification. "I trust
her with my kids. Why?"
"I like her. I was thinking of asking her
out.
On a real date, I mean."
"Real compared to what," Frank asked
blankly, finding the ID card and copying its
information into his notebook.
"Well, we had dinner last night."
"Then why are you asking me stupid
questions?"
Munch shook his head, stepping aside so the
ME's assistants could steer a thick, black body bag
into the cramped room. "Because it wasn't a date.
Because I can't believe she'd say yes if I asked her
again. I'm just looking for a little support here,
Frank. You know her best, so I'm asking you.
Should I ask her out on a date or not?"
Closing the notebook, Pembleton stared over
at Munch. "Sure. Why not?"
To them, there was nothing odd at all about
carrying on this conversation over the corpse of a
woman who'd been stabbed to death for running
around on her husband. The ME's assistants didn't
even blink.
"Well, what if I'm a step down?"
Frank smiled encouragingly. "Munch, you're
always a step down."
"Thanks, Frank. That's really helpful."
Division 14
Caplan had ditched most of his prepared
questions after Bayliss' direct examination. Danvers
had covered nearly everything he had planned to
use, so that trying it now would just seem like a
weak attempt at attacking a helpless man. Pacing
near his table, he pondered his options.
"Did the fact that Agent Mulder is your lover
have anything to do with him working on the Ballard
case?"
"No. He worked on the Jensen case, it was
only natural to ask him back on this one."
"But you've asked him to work on other
cases with you, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have, during the Prince Charming
killings."
"And did that have anything to do with his
being your lover?"
Tim shook his head. "We weren't lovers at
that time."
"Do you believe that Elsa Bettis is a
vampire?"
"No."
"Does Agent Mulder believe. . ."
"Objection, your honor. Lovers or not,
Detective Bayliss cannot speak for Agent Mulder's
beliefs."
"Sustained," Judge Rush said. "If you have
any further questions about Agent Mulder's state of
mind, he is still in this courtroom, Mr. Caplan."
Caplan tried a different approach. "Did you
subscribe to Agent Mulder's theories about the crime
in this case?"
"I didn't consider his theories," Bayliss
said.
"We followed the evidence."
"If you didn't consider his theories, then
why
did your investigation focus on the members of the
Erzebet Bathory fan club so quickly?"
"I've explained that. It didn't happen that
way. Agent Scully, Detective Pembleton and I
investigated the hard evidence. The drugs in
Detective Ballard's system, the eye witnesses, the
DNA evidence. With or without Agent Mulder's
probe into the Erzebet Bathory fan club, we would
have narrowed our search to Elsa Bettis eventually."
"So what you're saying is that Agent Mulder
was completely unnecessary."
Tim shook his head. "I didn't say that. He
did
make the connection first. Without his input, this
case might have taken much longer to come to an
arrest."
"You mean, you might have actually had to
do some police work?"
"Objection, argumentative."
"Sustained."
"You're not very good at your job, are you,
Detective Bayliss?"
"I'd say I am," Tim answered coldly.
"Didn't you enter the homicide unit as a
political appointment?"
"No, I did not."
"What did you do before you were in
homicide?"
"I was on the Mayor's security detail."
"And you were transferred to homicide on a
phone call from the Mayor, didn't you?"
"I applied for a transfer and waited like
everyone else."
"You never solved your first case, did you?"
"Objection!"
"Goes to credibility, your honor."
Judge Rush shook her head. "I don't see it,
Mr. Caplan. Sustained."
Frustration overtook David Caplan.
Everything he'd wanted to ask had been covered.
Everything he thought to ask now was irrelevant. It
had taken him three tries, but Danvers had finally
bulletproofed a witness. Since he didn't have any
firepower left, Caplan decided to go for the
fireworks.
"You and your lover plotted in the
background because you didn't have a case, and you
finally decided to frame Elsa Bettis, didn't you?!"
"No. She's guilty as sin." Bayliss' voice
didn't
even waver.
"You just couldn't let a cop's death go
unavenged, even though she was a junkie, could
you?!"
"Objection, your honor!" Danvers jumped to
his feet. "Laura Ballard, Tim Bayliss and Fox
Mulder are not on trial here!"
"Withdrawn," shouted Caplan. "How does it
feel to see an innocent woman on trial, Detective
Bayliss?"
It was supposed to be a rhetorical question,
and end cap to the cross examination. Danvers was
supposed to object, and he would have offered that
he had no more questions.
