By David Hearne
ottercrk@sover.net
 

Date: Mon, 27 Dec 1999 11:25:00 -0500

Classification: Crossover/Humor

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Fire

Archive: Well, jolly good, yes!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A brief confession -- I wrote fan fiction about three years
ago, all of  which I submitted to Gossamer. I had that stuff taken out of
the archives because...well, I'm not too sure why. Something about wanting
to concentrate on my studies at a college I eventually dropped out of.

Anyway, this was one of the things I wrote and I still think it has some
good things in it. I got the idea because I noticed people doing cross-overs
with "Star Trek," "Star Wars" and so on. I thought about what fictional
character I would like Mulder and Scully to meet. I decided on Horace
Rumpole, simply because he's my favorite series character. I think it's kind
of silly to talk about fictional characters as "role models." (Are King Lear
or Oedipus Rex supposed to be evaluated as "role models?") Yet I would like
to be Rumpole -- feisty, witty and with just enough hope in the legal
system. I also think he would be a good character to match up with our two
favorite FBI agents and such a story has more possibilities in it than
having them run into Data.

Speaking of other sci-fi universes, who do you think is more hated? Wesley
Crusher, Diana Fowley or Jar Jar Binks?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Few questions strike me as being as weighty as "What do you believe in?" I
wish I could get everyone in the world to take the stand and have them
clearly state their principles. Sir (or ma'am), what is your guiding
philosophy? What exactly enables you to get out of bed and face the world?

Myself, I would say that on the days when the blankets are feeling
particularly comfy and the world seems colder than usual, I put the image of
an ancient building in my mind. Nothing gets me more hopeful about life than
the sight of the Old Bailey. A new brief is a reason to go on living.
Defending a client gives me my purpose. I, Horace Rumpole, solemnly declare
that I find nothing finer than a verdict of "not guilty."

Equally important, however, is the question of what you don't believe in.
Are there things that just by existing would make life incomprehensible for
you? Personally, I find myself questioning the existence of Hugh Grant. On a
broader, more cosmic scale, I have to confess that, despite being raised by
a clergyman, I'm not entirely certain if there is a God. If a Supreme Being
does exist, why does he let certain small-minded authoritarians become
judges instead of placing them in charge of the Third World dictatorships
they so richly deserve? There are other kinds of spiritual beliefs that I
question. For instance, I find seances as humdrum as any church service and
I believe that crop circles are merely the efforts of drunken pranksters. I
suppose you can call those views my "disbeliefs."

Everyone needs their "disbeliefs" tested as well as their core beliefs. The
case of The Crown versus Phoebe Green provided me a moment of doubt in
regards to my "disbeliefs." It also gave me a very sharp period of
uncertainty about myself as a barrister.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The first indication that my life was going to become rather odd came not
from the case involving Inspector Green, but from Sam Ballard. 'Soapy Sam'
(as I like to call him) was and still is the Head of my Chambers. It is one
of those facts of my life that makes me conclude that if there is a God,
then He has a peculiar sense of humor.

On the morning that I got my new brief, I ran into Ballard as we both
entered 3 Equity Court, the location of our Chambers. I saw that he had a
book clutched in his hands. Designed onto its cover was an eye in the middle
of a triangle.

I said, "Ballard, your book is staring at me."

He smiled and replied, "You might say that it is staring at us all."

In all the years I had known Ballard till then, this was the first time he
had ever been deliberately cryptic (as opposed to just being unconsciously
muddled.) I asked him to translate his last statement.

He held the book out towards me. Beneath the eye, a title read in lurid
black letters, 'The Illuminati: Secret Shapers of History.' The author
identified himself as Doctor Gary Reed, PhD.

"Science fiction?" I ventured.

"Oh, no," Ballard said, solemnly. "Far from it." I suddenly had a bad
feeling about where this conversation was headed. It was too late, though.
Ballard would not be stopped.

"The Illuminati is an organization that was formed in Europe during the late
eighteenth-century," he explained. "Its founder was Adam Weishaupt."

"Gesundeiht."

Ballard gave me the standard look in response to one of my jokes, then
continued."They're the ones responsible for the French Revolution. Since
then, they've worked their way into every country and every government. The
most momentous events in history have been the result of their unseen
manipulations. The rise of the Communists in the Soviet Union, Nazi Germany,
the United Nations..."

"Busy fellows. I hope they take a vacation every now and then." I wonder if
there is a difference between questioning someone's intelligence and
questioning someone's sanity. Up until then, I had considered Ballard to be
a dotty bore, but this was the first time I ever had images of him in a
straitjacket. It was not an unpleasant image.

"You don't understand," Ballard sighed. "These people seek nothing more than
complete world domination."

"Ballard, where did you get this book?"

"A member of Lawyers As Christians gave it to me." The LAC, in case you
don't know, is an organization dedicated to smashing out pleasure in all of
its forms from sex to gin to enjoying a joke at the expense of your
superiors.

"Tell me, does the Illuminati have any relation to SMERSH or SPECTRE?" I
asked.

Ballard shook his head. "One of these days, you'll be thankful that some of
us kept informed." He left me for his office. I went to my own. I was within
an inch of calling up the nearest asylum when a matter more important than
Ballard's mental deterioration presented itself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

All categories of murder are nasty, but immolation strikes me as being
uniquely awful. How long would it take before the flames finally penetrated
your skin and reached your vital organs? How many seconds of unimaginable
agony would the process take? Burn victims are also among the most horrific
sights in the world.

"Christopher Grave." Phoebe Green contemplated the name for a few moments.
There was something unsettlingly cool in her expression. If she acted like
that in court, then it would not sit well with the jury.

"If I dare say, Inspector," I said. "your attitude to his death isn't
exactly one I would describe as being 'mournful.'"

She looked at me carefully. "I hardly knew him."

"That's not what the evidence shows."

"I went out with him. We had some fun. Beyond that, I knew very little about
him."

I suspected that I was defending a man-eater. This was not a crime, but it
presented another obstacle for me. There are few things a jury likes to do
better than convict attractive, promiscuous people like Phoebe Green.

She saw my concern and said, "I may not be 'mournful,' Mister Rumpole, but I
am sorry. Christopher did not deserve what happened to him. And I feel
guilty because he died as a result of meeting me."

"My dear, if you're going to confess..."

"No. I'm saying that I'm the connection, but I'm not the culprit."

"And the culprit is...?"

"Cecil L'ively."

Green was a member of Scotland Yard. Seven years back, she had been
investigating the death of several parliament members. As you might have
guessed, all of those victims died as a result of immolation. Eventually, a
man named Cecil L'ively was convicted for being the arsonist.

"You believe that L'ively killed this man in revenge upon you?"

"And framed me as well."

"That would be an excellent place to start a defense, Inspector Green.
However, there are two problems with it. First, your report is rather vague
on how L'ively exactly committed the original crimes. Second, he's still in
prison."

"That's why you should contact the man who helped me on the case."

"Ah, yes. The American." I looked at my copy of Green's report and studied
the American's peculiar name.

"I already sent for him," she told me. "His plane lands today. He'll tell
you the whole story."

"Why not tell me yourself?"

"It's better you hear it from him."

I frowned. "Inspector Green...you specifically requested me for your
barrister. Why?"

She smiled. "You might be just an Old Bailey hack, but your reputation is
well known in Scotland Yard."

"As what?"

"As someone who will do his best to defend a client, no matter how hopeless
the case is."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With all due respect to the police officers and detectives of England,
including Miss Green, I have to say that Agent Fox Mulder and his partner,
Dana Scully, were the two most attractive people I've ever seen carry any
sort of badge. Mulder had the look and build of a matinee idol, but not
quite so comically exaggerated. Scully's delicate shape and face might have
belonged to someone as equally delicate in nature, but, in her case, most
assuredly did not. Perhaps the FBI goes out of its way to hire people who
look like they should be modeling clothes.

To welcome them to England, I arranged our first meeting to be at
Pommeroy's. Some might question that decision. I say it's best to get an
idea of how outsiders will take to England in general by having them sip a
few of Pommeroy's finest.

"Actually," Mulder said to me. "this is not the first time I've been to
Pommeroy's."

"Ah, yes. You went to Oxford, didn't you?"

"Right. In fact, I remember seeing you at one of the tables here, smoking
your cigar and reading a newspaper."

"I'm surprised you remember me."

Mulder smiled. "You can't live in London for three years and not hear about
Horace Rumpole."

This was all going to my head. That night, I would proudly tell my wife,
Hilda, that they knew me at both Scotland Yard and the FBI. "Don't be so
smug, Horace," she had replied. "Your reputation is in desperate need of
bounds."

It was during the afternoon that the three of us met at Pommeroy's. We sat
down at a table, our legally required pints in hand.

"So," I said. "do you believe Mr. L'ively is up to his old fiery tricks
again?"

"That's what it looks like," Mulder replied.

"How is he performing them from within a prison?"

Scully looked down at her glass. Her expression suggested that something
embarrassing was going to happen. I got a feeling that was unpleasantly like
the one I had with Ballard that day.

Without blinking, Mulder said, "L'ively is a pyrokinetic."

I almost said "Gesundeiht." Instead, I said, "What?"

"He's able to start fires by mentally willing them." Again, Mulder didn't
blink and his voice had the calm, reasonable tones of a newscaster.

I considered what he said, then asked, "You mean if he wanted to cook a
steak, then he could just look at it and it's instantly well-done?"

Mulder almost smiled. "It's not quite that simple or we would all be in big
trouble. L'ively has to have a flammable agent to ignite. With the men he
had killed previously, he had worked in each of their houses and secretly
exposed them to flammable chemicals that got into their clothes."

I got out a cigar and a lighter, but thought better about it and put them
away. "And you're saying he did the same thing with Grave?"

"Right now, it's the only probable explanation."

"I'm afraid that the police disagree with you. And, frankly, their
explanation sounds better than yours."

"You think Phoebe did it, then?"