"I wouldn't know," Tim answered.
"Objection," Danvers added, deliberately
late.
"Sustained," the judge sighed. "The jury will
disregard the question and the answer."
"No more questions," Caplan snarled.
"You're excused, Detective Bayliss." Judge
Rush looked over at Danvers. "Call your next
witness, Mr. Danvers"
"Your honor, the prosecution rests."
Bayliss stopped at the mouth of the
courtroom, waiting for one of the bailiffs to open the
doors for him.
"Your honor," Caplan said, suddenly docile
and polite. "I move to have these charges dismissed
on the basis that the prosecution has not proved its
allegations beyond a reasonable doubt."
It was a time worn strategy. Any defense
attorney worth his salary would ask for a dismissal
after the prosecution rested, no matter how airtight
their case. This time, however, the judge actually
appeared to be considering it.
"Mr. Danvers, Mr. Caplan, I am going to
consider this request seriously, but I am not ready to
rule on it. Meet me in chambers in the morning."
Judge Rush ignored the panicked look on Danvers'
face as she turned to face the jury. "You will still be
required to appear tomorrow, regardless of my
decision. Do not read any newspapers or watch any
news programs. Do not discuss this case with. . ."
Tuning out the rest of the judge's
instructions, Bayliss wheeled himself into the
hallway. He made his way toward the elevators, his
whole body numb.
The Admiral Fell Inn, Room 316
Flopping down on Scully's bed, Mulder
covered his eyes with his arm. "They're going to
dismiss the charges."
Scully shook her head, sitting next to him.
"You don't know that. We have a lot of solid
evidence on our side."
"No, I know," Mulder said. "X files were
never meant to go to trial. They were meant to be
dealt with quietly, under the table, or eliminated at
the source."
Stretching out, she laid down next to him.
"What are you going to tell your mother?"
"Huh?" He looked over at his partner
blankly.
"Those weren't just local reporters out there,
Mulder."
Dropping his head back onto the bed, he
sighed. "Scully, hand me my gun, please."
"I don't think so," she said gently. "Maybe
it
won't be so bad."
"You know my mother."
"Point taken."
"I could always tell her _we're_ having an
affair," he joked.
"Forget it. I don't need a mother in law,"
she
laughed.
"Why not? Dana Mulder sounds much better
than Dana Munch."
She smirked over at him. "Who says I'd
change my name?"
(End Part Nine)
Title: Trace Evidence: Inadmissable (10/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: vii@netdirect.net
Rating: PG-13 (Language, adult situations)
Johns Hopkins Physical Therapy Unit
"Hold on tight, Tim," the trainer warned,
pressing against his back. "I can't catch you if you
fall."
Bayliss gripped the parallel bars, holding
on
for dear life. He stared down at his unwilling legs,
cursing them for refusing to take a step. Closing his
eyes and gritting his teeth, he managed to inch a foot
forward.
"Hey, good job," she said, surprised. He
wasn't even supposed to be trying to walk at this
point in his therapy, but he'd charmed her into letting
him try. If determination counted for anything, he'd
be walking by the end of the week.
Concentrating, he pushed himself harder. A
whisper at a time, he made progress. Though he'd
barely moved, he was sweating as though he'd just
finished a marathon. Abruptly, what little strength he
had left gave out, and he found himself sprawled on
the mats.
"It was a good try," the trainer said, pulling
his wheelchair over. "A very good try."
"Not good enough," he scowled, disgusted
with himself.
"It'll take time," she said, repeating the
mantra of physical therapy. Swiftly, she pulled him
up and into his wheelchair.
"It'll take time," he spat angrily. "That's
what
all of you say. It'll take time, time, time time. Do you
have any idea how frustrating this is? How
humiliating it is to have to ask someone to open
doors for you? To sit outside your favorite
restaurant because you never noticed they didn't
have a ramp? Huh? Do you?"
She knelt down, taking his hand in her own.
"I hear it every day, Tim, but you're lucky. You will
walk again, your life will be normal again. A lot of
people I work with can't say that."
Ashamed with himself, he nodded. "What
should we work on now?"