Phoebe? I thought. Oh, dear, another obstacle. "No," I assured him.
"Truthfully, I believe Miss Green to be someone who enjoys the effect she
has on men..."

There was a look of agreement on Scully's face. I began to suspect a
possible triangle.

"...but I don't believe her capable of something like this."

"So, what's your alternative explanation?" Mulder asked.

I thought about it for a long time. Then I picked up my glass.

"For now..." I drained my pint. "...yours."

If Mulder was surprised, then Scully was positively flummoxed. "Wait a
second," she said. "Are you seriously going to argue in a court of law
that..."

"You're sure that L'ively killed those parliament members, right?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then, I shall..."

"...but how he did it has not been completely determined."

"In other words, any scientific evidence proving that he's an actual...what
is it, again?"

"Pyrokinetic," Mulder said.

"The scientific evidence proving that is fuzzy. The best kind for a
barrister. I'll just make it up as I go along."

Scully looked as if I had coughed up something smelly. "You really are going
to do this?"

"It'll be difficult, but Horace Rumpole never backs down from a challenge."

"Well," she said. "Dana Scully is here to tell you..."

"Hello."

We all looked up and saw Claude Erskine-Brown. Erskine-Brown was another
barrister in my chambers and has the distinction of being as tiresome as
Ballard. I could never decide what was more annoying---Ballard's forced
moralizing or Erskine-Brown's strange devotion to Wagner's entire Ring
cycle.

"I don't believe we've met," he said and held out a hand to Scully. "My name
is Claude Erskine-Brown. I'm a lawyer."

Warily, Scully shook his hand and said, "I'm Dana Scully. I'm an FBI agent."

Erskine-Brown laughed as if that was the most delightful thing he heard all
day. It was obvious to all of us at the table and everyone else in London
that he had taken one look at poor Scully and had become instantly smitten.
Seeing me with her had increased his hopes for getting to know her.
Erskine-Brown, driven by his own inexplicable neurosis, was constantly
seeking romantic affairs, even though he was thoroughly inept at starting
them and doing so risked destroying his marriage. The story got even more
pitiful when you considered that his wife, Phillida, was a highly attractive
and intelligent judge. How the two of them even got married in the first
place was another one of God's inscrutable jokes.

"What brings you to England?" he asked Scully gallantly.

I interceded for her. "She's a witness in a case of mine." He looked
hopefully at me. "I say, that wouldn't be The Crown versus Phoebe Green?"

"Yes, it is."

He laughed again. "Why, I'm prosecuting that case."

"Claude...have you gone mad or have you finally developed a sense of humor?"

Erskine-Brown stood proud and erect. "The government personally asked me to
handle it."

"They asked you?"

"I know you don't think much of me as a lawyer, Rumpole, but apparently
others feel differently." He turned his adoring eyes back onto Scully.
"We'll be seeing quite a lot of each other."

She tried not to shudder.

Apparently, God was feeling uniquely playful that day. Despite Scully's
discomfort, though, I could appreciate this joke. "Well," I said. "that's
one point for our side. Do you know who is going to be the judge?"

"Bullingham," Erskine-Brown said.

I frowned. "Deduct one point."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Before the trial started, I visited Cecil L'ively in his prison cell. He was
being kept in a section away from the other prisoners. Talking to him had to
be done through a slot in a steel door. I noticed that the guard looked
anxious as he led me there.

L'ively was an unremarkable-looking man, except for his smile. There was
something extremely assured about it, as if the separating walls couldn't
protect you from him.

"So, you're defending the Burning Bitch?" he asked me.

"Actually, I was wondering if I should be defending you."

"Too late for that."

"I'm referring to this latest murder."

"Oh, that? She's the one responsible there."

"Why? It seems like you're the one with the motivation."

L'ively indicated his cell. "But not the means," he said, but his smile was
saying something else.

"What makes you so sure Miss Green is responsible? What possible motive
could a Scotland Yard inspector have for doing this?"

"Her motive is the same as mine. She likes to burn. You see...I was the
first person she set on fire."

To explain exactly what happened, Phoebe Green had tossed some flammable
liquid on L'ively when, apparently, he had been in the process of attacking
Agent Scully. He then caught on fire.

Apparently.

"You look surprisingly fit," I commented. He did. There was not the
slightest indication of a burn anywhere on his body. Of course, people
simply do not recover from extensive sixth-degree burns as if they were
paper cuts. Even after seven years, L'ively should have displayed scars.
From what I've read, though, he had made a bewilderingly prompt recovery
over a few months.

"I heal fast," he said. "In any case, that's when she first got a taste for
it. I could see she enjoyed it."

"Is that your evidence? Layman psychology?"

"Well, if you think I'm guilty, then tell me how..." L'ively's smile grew
slightly larger. "You've been talking to Fox Mulder, haven't you?"

I said nothing.

"So, he's in town, is he?" He thought about that, then he looked at my face
through the slot. "You really don't know what you've gotten yourself
involved in, do you?"

"I'm involved in a trial."

He walked right up to the door. His face filled up my view through the slot.
I would be lying if I said a prickly feeling didn't cross my back.

He said, "I wonder...if you knew the truth...the real truth...how would you
handle it?"

I looked back at him, then said, "I would handle it like a barrister."

I closed the slot on his smile.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Mon, 27 Dec 1999 11:26:34 -0500
Subject: xfc: Rumpole and His Beliefs (2 of 5)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: RUMPOLE AND HIS BELIEFS (2 of 5)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For those of you familiar with Judge Bullingham, you know well that he fits
in neatly with my previous comment about dictatorial judges. In fact,
Bullingham could switch places with Idi Amin and no one would know the
difference. Besides having a quick temper and a love for power, Bullingham
is deeply suspicious of anyone unfortunate enough to be accused of a crime
and of anyone who think it's proper to provide a defense for the accused.
He's especially temperamental if the accused is a pretty woman who is
"loose" in her sexual life and if the man leading the defense is Horace
Rumpole.

I could only imagine his reaction once he heard my defense.

Before we could get to that, we had to listen to the testimony of the
prosecution's witnesses. Erskine-Brown went through his questions quickly
and efficiently. He really didn't have to do all that much work, just ask
his witnesses to repeat what they found. Also, the less time he could spend
with questions, the more time he could spend looking at Agent Scully in the
observation deck.

His first witness was Thomas Leigh, a coroner. Leigh's testimony covered the
basic facts of Christopher Grave's death. Through him, Erskine-Brown
established that Grave died as a result of being tied to his bed and then
set on fire. The death occurred around 10 p.m. He also brought up that a
special type of chemical accelerator had been used. If I had been in
Erskine-Brown's place, I would have had Leigh express a few words on the
grisliness of this murder, just to frighten the jury. Luckily, this
prosecutor didn't have that kind of imagination.

I kept an eye on Inspector Green in the accused's box. Dammit, it wouldn't
have hurt her to look just a little upset at the mention of Grave's fiery
end.

After Erskine-Brown was done and he had turned back to his rapturous
contemplation of Scully, Bullingham said,

"Your witness, Mr. Rumpole." His reluctance at letting me handle any witness
was unmistakable.

"Mr. Leigh...how exactly was the fire started?"

"Um...well, by igniting the accelerator that was applied to Grave's bed."

"Yes, but how was it ignited? Did you find any burnt matches? Anything that
would set off a spark?"

Leigh shook his head, baffled at my questions.

"Thank you, Mr. Leigh."

As I sat back down, I glanced over at Scully. Her disbelief was still there
as well as a bit of pity. I wondered if she felt the same way about her
partner as she did about me. I mean, from a scientific viewpoint.

The next witness was Inspector Roger Dalden.

"Talking with people who had known Grave, we found out that he had been
seen regularly about town with a woman," he said. "You can imagine our
surprise when it turned out to be a member of Scotland Yard. When we talked
to her, she admitted that she had known the deceased."

"By 'known,'" Erskine-Brown said. "you mean in a romantic sense?"

"Yes, sir."

Bullingham gave the accused a harsh look, undoubtedly contemptuous of any
physical pleasure she might have that didn't involve him.

"When did she last see Christopher Grave?"

"The night of his death. She said she had been in his house up until
nine-thirty p.m., then left."

"Where did she go?"

"She said she went about town."

"What do you mean?"

"Just going from bar to bar."

Another displeased look from Bullingham.

"Does she have an alibi for ten o'clock?"

"Nothing that can be confirmed."

"And no one saw her leave Grave's house at nine-thirty?"

"No, sir."

"Now, did you search her own house?"

"Yes."

"What did you find?"

"A can of fire accelerator. The same kind that had been used to kill Grave."

"Did you arrest her, then?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"We weren't sure of our case. After all, this was a member of the Yard.
However, we did some checking on her background. We found things that
weren't exactly... pleasant."

"Like what?"

"My lord," I said, getting to my feet. "I would like to object to this line
of questioning."

"Oh, you would?" Bullingham sneered.

"What Inspector Green does in her private life can hardly be relevant. This
is a court of law, not a news tabloid."

"In this court of law," Bullingham declared. "the issues of character and
personal morality are very important...even if it's not important to
barristers."

"If I may so, your lordship...what's important to me is the law. Despite the
best efforts of various people, sex is not yet a crime."

"No, but murder is. Your objective is overruled. Tell us what you found out,
Inspector."

I sat back down. I had felt compelled to make the argument, but it had been
pointless. Nothing was going to keep Bullingham from hearing every detail of
a lurid sexual life before he righteously condemned it.

"We found out that she and Grave had been frequent visitors at the Beating
Heart Club," Dalden said.

I heard a cough behind me. I looked and sat that Mulder had his head turned
away. Scully looked at him as well.

"Beating...Heart?" Bullingham said.

"It's a club for people who are into unusual forms of sex," Dalden
explained, feeling uncomfortable under the Bull's intent gaze.

"Like what?" Bullingham asked in a low voice.

"We have the proprietor of the club here," Erskine-Brown said, sparing
Dalden. "He'll tell us what we need to know." Or wanted to know. The jury, I
noted, looked eager to hear more.

"Well, then, get him up here!" Bullingham commanded.

"Excuse me, my lord," I said politely. "but I have a few questions for
Inspector Dalden."

"Oh, all right," Bullingham said, annoyed with my delays. "Then, get on with
it."

"Getting back to minor things like actual physical evidence, Inspector," I
said. "when you showed the can of accelerator to the accused, what did she
say?"

"She said she never saw it before."

Bullingham grunted as if that was to be expected.

"And did you try to verify that?"

"How do you mean?"

"Why, fingerprints, Inspector. If you checked the can for her fingerprints
and had found none, wouldn't that have led credence to her story?"

"Um...well..."

"Could we try to verify that now?"

"I...don't think so, sir. That can has gone through so many hands that
verifying anybody's fingerprints on it is impossible."

"Perhaps, Inspector, if you had been more interested in the evidence than
the sex life of Miss Green, this little issue could have been resolved."

Bullingham just couldn't let that one get away. "Oh, come on, Mr. Rumpole!
If your client is guilty, don't you think she would have wiped the can of
fingerprints?"

"And kept the can, my lord?"

"Perhaps, she was going to do it again."

I looked between him and Erskine-Brown who was ignoring the exchange of
words for his rapt examination of Scully. "Claude?" I said.

He blinked and looked at me.

"How do you do it?" I asked him. "How do you throw your voice over to Judge
Bullingham without moving your lips?"

That got some laughs in the courtroom. Erskine-Brown turned red, as if I had
dragged him into some ugly private affair. Bullingham said, "Do you...have
any more questions...for this witness, Mr. Rumpole?"

"None, my lord. I know how eager we all want to hear the next witness."

The next witness was Charles White. In his neat dress suit, well-polished
shoes and spectacles, you would have thought him to be a stock broker.
Instead, he specialized in what he called "unusual romantic proclivities."

"Could you be more specific?" Erskine-Brown encouraged.

"My club provides facilities for people to indulge in their particular
fetishes," White said mildly. "That includes submission rituals, bondage,
the usage of various lubricants and food..."

"My lord..." I began.

"Be quiet, Mr. Rumpole," Bullingham told me.

"....mannequins, latex suits, certain types of machinery, mild pain
ceremonies and so on."

"Ah, yes," Erskine-Brown said. "Pain ceremonies. Now, have you ever seen the
accused in your club before?"

"Oh, yes, several times. With a wide variety of men. In fact..." He pointed
at the observation deck. "...there's one of them now."

People turned, looked at Agent Fox Mulder and giggled. He pretended that he
was somewhere else. So did his partner.

"Did you ever see her with Christopher Grave?"

"Yes, I did."

"Now, you mentioned pain ceremonies..."

I said, "My lord, I renew my objection."

"And I overrule it," Bullingham replied, his neck visibly turning red.
"Proceed, Mr. Erskine-Brown."

"Did Miss Green ever perform any pain ceremonies with the deceased?"

"Well, we have several private rooms for anyone to enact such things in. One
night, I was walking past one of these rooms to my office when I heard a
scream come from there. Now, usually, I tend to ignore such things, but
something about this made me concerned. I used my skeleton key to unlock the
door."

"What did you find?"

"I found Mr. Grave tied to a bed. Miss Green had a lit wax candle. She was
letting the wax fall onto his bare chest."

There was quite a bit of muttering and sudden intakes of breath in the
courtroom. The redness had spread up from Bullingham's neck to his face.
Only Phoebe Green made no reaction. That she didn't hang her head in shame
did not make her look good to the jury.

"That will be all, Mr. White," Erskine-Brown said and sat back down. He
turned to Scully, perhaps imagining a joint venture with her to the Beating
Heart Club.

"Mr. White," I said, getting to my feet. "when you saw Inspector Green and
Mr. Grave in this position, what did you do next?"

"I apologized and told them where to find the first aid kit. Then I left."

"Why did you apologize?"

"Because I known Miss Green for some time. I knew she would never do
anything to endanger a fellow club member."

"But, isn't that what 'pain ceremonies' are supposed to do?"

"Mild pain ceremonies," White corrected me. "If anybody wants to go beyond
that, they'll have to find some other place to do it in. We screen all our
clients to make sure things like that never happen."

England, I truly love you. Even in your houses of ill repute, you observe
proper etiquette.

"So," I said. "as someone who has observed the accused in the most unusual
aspects of her private life, you testify that she would never maim or kill
anyone for the sheer pleasure of it?"

"Of course not. She's a Scotland Yard inspector, after all."

"Mr. White, please!" Bullingham shouted. "Do you seriously want us to
believe that your club is a place for a respectable police detective to
visit?"

"I have long since stopped being shocked by the sexual quirks of the
'respectable people,' my lord."

"Respectable people like judges?" I suggested, unable to help myself.

"Oh, yes," White said. Bullingham turned his head towards me, ready to
breath fire.

"Or lawyers?" I amended, then turned to the observation deck. "Or FBI
agents?"

Mulder grimaced.

"Of course," White said.

I thanked the club proprietor for his time. That's where Erskine-Brown
settled his case. As you can see, it was weak on actual physical evidence,
but it had plenty of lurid subsidiary details which could turn the jury
against Green. What was needed was an alternative suspect. However, how
could I convince the jury of his guilt when I wasn't sure myself?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I noticed that the female members of the jury were particularly attentive
when Fox Mulder took the stand. Not only was he good-looking and possibly
sexually adventurous, he was also an American. Despite the presence of
Beating Heart Clubs here in our own country, we in England regard our former
colonies as being the Center of Free Love.

Speaking of which, Bullingham just had to bring the issue up before I could
start my questions.

"Agent Mulder, am I right in thinking you were previously an 'acquaintance'
of the accused?"

"Yes, you honor."

"And you visited this Beating Heart Club with her?"

"Only once, but I still have my souvenir T-shirt."

He got a few laughs for that one, but not from Bullingham. I asked, "My
lord, is this to become the central issue of this trial?"

The judge thought about that, then he smiled. "All right, Mr. Rumpole. We'll
leave it to the jury's imagination."

I wasn't sure I wanted that, but I also wanted to move on. Furthermore, the
people on the jury seemed more amused with Mulder than disdainful. Maybe
they expected all Americans to have "unusual romantic proclivities."

"Agent Mulder, seven years ago, you worked on a case with Inspector Green.
What was that case about?"

He explained.

"And did you find the guilty party?"

He said yes and revealed whom they caught.

"Tell me...were their any similarities between the deaths of L'ively's
victims and the death of Christopher Grave?"

There were.

I took a breath before asking my next question. "Agent Mulder, you have a
theory as to how L'ively did the original crimes. Could you explain?"

He did.

After he was done, there was a cold silence in every part of the courtroom.

Then I heard, "Mr. Rumpole..."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Just what do you think you are doing?"

"I'm putting forth an alternative theory, my lord."

I could feel every eye upon me and heard the collective unspoken question
regarding my sanity.

"Mr. Rumpole," Bullingham said, his voice building in anger like slow-motion
footage of an atomic explosion. "I have watched you from the bench for more
years than I would like to remember. I have seen you play your little tricks
and worm your way in and out of the law. I had thought I had witnessed
everything imaginable that you could do to make a mockery of this court and
defame the name of Old Bailey. However, only in the wildest moments of my
nightmares, could I have imagined that you would dare to---MR.
ERSKINE-BROWN!"

Claude jerked as if he had been hit by lightning. He turned from his
dumbstruck examination of me to look fearfully at the judge.

"Did you know he was going to do this?" Bullingham growled.

"Oh, no! No, my lord! Never!"

Bullingham stared at him for a moment, then he muttered, "Well, I suppose
none of us could have known. But, you Mr. Rumpole..."

Mulder said, "Excuse me, but may I say something?"

"No, sir, you may not! It's obvious that you're not only a looney, but a
looney who is infatuated with Miss Green! I don't know what they allow in
America's courts, but I will have none of it in England!" Bullingham turned
to the jury who seemed overwhelmed with how entertaining this trail had
gotten. "You will disregard what Agent Mulder has told you!"

"My lord..." I said.

"Don't even try to fight me on this one, Mr. Rumpole."

"My lord, shouldn't the jury decide for themselves whether to disregard
Agent Mulder's testimony?"

Bullingham sputtered for a few seconds, then he finally said, "Is your
contempt for my intelligence and the intelligence of the jury so complete?"

"It's not a question of what I feel about anybody's intelligence, my lord.
It's a question of facts. And an undeniable fact is that many of us hold
exotic beliefs. There are people who believe that the infamous 'crop
circles' are made by aliens. There are others who believe that the dead can
contact us through ouija boards. And there are those who believe that our
minds can exert forces upon the matter that surrounds us...or make it catch
on fire. How do you know that any of these people on the jury don't have a
belief along those lines?"

That got everybody to look at the jury who squirmed in their chairs. Was it
because of the scruntity or did a few of them actually hold "exotic
beliefs?"

"Besides, my lord," I said. "we have been listening to a lot of prurient
details about the accused's private life. If we're going to act like a
supermarket tabloid, why not bring in the other thing they specialize in?
Namely, the supernatural."

"That was character evidence," Bullingham shot back.

"With nary anyone to counter it except for the owner of a sex club. I, on
the other hand, shall do what the prosecutor usually does. I shall call up a
witness with a different interpretation of L'ively's crimes. You can step
down, Agent Mulder."

Mulder looked at me in confusion. I motioned for him to leave the stand. He
awkwardly stepped down.

"I call to the stand...Agent Dana Scully."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Mon, 27 Dec 1999 11:27:50 -0500
Subject: xfc: Rumpole and His Beliefs (3 of 5)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: RUMPOLE AND HIS BELIEFS (3 of 5)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With Mulder having charmed (if bewildered as well) the female portion of the
jury, Scully was now left to bewitch the male jurors. Erskine-Brown forgot
his consternation over what mad Rumpole was doing and focused on the
beautiful FBI agent before him. Even Bullingham softened a little, even
though he was still ready to throttle me.