The Next Day
Baltimore City Courthouse
Sitting in the back of the court room,
Mulder, waited for the proceedings to begin. It was
already nine thirty, and the jury hadn't returned to
their box. Not a good sign, he thought. He glanced
around the room, noticing a handful of reporters
craning their necks to see him. Him and Bayliss,
more accurately. Nothing to look at; Frank and
Scully sat between them, and Tim appeared to be
thoroughly engrossed in a paperback. Finally, there
was a rustling at the front of the courtroom, and a
bailiff walked out of chambers.
"All rise, the honorable Pamela Rush
presiding," he announced as the judge stepped up to
her bench. Danvers and Caplan followed her, taking
their tables as the jury was ushered in. Tim put down
his paperback, and fixed his eyes to the front of the
courtroom.
"Mr. Danvers," the judge said.
Danvers rose from his seat and cleared this
throat. "The prosecution has offered the defendant a
plea bargain on the charges before this court."
The galley broke into furious whispers.
Scully and Mulder exchanged shocked expressions.
"Mr. Caplan?"
Rising from his seat behind the defense table,
Caplan nodded. "Defense has accepted the plea
bargain."
Judge Rush nodded. "Miss Bettis, please
rise."
For the first time during the trial, the woman
who'd killed Laura Ballard was center stage.
Smoothing her cool blue business suit, she moved
from foot to foot slowly, then stood.
"On the sole count of murder in the second
degree, how do you plead?"
"Guilty, your honor."
"You realize that by pleading guilty you are
accepting these charges of your own free will, and
negate the possibility of an appeal on your behalf at
any time in the future?"
She nodded slowly. "I do, your honor."
"Does the prosecution wish to hear
allocution?"
"We do," Danvers said solemnly.
"Miss Bettis, please recite the details of
your
crime for this court."
Looking around herself, Elsa smiled weakly,
inappropriately. "I met Laura at The Resurrection.
We danced together, and I bought drugs for her and
gave her some of my sleeping pills. When she got
tired, we walked outside together. I leaned her up
against the wall, and kissed her. She tried to push
me away, but she was too strung out to fight much.
When she passed out, I took an IV needle, and
drained her blood, which I drank later. I knew she
was dead when I left."
"She's lying," Scully hissed to Pembleton.
"There were no needle marks."
"Are the people satisfied with Miss Bettis'
allocution," the judge asked.
"We are, your honor."
"I'm ready to impose sentence, if there are
no
further arguments."
The defense and prosecution both shook
their heads.
"Elsa Bettis, you have pled guilty to the
crime of murder in the second degree. The penalty
for this crime is not less than twelve and one half
and not more than twenty-five years in a state
sanctioned penitentiary. Following these
proceedings, you will be transferred to the Maryland
Correctional Institution for Women at Jessup. Do
you have anything further to say to this court?"
She shook her head, looking down at the
floor.
"Then this case is adjourned." The judge
turned to face the jury. "Though your services were
not required in this case, the city of Baltimore and
state of Maryland thank you for your dedication to
our judicial system. Without the cooperation of
citizens such as yourself, we would have no justice.
You are excused."
Ed Danvers Office
"She pled to the same thing she was going to
plead to before this whole trial nonsense started,"
Pembleton argued. "Why did we waste three days
and all of our reputations?"
Danvers sighed, looking from face to face.
"I
don't know why she did it. She told Caplan she was
afraid she'd get the death chamber."
"Mr. Danvers," Scully interrupted. "Why did
you accept her allocution. It didn't fit the facts of the
crime; she couldn't have done it the way she said she
did."
"Quite frankly, I was relieved that she pled.
There was a very real possibility she would have
walked. You saw that jury; they've already run to
the press to express their displeasure. I didn't care if
she fudged on the how as long as she admitted it."
Mulder pressed his finger down on the edge
of Danvers' desk. "She'll be out in six years."
"That won't happen," Danvers said firmly.
"No," Bayliss replied sarcastically. "Of
course it won't."
Fayette Street
He watched the four of them exit the
courthouse, talking to one another with obvious
displeasure. The story of the last three days was
written on their faces; exhaustion, frustration,
confusion. It brought a pale imitation of a smile to
his lips. Once Frank had helped Bayliss into his car,
they said their good byes, and went their separate
ways. Mulder and Scully disappeared into the
parking garage, then pulled out in their government-
issue sedan a few moments later. They eased into
traffic, and turned at the corner.
When they were finally out of sight, he
dropped his cigarette, and walked away.
Later That Night
Maryland Correctional Institution for Women at
Jessup
Sliding his badge to the guard at the door,
Mulder raised his arms and allowed her to take his
gun. He looked down at Bayliss, an ironic leer on his
face. Tim rolled his eyes, and allowed to guard to
search him as well.