Scully watched me carefully, unsure as to what I was up to.

"Agent Scully, describe your education."

"I have a PhD in physics from Maryland University as well as a background in
forensic medicine."

I heard Erskine-Brown sigh quietly. Lovely *and* intelligent, he must have
been thinking. Didn't he understand that latter quality would forever put
her out of his reach?

"How long have you been Mulder's partner?"

"Seven years."

I had to bring this question up. "Tell me...what is your opinion of
Inspector Green's character?"

She hesitated, then said, "I would say she's not particularly faithful."

Green who had been watching with no expression up to now smiled a little.

"Now, you investigated the immolation of the parliament members with Mulder,
did you not?"

"I did."

"And you believe that the right man was caught?"

"L'ively confessed to his crimes."

"But it still remains uncertain as to how he ignited the fires?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "It is."

"That leaves Mulder's theory a possibility, doesn't it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because his theory is so outside the realm of science that it can't be
seriously considered."

"Shouldn't that be known science, Agent Scully?"

She smiled a little. "Let me put this way. His theory violates basic
principles of science, the ones that all theories must return to."

"But even those principles are refuted, aren't they? For instance, people
used to think Newton was the last word on physics until Einstein showed up."

"Again, I have to say that both Newton and Einstein never strayed beyond
certain principles of logic and quantification. Pyrokinesis has yet to be
demonstrated as a proven phenomenon from that standpoint."

I glanced over at Agent Mulder, wondering what question he would ask next.
He wasn't looking at his partner. He was looking at me. Like Scully, he
seemed dubious of what I was doing.

"Are you trying to debate science with Agent Scully?" Bullingham said with a
smile. "Because it looks like you're losing."

"Then, I shall ask her about what she has personally witnessed," I replied.
"Agent Scully, did you witness anything unusual on the night of L'ively's
capture?"

"What do you mean?"

I frowned theatrically. "Oh, come on, Agent Scully! You know exactly what I
mean! You confronted him in the summer home of one of his intended victims,
didn't you?"

"I did."

"He was unarmed, correct?"

"Yes."

"But you were."

"Yes."

"You were pointing your gun at him and he was walking towards you. Did he
look like he was going to stop?"

"No."

"If someone was pointing a gun at me, I would most certainly stop. Why
didn't he?"

"He...seemed to have something ready for me."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. It was a chaotic situation. Mulder was upstairs from us,
trying to rescue children from a fire."

"But you did feel that he had something up his sleeve, correct?"

"There was that feeling, yes."

"What happened next?"

"Inspector Green tossed some fire accelerator on him."

"The kind used to start the fire upstairs?"

"Yes."

I paused significantly, then said, "What happened to L'ively then?"

"He caught on fire."

"How? The accelerator in itself shouldn't have caused the fire."

"I'm not sure how it happened."

"I see. You're not sure. In any case, L'ively just went up like it was Guy
Fawkes Day. Tell me, did he die?"

"No, he survived."

"I heard he suffered sixth-degree burns. I saw him myself. His skin is
completely untouched by any kind of scarring. Now, just how do you explain
that?"

"Having not conducted a medical examination of L'ively, I can't be sure."

"Agent Scully...aren't you just being hopelessly stubborn?"

"Sorry?"

"It seems like what you've described lends some credibility to Mulder's
theory."

"Sir...just because something looks strange doesn't mean there's not a
straightforward explanation for it."

"Pyrokinesis sounds like a pretty straightforward explanation to me."

"Such a conclusion requires more evidence than the facts at hand."

"More than what you've seen with your own eyes?"

"Don't tell me what I saw, Mr. Rumpole," Scully snapped, her irritation
breaking through.

"Then, what do you tell yourself? Isn't it possible that you're in denial?
That you're not ready for anything that violates your preconceived notions?
Can't you just admit that you're wrong?"

Bullingham finally interrupted. "Mr. Erskine-Brown, aren't you going to
object? He's badgering the witness!"

"Hm? Oh, yes. Quite right. Really, Rumpole, show some decorum."

"Very well, then," I said. "I'll ask a few more questions and be done with
it. Agent Scully, when L'ively burst into flames, what was his reaction?"

Scully looked down for a few moments, then lifted her head. "He laughed."

"And did he say anything?"

"He said...'You can't fight fire with fire.'"

I let the courtroom be quiet for a bit, then said, "No more questions."

For the first time in my life, I could see a look of doubt on Bullingham's
face. However, if Scully was stubborn in her skepticism, he was intractable
in his dislike of me. He shook his head and said, "Mr. Erskine-Brown, your
witness."

"Ah, yes," Claude said. He racked his brains for a question, just to keep
Scully within his sights. Finally, he admitted, "I have no questions for
this witness."

"Well, I do," Bullingham snorted. "Agent Scully, what else does your partner
believe in? Little green men?"

"No. He believes in little gray ones."

Bullingham was one of those laughing. "Seriously, don't you find him rather
strange?"

Dana Scully locked her eyes with the judge's. With a voice as cold as the
arctic winds, she told him, "What I find strange is a judge who think he's a
prosecutor."

Bless me if that little red-haired woman didn't tame the Bull. "Er...uh..."
Bullingham said. "Well, that'll be all. You may step down."

She headed back to the observation deck, blowing a chilly wind in my
direction as well.

"Do you have any more witnesses, Mr. Rumpole?" Bullingham asked, still
feeling mild.

"Yes, my lord, but we'll have to wait until tomorrow to hear from him."

"Why is that?"

"Special arrangements have to be made for his coming here. I'm referring to
Mr. Cecil L'ively."

A lot of whispering spread throughout the courtroom. Nervousness, perhaps?
Or fear?

"You mean, the pyrokinetic?" Bullingham said.

"If that's how you wish to refer to him, my lord," I replied with a smile.

"Oh, no! Of course not! Very well then, we, um...shall postpone the trial
until tomorrow."

If nothing else good was going to happen with this case, then it had been
worth it just to see Judge Bullingham get so badly rattled.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After the adjournment, Mulder confronted me as we left the courtroom.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"Well, when I'm wearing my wig, it usually means I'm defending a client."

"You didn't need to treat Scully like that."

"It was the best way to give credence to your story. The jury can dismiss
you as a 'looney.' However, seen from her angle, your theory seems almost
credible."

"I can't believe your hypocrisy. You don't believe that L'ively is a
pyrokinetic. You're just trying to win a case."

"Mulder, what are you so upset about? I imagine you ask these same questions
of her all the time."

"Not like that. I treat her with the respect she deserves."

I looked at him, then smiled. "What a funny pair you two make."

"What does that mean?"

"Your views are diametrically opposed, yet if an outsider attacks one of
you, you rise to the other's defense."

"She's my partner. She's saved my life more than once."

"And I'm trying to save Phoebe Green's life. But I'm doubtful of my chances.
Even in your theory, L'ively had to be within sight of his victims. Has he
become a long-distance firestarter now?"

Mulder sighed. "We're looking for an answer there. But I don't see why it
has to come to that. Except for that can of accelerator, there's no real
evidence that Phoebe did this. They're not judging her on even that. They're
judging her on her sex life."

"My dear boy, if life was fair, we wouldn't need lawyers."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

One of the reasons that I'm writing this account is to give you an insider's
view of what would become the most public case of my career. I confess that
the sudden attention  rather surprised me. Of course, it was rather naive to
think that a barrister could make a case for pyrokinesis at the Old Bailey
and not get noticed. I blithely assumed that the press would focus on more
important matters like actors consorting with prostitutes and the current
travails of the Royal Family.

When I arrived home, I was confronted with a large gathering of people on my
doorstep. Notebooks and microphones were clutched in their hands and the
glass eyes of cameras shined in the final hours of daylight. Seeing them
rush towards me was the most horrifying experience I had since the bombings
of World War II.

"Mr. Rumpole, do you really believe in pyrokinesis?"

"Mr. Rumpole, should the Crown prosecute L'ively instead?"

"How do you plan to prove this to a jury?"

"Do you believe in flying saucers?"

There were a lot of questions like that, including some rather personal ones
about Green, Mulder and Scully. (Like me, the press were wondering if a
romantic drama was going on between the Scotland Yard inspector and the two
FBI agents.) Mulder's belief in the supernatural coupled with the case's
kinkier elements were making the story irresistible to the public.

I pushed my way through the media gang, giving no answers, not even a "no
comment." I finally made it inside my house. There, I encountered a worse
threat than what was outside.

"Horace!" Hilda cried out to me. "What have you done?"

It took a minute for me to catch my breath, then I said, "It's not as bad as
it looks..."

"I've been receiving calls from reporters who want to know if you have lost
your mind."

"What have you told them?"

"I said that, after all these years, I still don't know the way your mind
works."

I sighed and hung up my hat and coat. "Hilda, I may be obese, but I'm not
oblique. You know very well what my driving belief is."

I went to the living room and wearily sat down on a chair. She followed me,
saying, "Pretend I don't know."

"What I'm doing is not so much defending pyrokinesis as I'm defending a
client."

She moaned. "Is that your excuse for everything?"

"It's not an excuse. It's who I am. I'm a barrister."

"Horace...listen to me. The phone is off the hook. You know why?"

"The reporters?"

"No. I took it off the hook because a man called to ask you to handle a suit
of his against the government. He's convinced the Prime Minister is directly
involved in his abduction by aliens."

"I see. Hmmm..."

"Horace, you're...you're not seriously considering..."

"Oh, no. I was just thinking that I would like to defend the aliens."

Hilda placed her hands on both of my cheeks and looked me in the eye. "Oh,
you poor dear," she whispered. "Has the Old Bailey finally broken you? Has
Bullingham driven you insane?"

I removed her hands from my face and gently patted them. "I appreciate your
concern, Hilda, but I assure you I know exactly what I'm doing. Now, what's
for dinner?"

The sympathy vanished off the face of She Who Must Be Obeyed. I realized
that not only would dinner have to be prepared by myself, but the living
room couch would grow very familiar with Horace Rumpole that night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The reporters were no longer outside my house the next morning. Instead,
they laid in wait for me outside 3 Equity Court. After I weeded my way
through them, I found out that Ballard had called a meeting to discuss my
recent conduct.

"Shocking!" was his comment. "Absolutely shocking! You've brought disgrace
upon these chambers, Rumpole!"

"How so? It seems like I'm merely demonstrating my conviction in my client's
innocence. I thought that was what I was supposed to do."

Ballard held up the top quarter of a great stack of papers. "Do you see
this? We've been besieged by it ever since we opened our doors! All these
people want you or one of us to be their lawyer!"

"Good heavens. You mean, we're actually attracting business?"

"Listen to this. This man claims that he was compelled to murder through
mind control. This woman wants an adjuction filed against her husband's
ghost to keep him from harassing her. And this man wants to sue Andrew Lloyd
Webber for putting a curse on him through his music."

"I think I'll take that last one just on principle," I mused.

"Is this firm going to become legal aid for crackpots?" Ballard complained.

"Oh, stuff it, Ballard! You are in no position to call anyone a crackpot!"

"Just what do you mean by that?"

"I'm referring to your outlandish notions of history."

"I'll have you know that the Illuminati's influence has been
well-documented."

"Yes, by Gary Reed, PhD. Doctor Reed seems to have a leg up on every
legitimate historian in the world."

"Yes, Ballard, it's really quite absurd." That was Liz Probert, a young
'Radical Lawyer' in our firm. "I've looked through this book of yours. How
absurd can you be? To assert that President John Kennedy was killed by a
centuries-old secret society..."

"Exactly, Liz," I declared.

"...when it's obvious that he was killed by the American military-industrial
complex."

I sighed.

"Oh, really?" Ballard said, amused. "What do you base that on? The ramblings
of that doped-up American filmmaker?"

"And what do you base your fairy tale on? The rantings of a right-wing
fanatic?"

"It may interest you to know that all you Socialists owe your existence to
the Illuminati."

"And it may interest you to know that reactionaries like you owe your
existence to a media that has been bought and paid for by the global
corporations."

"Well, I'm starting to think I'm the victim of a conspiracy," I informed
them. "One that seeks to surround me with the gullible and the foolhardy."

"I saw a UFO once."

All three of us turned to Old Tom, who had been with us since the reign of
Queen Elizabeth and hadn't had a case since Oliver Cromwell took office.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "No. That was a
German plane. Sorry."

"Look, this is beside the point," Ballard said. "The fact is that you are
making all of us look like fools. Claude, why didn't you stop him?"

"Hm?" Erskine-Brown said. He had been reading The London Times which
included a photo of Agent Scully, looking startled.

"Why didn't you object when Rumpole did this?"

"Well...Bullingham seems to be taking care of that," Erskine-Brown replied
as if it was no concern of his. "And you know how Rumpole gets when he is on
a case. Nothing can stop him."

"That's the most sensible thing you've ever said, Claude," I commented and
stood up. "Now, if you would excuse me..."

"We're not through, Rumpole," Ballard said.

"Keep bothering me, Ballard, and I'll tell on you to the Illuminati."

"Don't joke about such things. Those people are trying to take over the
world."

"They can have it," I told him as I left. "It's more trouble than it's
worth, anyway."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

If Hilda and Ballard were upset with me, then Judge Bullingham wanted to
send me to the ninth level of hell. Not only was he being besieged by the
media, his fellow judges were giving him a bit of ribbing. ("I say,
Bullingham, why don't you just join hands and ask the spirits who the killer
is?")

He had the reporters kept outside the Old Bailey and visitors out of the
courtroom. The only person in the observation deck was a broad-shouldered
man whom I couldn't identify. I had seen him in the court yesterday. At the
time, matters were too hectic for me to wonder who he was.

Mulder and Scully were absent, much to Erskine-Brown's disappointment. They
had called me beforehand and said they were tracking down a lead. I hoped
they would track it down fast.

"Mr. Rumpole," Bullingham said acidly. "I don't appreciate the way this
trial has gone."

"If you're referring to this sudden wave of publicity, my lord, then I'm
sorry. I did not wish this to happen."

"It has been most...inconvenient."

I wanted to say that microwave dinners and a night on the couch presented
their own inconveniences, but I knew I would get no sympathy here.

"Unfortunately," Bullingham continued. "I've let the trial come this far. We
might as well see it to the bitter end. Call your witness, Mr. Rumpole."

I nodded graciously and asked the bailiff to bring in Cecil L'ively.

It was as if he hadn't stopped smiling since I saw him last. As the bailiff
led him in handcuffs to the witness stand, he looked at everyone. I got that
prickly feeling again and I knew that others had the same feeling.
Erskine-Brown shivered. Bullingham slowly cleared his throat. For the second
time in the trial, Green reacted. This time, her expression was fear.

When he was asked if he would swear to tell the truth, L'ively said, "May I
burn in hell if I don't."

I slowly stood up. "Mr. L'ively..."

"Hello, Mr. Rumpole. Gotten famous, I understand."

I looked at him, then said, "Mr. L'ively, you have admitted that you have
killed several men through immolation."

"I have because I did."

"It's unclear as to how you committed these murders. Could you explain how?"

L'ively was silent for a few moments, then he said, "I did it with my little
matchbook."

"Mr. L'ively, while you were present at all the places where the victims
were killed, you were not in physical contact with them when they..."

"...roasted like a lamb on a spit? No. I wasn't."

"Then, how did you do it?"

"Mr. Rumpole...we've all seen magicians disappear from boxes, levitate
people and change women into tigers. We know that it's a simple illusion,
done with mirrors and sleight-of-hand. The fun is in figuring out how
exactly they did it." His smile grew longer. "I won't spoil your fun."

"It takes more than trap doors to make someone to burst into flames."

"True. You need something flammable..." He looked over at Phoebe Green.
"...and a desire to burn."

She looked away.

"That's what you have, don't you, Mr. L'ively?" I asked. "A desire to burn
as well as a desire for revenge on Inspector Green."

He looked back at me. "Oh, yes. But both of these desires have been thwarted
by prison."

"Not necessarily. You could have an accomplice. One that helped you commit
the original crimes."

"Check Inspector Green's records. She investigated me to see if I had any
co-conspirators." L'ively put on a mock expression of sadness. "I'm afraid
I'm completely friendless in the world, completely alone."

His grin returned and he turned to the jury. "I was the first person she set
on fire. She just had to do it again."

"Mr. L'ively..."

"It's in her nature to burn, just as in mine."

"Mr. L'ively, spare the jury your cheap psychology lessons!"

"It's not cheap, Mr. Rumpole. It's an undeniable fact. Fire is the most
mysterious thing in existence. Oh, we know what causes it. A spark, a bit of
kindling...but when it's right in front of us...when the flames tremble with
their hunger... don't you feel that you're confronting a force not of this
world? Wouldn't you want to feel that same hunger?"

He turned to Green. She was almost trembling with anger. "You want that
power, too, don't you?" he asked her slyly. "A little burn on Christopher
Grave wasn't enough. You wanted to consume his whole flesh..."

"I didn't kill him!" she yelled. "You did!"

"And you think you're completely innocent?" he yelled back.

A look came over Green's face and there was no mistaking it. Everyone in
that courtroom knew what she was feeling.

It was guilt.

I had never felt more ridiculous than I did right then. For the first time,
I really saw myself as others perceived me. I saw an aging Bailey hack,
pumped full of his own vanity. I saw that he didn't serve lofty principles
of justice, but, rather, his hollow self-image as a valiant crusader. Where
had this self-image gotten me? Making ridiculous arguments for the
supernatural in a court of law. I wasn't insane. That would have been a
proper excuse. I was just an old man trying to deny my irrelevance in the
world. I had committed the crowning stupidity of a wasted career and every
newspaper in London was making it public. Not only had I finally crashed to
the ground, but I had done it in full view of everyone.

This is my last case, I thought. I shall retire when it's done, far from a
gracious state. However, the only thing less gracious would be to continue.

"Mr. Rumpole?"

I looked up at Bullingham. I don't know if he had any idea of the shame I
was feeling. He only looked at me with stern eyes.

"Do you have any more questions for this witness?"

I was about to say no, when Mulder and Scully entered the court. With them
was the same guard who had taken me to see L'ively two days before. He had
the same nervous look. Mulder motioned me to come over.

Bullingham frowned. "What is this?"

Mulder whispered in my ear. I slowly smiled.

Did I say something about retiring? Never mind.

"Agent Mulder, what is going on?" Bullingham demanded.

"Excuse us, my lord," I said. "but Agents Mulder and Scully have discovered
some new evidence."

"Mr. Rumpole, I'm not in the mood for another surprise."

"There's nothing supernatural about this." I indicated the nervous man.
"This is David Middleton. He works at the prison where L'ively is kept
prisoner."

I looked at L'ively. He was no longer smiling. I was smiling, however, as I
asked him, "Do you wish to change your story? Or shall Mr. Middleton have to
tell us that..."

"My lord."

We all turned to see the broad-shouldered man. He had come down from the
observation deck and was striding towards the bench.

"Just a moment, sir!" Bullingham told the stranger. "You can't just
interrupt..."

When the man had reached the bench, he pulled out a wallet and unfolded it
before Bullingham's face.

I was again treated to the pleasure of seeing Bullingham being cowed.
However, I didn't appreciate what happened next.

The broad-shouldered man turned and said, "I need to speak to you all in
private."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Mon, 27 Dec 1999 11:29:05 -0500
Subject: xfc: Rumpole and His Beliefs (4 of 5)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: RUMPOLE AND HIS BELIEFS (4 of 5)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Privacy was found in Bullingham's private chambers. With the judge were me,
Mulder, Scully, Erskine-Brown and the man from British Intelligence named
Derek Plummer.