"I'll be right back," the guard told them,
then
vanished into a dark office off to the side of the
room.
"Tell me again why we're here," Tim said,
rocking back and forth in his wheelchair.
"She pled guilty," Mulder answered. "Now I
want to know how she did it."
"What makes you think she'll tell us?"
He shrugged. "I don't think she will, but
I
have to ask."
Stepping out of the office, the guard
regarded them dispassionately. "Sorry boys, that
inmate has already been transferred. Sure din't stay
here long, did she?"
Mulder's eyes widened. "Transferred? To
where?"
"The Cassandra Spender Women's
Institution," she read out of the charge book. "Never
heard of that one before. Must be one of the new
federal places."
Taking back his weapon and badge, Mulder
started to rush out until he remembered Tim couldn't
follow that quickly. He waited outside the door until
Bayliss appeared, shrugging apologetically.
"So are we going to this Cassandra Spender
place now?"
Shaking his head, he walked beside Bayliss
toward the parking lot. "We can't. It doesn't exist."
"Pardon me?"
"It's a joke," Mulder said angrily. "Cassandra
Spender believed she had been abducted by aliens,
and shortly after going public about her experiences,
she was murdered, burned to death with the rest of
her abduction support group on a bridge near
Skyland Mountain."
Bayliss allowed himself to process that
information. When Mulder had explained his abrupt
disappearance, he had half wondered if it wasn't
some grand joke being made on his gullible part. The
things he'd told him didn't make sense in an everyday
world.
"Everything you told me about. . .
everything, it was the truth."
Mulder set his jaw and nodded. "I would
never lie to you."
"Let's go home."
The Admiral Fell Inn, Room 316
Peeling herself away from her novel, Scully
tightened the belt around her bathrobe. The only
person who could be knocking at her door at this
hour would be Mulder. Brushing her hair out of her
face, she swung the door open.
"Miss me that much did you," she asked then
stepped back.
"Well, a little," Munch grinned.
A hot flush rose over her cheeks. "John. .
. I
thought you were Mulder. . ."
He tilted his head. "I can't tell you how
often
that happens to me."
Tightening her robe, she shook her head.
"I'm sorry. . . would you like to come in?"
Pulling his hand from behind his back, he
handed her a single lily. "I saw this, and thought of
you."
Taking the flower, she smiled. "They have
these growing out front."
"Not anymore, they don't," Munch admitted
with a smirk. "Anyhow, that's all I wanted. I'll let
you get back to your. . . whatever you were doing."
"Why don't you come in," she offered again.
A strange look crossed his features, and he
shook his head. "I can't."
Wrinkling her brow, she stared at him. "Why
not?"
"Because I'll come in there, and then I'll
admire you, and then we'd make mad, passionate
love on that very ugly bedspread, and when it was
over, we'd talk about Sartre instead of smoking
cigarettes. Then, you'd send me off in the morning
with a 'we-slept-together-I'm-obligated-to-do-this'
kiss, and if we ever saw one another again, we'd
have that awkward three-foot barrier between us
while we made idle chit chat about the failing
Columbian coffee crops. Now, I don't know about
you, but I don't think a mere moment of sexual
gratification is worth that kind of discomfort."
Struck speechless, Scully just stood at the
door, holding the lily as she watched John Munch
turn and walk down the hall and, presumably, out of
the Admiral Fell Inn.
Home of Tim Bayliss
Lying fully clothed in Tim's bed was a new,
but not unpleasant, experience for Mulder. Curled in
each other's arms, it was like no timed had passed
between them. The soft scent of cologne hung in the
air, and the flicker of a single candle by the window
danced shadows across their faces.
"I want to start over," Mulder whispered,
running a hand through Tim's close-cropped hair.
"We can't do that unless you trust me,"
Bayliss murmured.
"You realize I won't always be able to tell
you what I'm doing, or where I'm going?"
"I don't care about your job. I'm talking
about us."
"It could be dangerous."
Tim laughed quietly. "I live for danger."
Mulder cleared his throat. "I love you, Tim."
"This is the only chance you'll get," Bayliss
said seriously. "This is the only chance I can give
you."
"I won't let you down."
Turning his face up, Tim fixed Mulder in his
gaze. "I hope you don't."
(End Part Ten)
(The End)