"Middleton cannot testify," he told us.

"Why not?" Mulder and I said at the same time.

"His testimony could have serious repercussions for national security."

Mulder looked at Plummer and said, "So, it was you who helped L'ively get
out of prison."

"What?" Bullingham said.

"Your honor, David Middleton will testify that L'ively was removed from and
then returned to prison several times over the past six months. One of these
times was the night that Christopher Grave was killed. The people who took
L'ively didn't identify themselves, but, apparently, they were from British
Intelligence."

"Is this true?" Bullingham asked Plummer in amazement.

Plummer did not blink. "Yes. It's true. We've allowed him to leave prison
for brief periods of time, but only under strict supervision."

"But why?"

"We agreed that Mr. L'ively would have short periods of freedom in exchange
for information about the IRA."

Few things can make an Englishman turn cold so quickly as the mention of
those three letters. Bullingham was no different. "The IRA?" he whispered.

Scully spoke up. "Your honor, we have found no proof that L'ively was ever
involved with the IRA."

"We uncovered new information," Plummer said.

"I would like to see it," she told him.

"It's classified."

"Oh, this is absurd!" I shouted. "This evidence goes right to the heart of
the case!"

"I assure you that L'ively didn't kill Grave," Plummer said. "He was under
our watch all the time that night."

"Oh, really? Well, let me make a wild conjecture. He did get away from your
watchdogs on that night. And he used his freedom to kill Grave and to plant
that can of accelerator in Inspector Green's house. What do you think of
that?"

"It didn't happen," Plummer replied flatly.

"Would you like to say that under oath?"

Plummer turned to Bullingham. "My lord...I don't like working with scum like
L'ively. However, he's already been convicted for his crimes. The IRA is
still a problem, even with the improved situation in Ireland. The
information he's provided for us has helped to save lives. I understand that
you're a judge and you're committed to bringing the truth out into the
light. However, I know you are also a loyal citizen of this nation. I'm
appealing to both your wider sense of justice...and your love of England."

If patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel, then it's the first
refuge of the blowhard. I could see that Plummer's speech had quite an
effect on the Bull.

"My lord, this testimony must be heard!" I asserted.

"There's a question of national security, Mr. Rumpole," Bullingham replied
in a solemn voice.

"No, it's a question of a level playing field. If Inspector Green's secrets
can be displayed before the public, why not others' as well? I know hearing
this makes *me* feel dirty."

Bullingham was silent for a moment, then he said, "I'll have to think about
this."

Nonsense. He had already made up his mind. I turned to Erskine-Brown out of
desperation. "Claude, say something. You can't let this happen."

Erskine-Brown looked at Plummer who fixed his cold eyes in return on the
lawyer. Erskine-Brown swallowed and said, "It's the judge's decision."

"Indeed," Bullingham said. "I'll have it for you within an hour."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two interesting things happening during the hour we waited for Bullingham's
decision. One of them happened to Agent Scully. She was aimlessly pacing
through the hallways of the Old Bailey, not feeling particularly hopeful
about the forthcoming decision. Her gloom turned to nervousness when
Erskine-Brown suddenly strode towards her.

Romance was not on his mind, though. He was deeply agitated. "Agent Scully
...I...oh..."

"Mr. Erskine-Brown?"

"I've just...there's...I didn't know who to tell, I don't know if I should
tell, but I just..."

Instinctively, Scully did something that she would later regret. She reached
out and gently took Erskine-Brown's hand.

He turned still. He only moved when Scully led him to a bench and sat down
with him in tow.

"Claude...tell me what happened."

Erskine-Brown looked into her green eyes for a moment, then said,
"Well...I've just talked with Agent Plummer. He approached me as I was
headed for the cafeteria. Or, rather, he grabbed me by the elbow and yanked
me into a janitor's closet. Then he pointed his finger at me and said, 'Drop
the case.'

"'What?' I said, obviously confused.

"'When you get back into that courtroom, you are going to tell Bullingham
that you're dropping the charges against Inspector Green.'

"'But...I can't do that!'

"'You better.'

"'But, I was personally asked by the government to handle this case. I can't
betray their trust...'

"'You bloody twit! You know why you got this case?'

"'I...I thought it was because they respected my skills...'

"'No, you got it because you're an incompetent boob. We thought with you
handling the prosecution and Rumpole handling the defense that Green would
get off. Unfortunately, that bastard L'ively did your job for you.'

"'You mean, I was expected to lose?'

"'Exactly.'

"'But, why?'

"'Because she's innocent, you idiot. Now, be a good Englishman and drop this
case.'

"'But if I do that, people will be outraged. This case is getting so much
attention. No one would want me for a lawyer...'

"Plummer stepped forward until he was right in my face. 'There are worse
fates,' he told me and left."

Erskine-Brown took a breath. "So, you see, I'm...I'm just confused. I have
no idea what to do."

Scully thought about it, then said, "Don't drop the case."

"You don't believe Green is innocent?"

"No, I think she is."

"But..."

"If you drop it now, the public will still think she's a killer." (I confess
that I don't think her motives were as pure as that.) "We need to find the
truth. If the trial ends here, everything will just get swept under the
rug."

"Well...maybe Rumpole will think of something..."

"I think Rumpole is out of tricks. It's up to you."

Erskine-Brown bit his lip.

In a soft voice, Scully said, "You have to be strong. For me."

Scully told me later that something just seemed to *surge* into
Erskine-Brown's face. "I will, Dana," he told her and squeezed her hand.

With a Herculean effort, Scully smiled.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I didn't know about this conversation when the trial started up again.
That's why I was so surprised by what happened next.

What didn't surprise me was Bullingham's ruling. "Taking into
consideration...a wider responsibility, I rule that Mr. Middleton cannot
take the stand."

I was about to make the best protest I could, but Erskine-Brown beat me to
it.

"My lord, I object."

Bullingham blinked. So did I. So did Agent Plummer.

"You...object?" Bullingham said as if he was speaking a foreign language.

"Most strongly, my lord."

"But...Middleton is a *defense* witness."

"I may be the prosecutor, my lord, but I have a wider responsibility as
well. I have to see that the truth is put forth to the twelve members of
this jury. And Mr. Middleton can tell them a vital portion of the truth. He
must be heard."

There was enough iron in Erskine-Brown's voice to fill up a mine. I stared
at his back in astonishment. Was it my imagination or had a new bone grown
there?

Bullingham said, "Mr. Rum...Mr. Erskine-Brown, I have made my ruling."

"And I have made my objection."

"Your objection...is overruled."

"Then, I shall make my objection known to a higher court."

Bullingham's jaw quivered. "This is outrageous. This trial has already
become a travesty..."

"I agree. That's why I plan to make sure Mr. Middleton gets heard. Too long,
we have wallowed in conjecture and theories. It's time to have some solid
facts in front of us. We need to open up the doors and let in a light to
dispel all these shadows."

I almost applauded. Bullingham was dumbfounded. Never had he been pushed
around so much before. He took several deep breaths, then said, "All right.
All right. Make your appeal. But I warn you..."

"Yes, my lord?" Erskine-Brown said, looking straight into the Bull's eyes.

Bullingham's mouth closed, then opened again. He seemed to have forgotten
what he was going to say. Instead, he just smacked his gavel, adjourned the
court and left for a place where he would hopefully be more respected.

Plummer stood up and gave Erskine-Brown a look that should have withered the
lawyer. Instead, Erskine-Brown gave him the same look he gave Bullingham.
Plummer shook his head and left the courtroom.

I went up to Erskine-Brown. "Claude...I..."

"I'm doubtful I will win my appeal, Rumpole," he said firmly. "Plummer's
influence undoubtedly stretches wide. It's up to you to find something that
will break this case open."

"Yes. Of course."

He nodded. I watched him leave with equal parts admiration and amazement.
Then, Scully took Mulder and me aside. She explained Erskine-Brown's
mysterious change to us.

"Ah," I said. "Excellent work."

"I knew you would like it," she said and shook her head. "I feel terrible."

"You should," Mulder told her.

She looked at him.

"Really, Scully. Seducing men into doing your bidding." He paused. "That's
my job."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erskine-Brown had bought us some time, but what could we do with it? Mulder
and Scully could sniff around for leads, but I was doubtful that even their
able efforts would bring up anything. As for me, I could only wait it out.
I went back to my house where, once again, I had to make my way past crazed
journalists. Not only did this story had sex and the supernatural, but there
was now the whiff of a government conspiracy. Such a wealth of riches could
not be resisted. I admit that had I been an observer rather than a
participant, I would have envied the barrister in the middle of it. Being
that actual barrister was a different experience, though.

"Oh, nonsense," Hilda would tell me after I said this to her. "You loved
it."

Speaking of her, she was still giving me the cold shoulder, which meant
another microwave dinner for me. I was so disgruntled by the lack of a good
meal that I needed to find an amusement.

So I called up Soapy Sam.

"Hello?"

"Is this Sam Ballard?" I hissed through a handkerchief over the phone
receiver.

"Who is this?" Ballard asked.

"Never mind that. I understand you are interested in...the Illuminati."

There was a pause on the other end before Ballard said, "I might be."

I might be! Ballard was getting into his role very well. "Well, if you are
interested, meet me in front of the chip shop on the corner of Trenton and
Dover."

"How will I know it's you?"

I thought about that. "Look for the man with the white scarf. Ask him if
there are any good shows in town. If he replies, 'Only on Fridays,' that's
your man. Be seeing you, Ballard."

I hung up, feeling very pleased with myself. A few seconds after I hung up,
though, the phone rang. I picked it up, hopeful that the two FBI agents had
found something new.

"Hello?"

"I have some information for you, Mr. Rumpole," a voice hissed.

"Excuse me?"

"I have information in regards to your case. If you're interested, meet me
in Charles Park near the statue of George Bernard Shaw at eight-thirty."

"Uh, who is this?"

"Come and find out."

The phone clicked. I slowly put the receiver back onto the hook.

Pyrokinesis. Ballard's paranoia. Bullingham cowed three times.
Erskine-Brown's sudden display of courage. Now, this.

It seemed that God was developing an entire stand-up routine.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>
Date: Mon, 27 Dec 1999 11:30:28 -0500
Subject: xfc: Rumpole and His Beliefs (5 of 5)
Source: xfc

From: "David Hearne" <ottercrk@sover.net>

TITLE: RUMPOLE AND HIS BELIEFS (5 of 5)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I told Hilda that I had to go run an errand. She gave me an indifferent
reply. My stomach cringed at the thought of microwave dinners to come.

I took the subway to Charles Park. Luckily, by then, the reporters had
dispersed from my front door. On the way to the park, though, I was greeted
several times by strangers and heard things like "Just hire yourself a mind
reader, Mr. Rumpole. That'll clear everything up" and "Can you get Agent
Scully to sign this?"

When I arrived at Charles Park, there was no there by the statue. I looked
through the lamppost's glare at the trees and the shadows between them,
wondering if I had been the victim of a practical joke myself.

"Mr. Rumpole."

I turned and saw a man with nondescript features and bland clothes. The only
noticeable thing about him was the hard look in his eyes.

I said, "Oh, sorry. I didn't see you over there."

"You weren't supposed to." His voice had an Irish accent.

"So...you have information."

"Before Grave's death, there had been two other murders here in London with
similar qualities. Immolation, caused by unknown means."

"Really? Why didn't we hear about this?"

"Because they were covered up. It was just luck that the police uncovered
this murder."

"What's the connection between the three deaths?"

"You're a bright man, Mr. Rumpole. You can figure it out."

Then the Irishman went behind a tree and...ran off, I believe. I didn't hear
his footsteps, but he was no longer in my sight.

I left the park, still wondering if this had been a joke. I was wondering if
Agent Plummer had arranged this is in order to lead me from the correct
path. Or maybe this was part of a wider conspiracy...

Good Lord, I thought. I'm turning into Ballard.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When I arrived back at my house, I found someone waiting for me in the front
hall.

"Agent Mulder! Any good news?"

I heard the laughter of two women from the living room.

"We got here just a few minutes after you left," Mulder explained. "You wife
and my partner have apparently hit it off."

More laughter.

"Are they talking about me?" I asked.

"I think they're talking about both of us."

I shook my head. "What did you want to see me about?"

"Scully and I have just realized something. How did L'ively know about
Grave's relationship with Phoebe?"

"What do you mean?"

"I think you're right. I think L'ively did get away from Plummer that night.
But how did he know about Phoebe and Grave? This wasn't something he could
have just planned at the spur of the moment."

"That's true. Perhaps he had been spying on her..."

"How? And if he had been, Plummer and the rest would have noticed it and
easily figured out what he had in mind."

"Maybe they didn't notice."

"I don't think they're that stupid."

"Hm. No, just morally dubious."

"So, how did he do it? How did he plan this thing?"

I thought about that and what the Irishman had told me. Then I remembered
L'ively saying "And you think you're completely innocent?" and the look of
guilt on Phoebe Green's face.

"We need to see Inspector Green at once," I told Mulder.

"What about?"

"I'll explain it on the way."

Scully and Hilda laughed again.

"Better get Scully," I commented. "Having the two of them together frightens
me."

"Me, too."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I sat in the back seat of a rental car behind Mulder and Scully as he drove
us to Whitegate prison. On the way there, I told them of my meeting with the
Irishman and offered an explanation for what had caused this whole mess.
They agreed with it.

At one point, we stopped at a red light. We heard squeals coming from next
to us. We turned and saw a car full of young women clamoring for Agent
Mulder's attention. One of them pressed her lips against the window. Another
had written her phone number on a sheet of paper and was waving it at him.

Mulder smiled nervously and waved back. When the light turned green, he
stomped on the gas and took the first turn he could, evading his pursuers.

"The pressures of fame, my boy," I observed.

"I've always wanted attention for my work," he said. "But not this."

"Oh, nonsense," Scully said. "You love it." She turned to me. "What did that
one gossip columnist say? You know, Rebecca Glass?"

"Ah, yes, her. She said, 'The question everybody is asking about this
dark-haired American is---'"

"'Is he sexier than he is strange or is he stranger than he is sexy?'"
Scully completed with undisguised satisfaction.

"And you're the 'thinking man's crumpet.'" Mulder reminded her.

"Is that a compliment?" Scully asked me.

"Oh, yes. Do they have crumpets in America?"

"They're very popular," Mulder said.

"Well, I imagine it gave my wife a thrill to meet a pair of celebrities."

"Actually," Scully said. "she wasn't impressed by our celebrityhood." She
looked at me. "You're very lucky to be married to her."

"I am?"

"There's not too many intelligent women who could handle life with you."

I thought about that, then said, "You may have a point. By the way, are we
on speaking terms again?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you still mad at me for that grilling I gave you?"

"I have learned...to be patient with the rude and unthinking ways of
others."

Mulder glanced at her, then looked back at the road.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Phoebe Green was brought to the visitor's room of the prison, she found
me, Mulder and Scully waiting for her.

"What is this?" she asked.

I said, "Inspector Green, a lot of your dirty secrets have already come out.
You might as well tell the rest."

"I don't understand."

"Let me make some more wild conjectures. Christopher Grave was working with
the IRA. You were assigned to spy on him. You were offered this job because
Grave had 'unusual romantic proclivities' and you knew a few things about
satisfying such things. Like a good, patriotic Englishwoman, you accepted
the job and took to Grave's bed. Am I too off in my conjectures?"

She gave no answer.

"Did you know that Grave was also targeted for assassination by British
Intelligence? They had killed two other members of the IRA before, you
know."

She still said nothing.

"Maybe you knew, maybe you didn't. However, you couldn't have possibly known
or imagined that your employers would use Cecil L'ively as a triggerman. Or,
rather, a matchstickman."

She looked down at the floor.

"It must have come as rather a surprise to him, finding out you were both
assigned to the same person, if for different reasons. He simply could not
resist taking advantage of the situation. After he had killed Grave, he must
have slipped through Plummer's grip long enough to plant the can of
accelerator in your house."

Finally, she spoke. "It was Plummer who recommended you as my barrister."
She looked up and smiled. "But I guess you were too good."

"I'm a silly old fool with an inordinate amount of luck. This time, my luck
came in the form of Mulder and Scully. So...why didn't you tell us about
this?"

"National security."

"What's wrong with you, Phoebe?" Mulder said in an angry voice. "You know
how dangerous L'ively is!"

"Christopher Grave was dangerous, too," Green replied, unmoved by Mulder's
anger.

"I got the impression you felt guilty over his death," I told her.

"No," Mulder said. "She's just shocked to find herself in bed with L'ively."

He walked up to her. "He's already gotten away from Plummer once. He'll do
it again."

"If he tries that again, Plummer will take care of him," Green assured him.

"You can't trust Plummer."

"Why? Because he lives in a morally gray area?" She looked at Mulder. "So do
you. That's what I like about you. I like your ambiguity, your
unpredictability. But...I guess you prefer stability in who you go out
with."

Scully tightened her mouth for a moment.

I said, "It seems like Plummer would rather keep his secrets than let you go
free."

"He'll work it out. Of course, I thought he had Erskine-Brown under
control." Green looked at Scully. "Was that your influence?"

Scully kept quiet.

"Interesting. I didn't know you had it in you."

A weariness came over me. I had my fill of this nonsense. "All right," I
said. "Say we convince Erskine-Brown to drop the charges. Won't you mind
that people will never know the truth? Or there will always be the suspicion
that you're a killer?"

"My reputation wasn't all that good before."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder said nothing until we got back to the car parked outside Whitegate.

"Is this all you care about?" he asked me. "Winning a case?"

"I want a woman not to be convicted of something she didn't do. I assumed
you wanted the same thing."

"I want people to know the truth. Isn't that what the courts are supposed to
be concerned with?"

"Ideally, yes. However, it's very hard to get the truth out when the people
who know it are determined to keep it to themselves."

"People have to know what British Intelligence has done with L'ively.
Because they'll try it again."

"Not necessarily. This case has received a tremendous amount of attention.
Plummer would think twice before sending out L'ively on another hit."

Mulder let out a long sigh, then said, "Scully, what do you think?"

"I think..." She touched her brow. "...that I'm sweating."

So was I. So was Mulder. He had a sudden horrified look on his face. "Get
out of the car!" he yelled and reached for the door handle. He screamed in
pain as his hand jerked back.

Then we could see the flames. They crawled up the sides of the car and their
light convulsed across our damp faces. The temperature shot up mercilessly.
I looked around me in a panicked search for an escape as my lungs grew
heavier. All three of us were breathing in loud, choked spasms.

A blackness was spreading across my vision, despite the intense light. As my
sight faded away, I became aware of a figure near our car. Even through the
painful flicker of the flames, I could recognize the man's smile, wider than
ever.
Mulder saw the man as well. He got out his gun and tried to steady his hand
in the right direction. Then, a tremor took over his hand and the gun fell
to the floor.

The darkness overcame my sight. To match it, a silence grew in my ears. The
last thing heard was a popping sound...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Then I felt something cold, wonderfully cold, press against my forehead. I
pushed the blackness aside. I just had to find out what could possibly be
cold in this inferno.

It was a glass of water. Scully was the one holding it. When she saw that I
was conscious, she held it against my lips. I never drank anything better in
all my life.

It took another two glasses before I realized I was lying on a cot. The cot
belonged to the prison's infirmary. I could see Scully and Mulder standing
next to me, a heavy layer of perspiration over them and an unsteadiness in
their legs but undoubtedly looking better than I did.

"How do you feel?" Scully asked.

"Ten pounds lighter," I croaked. Then I almost sat up, prodded by fear.
"L'ively!" I cried.

Scully pressed me back down, not a hard thing to do. "It's all right. It's
over."

"But..."

"L'ively's dead."

I freely admit that the news pleased my heart, but I was confused. "But I
saw you drop your gun," I told Mulder.

"I took care of L'ively," a voice said. I turned my head and saw Agent
Plummer standing by the door. His business suit and face were covered with
soot. His eyes, however, were as cool as ever.

I looked at him, then I slowly sat up. Scully was about to push me back
down, but I said, "I'm all right, I'm all right." I sat on the edge of the
cot and requested to make one last wild conjecture.

"Go ahead," Plummer said.

"After today's events in court, L'ively felt that the jig was up and decided
to escape, which he had been planning to do for some time. Perhaps
Erskine-Brown impressed him enough to make him fear that Middleton would be
heard. Or maybe he was just looking for an excuse. In any case, he escaped,
probably while under your custody. Before he could go underground, he had to
do one thing -- kill the FBI agents who helped...wait, how did he know where
to find us?"

"We've had you all under surveillance," Plummer informed me. "Tonight, I
received a report that you were headed to the prison. L'ively was with me at
our headquarters and heard the report as well. That's when he knew it was
the perfect time to escape. He could kill all three of you at once."

"What was he doing with you?" I asked.

"That's confidential."

"Oh, you silly man! What's the point of...oh, yes. The Irishman. Since you
had me under surveillance, you knew of my meeting with him. You were
planning to use L'ively on him, weren't you?"

He said nothing.

"I guess you were right," I told Mulder. "They just can't resist playing
with their favorite toys, no matter how sharp their edges are."

"I'm aware of how foolish I've been, sir," Plummer said. "But, at least, I
was smart enough to know where he was headed for and to bring two things
with me -- my gun and a fire extinguisher."

"Well, it took you long enough."

Plummer aimed his eyes directly at me. Then I realized that his blackened
clothes weren't due to the fire we had experienced.

"I take it he started another fire before we came here," I surmised.

"It was how he escaped from us," Plummer murmured. "He snuck a container of
fire accelerator into our headquarters. I lost two of my men."

I almost said "sorry," but I was thinking, When you play with fire, old
chap...

"He must have spread the accelerator around our car when we were inside the
prison," Mulder said. "He could have just blown up our gas tank, but I
suppose he wanted to cook us before finishing us off."

It was quiet for awhile. Then, Plummer said, "I understand that you like to
write about your more interesting cases, Mr. Rumpole."

"And Lord knows that this has been an interesting one. Is this where you
make a not-so-subtle threat?"

"Not necessarily. For instance, your fee in this matter could be greatly
increased..."

"Why did you recommend me to Green in the first place? Is it because I'm
foolish enough to take any case?"

Without changing his expression, Plummer said, "Because you're the best
lawyer in London."

I would have swelled with pride if I had heard the compliment from anyone
else. Instead, I replied, "Do me a favor. Get someone else to do your dirty
work next time."

He nodded, then looked at Mulder and Scully. She looked back at him, then
said, "You saved our lives, Mister Plummer. I suppose we owe you our
silence."

"Just be careful about the toys you play with," Mulder warned.

Plummer nodded again. Then he turned and left.

"I know I should be grateful," I said. "but I can't help feel that we were
rescued by the devil himself."

"That happened to Scully and me before," Mulder told me. "Maybe we should
get used to it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You're what?"

"The Crown is dropping the charges, my lord," Erskine-Brown said.

Bullingham closed his eyes. "Why?"

Erskine-Brown explained that new evidence indicated that L'ively was, in
fact, the guilty party...

Bullingham's eyes flew open. "But...but..."

He apparently had the help of some accomplices with getting in and out of
prison. They had yet to learn the names of those accomplices...

"Er, yes. I see. So, will you be charging L'ively?"

He's dead, my lord.

Bullingham looked at Erskine-Brown for a long time. Then he looked at me for
a long time.

Finally, he rapped his gavel hard enough to almost break it and growled,
"Case dismissed."

Outside the courtroom, Phoebe Green went up to Mulder and myself. She kissed
us both on the cheek. "I knew you wouldn't let me down."

"Phoebe," Mulder said. "we almost died last night."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"And you think that makes it better?"

Green gave Mulder a long sad look. "We're all doing the best we can,
Mulder," she told him, then smiled.

Mulder slowly shook his head.

"Where's Scully?" Green asked.

"Inside the court with Erskine-Brown," I sighed. "I hope she lets him down
gently."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This is what happened between Erskine-Brown and Scully.

"I just had to talk with you, Dana..."

"Yes..."

"You're the most wonderful person I've ever met."

"M-hm."

"No woman has ever made me feel like this before. I am completely, madly,
hopelessly..."

"Claude?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For...giving you the wrong idea."

I can imagine the sound of Erskine-Brown's heart breaking as being as loud
as a toppling china cabinet.  "Oh," he replied as he considered the
situation. "There's someone else, isn't there?"

Scully hesitated, then nodded.

"Agent Mulder?"

Scully hesitated longer than before, then nodded again.

He looked at her, then observed, "You sweet-talked me into postponing the
trial, didn't you?"

She lowered her eyes to the floor.

"Don't be ashamed. You did the right thing."

Her eyes quickly went up to Erskine-Brown's honest face.

"Sometimes," he said. "we need encouragement to do the right thing. And...I
must say that I've never argued a case with so much passion before."

"You were incredible," she assured him, being truthful.

"No, you're incredible, my dear. No one else could have inspired me to that.
And that is more meaningful than any affair."

He held up his elbow to her. Genuinely touched, she wrapped her arm around
his and they left the courtroom together.

Mulder and I almost broke our jaws on the floor when we saw them arm-in-arm.
Erskine-Brown looked so calm, so dignified. My surprise was greater than
Mulder's. This Erskine-Brown was drastically different from the one I had
known for so many years. I rather liked this new Claude and I hoped that he
would stay.

"Scully," Green said in a cool voice. "thank you so much for what you've
done."

Scully nodded.

"And, you..." She smiled at Erskine-Brown. He blinked.

"You are the most surprising individual, Mr. Erskine-Brown."

"I...am?" His arm slipped away from Scully's and he walked up to Green with
a dazed look.

"I never suspected that you had so much passion in you. I have to
confess...that I like men with that kind of unpredictability."

"You do?"

"Why don't you call me up some time?"

Completely ignoring how everybody else was shaking their heads at him, he
said, "Uh, yes. Certainly."

She nodded, then said to all of us, "Well...if you excuse me, I'm going to
leave Old Bailey out the back way. I'll leave the media to you."

Then she left.

"Claude..." I stared to say.

"Um, I don't think that I want to talk to the reporters right now. Take care
of them, will you, Rumpole? I think I'll go out...the back way."

He quickly followed after Green.

I sighed. Whatever iron had been transfused into Claude's veins, it would
soon rust away. "Ah, well," I said. "I suppose it's appropriate. One woman
builds him up and another tears hm down. What did you say to him, anyway,
Scully?"

She recounted her conversation.

"You told him what?" Mulder said.

"Good idea, my dear," I told her. "Fall back on the truth."

Mulder and Scully looked at me.

"Well...I assume that you two are...an item."

Scully smiled. "Mr. Rumpole, are you a lawyer or a tabloid reporter?"

I smiled back. "A lawyer has to be many things. Detective, orator,
philosopher, tabloid reporter. And poet. 'Like a demigod here sit I in the
sky/ And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er eye.'"

They looked at me again.

"All right. Leave me in the dark, then. But I think that there's one
question both Scully and I want answered, Mulder."

"What's that?"

"Only once?"

He looked at me, then turned to Scully. She looked back at him, arms crossed
over her chest.

He sighed. "Yes. I went to the Beating Heart Club only once. That was enough
for me."

"You're that intelligent, at least," I observed.

"Now, you should answer a question," he insisted.

"And that is...?"

"Judging by what you have seen...and felt...what is your personal
explanation for how L'ively committed his crimes?

What do you believe?"

I was silent for a long time.

I finally said, "I believe...that this trial is over. And I believe I'll
have a drink. Care to join me?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder and Scully went back to America. All participants in this case were
equally recitent in discussing its details with the public, including
myself. If you are reading this, I have long since died. I wonder what your
take on it is?

The public was rather peeved by the silence we gave them. The press moaned
about it until a rather unusual event involving a famous model, a fascist
political group and a home-grown banana tree occurred. Eventually, interest
shifted away and I could walk in public without hearing questions or jokes.

My brush with death made me a newly sympathetic figure in Hilda's eyes. Her
roast beef and our bedroom were both restored to me.

As for the great amount of unusual clients who wanted my service, I politely
turned them down. (Some of them accused me of being "gotten to.")
Undoubtedly, I could have made a tidy sum of money off their briefs, but I
had no stomach for anything that insinuated dark mysterious forces of any
kind.

I wasn't the only one. I had missed Ballard the day after my
near-immolation, but when I saw him at 3 Equity Court on the next morning, I
noticed that he had a swollen black eye.

"What happened to you?"

"Never you mind, Rumpole."

It was obvious that he would never tell me. My mind imagined the ways you
could get into trouble by asking a total stranger if there were any good
shows in town.

"So," I said. "any luck tracking down that dastardly Illuminati?"

"To be quite honest...well...I've come to have some doubts about that book I
read."

"How's that?"

"It seems that life is too strange on just an everyday level. We don't need
to go making it any stranger."

I nodded. "For once, we are in complete agreement, Sam. What need have we to
go looking for some extraordinary answer for life's mysteries? Most likely,
our problems have their roots in some basic human fallacy. Let's not clutter
up our messy lives even more. Instead, we should just concentrate on who we
are, what we can do and what we know about those around us."

He nodded in return, but then looked at me strangely. "Rumpole...you
wouldn't happen to know how this happened, would you?" He pointed at his
black eye.

I frowned and said, "Oh, come on, Ballard. I thought you gave up on
paranoia." I turned and went to my office.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX