01 - Goblins by Charles Grant - (ebook by Undead)

second one.
    “So what’s this?” he asked, barely giving it a glance as well. “A second
opinion or something?”
    “No. And if you’d just look instead of griping…”
    He did as he was told as he gave her his best martyr’s sigh, and she only just managed not to laugh when he sat up so
quickly he nearly slid off the chair. “Scully…” He read the papers
carefully, one hand pushing through his hair.
    “Right,” she said. “Two killings. One week apart. Saturday night, early
Sunday morning. Each victim with a slashed throat, no other injuries, no
indication of robbery or sexual assault. That wouldn’t necessarily make them
connected, except for the fact that now it seems there was a witness to the
first murder too.”
    Mulder’s lips moved as he read the second sheet more carefully. “Another
Invisible Man?”
    “Could be.”
    “Or the same one.”
    “Could be.”
    “This first guy”—he checked the report—“Pierce, he was drunk. So was the
witness.”
    “No question.”
    He compared the reports again. “And the second witness, to Frank’s murder,
she was drunk, too. And… drugs?”
    “That’s right. Heroin.”
    She saw the look, saw the slight quickening of his movements.
    “So…” He closed one eye, and his lips twitched into a faint smile. “So
… maybe.”
    “Could be.”
    “Scully,” he said, “I give up, all right? You’ve made your point about
Barelli. Several times, in fact.” He reached for the folder.
    She shook her head. “Not yet.”
    The frown returned. “What is this? I’m being tortured because I wouldn’t look
at the slides of your trip? You want me to personally break Carl’s arms?”
    “No. It’s just that there’s… well… a tad more bad news.”
    “Tad?” He leaned forward. “You just said tad?”
    “Hank, actually.”
    It took him a moment to figure it out, and dismiss it with a no big deal,
we can live with it wave.
    “And company,” she added.
    Someone knocked on the doorframe.
    “What the hell does that mean, ‘and company’?” he snapped. “Scully, what’s
going on, huh?”
    She stood, pointed to the door, and said, “Fox Mulder, meet the company.”
    “Hi,” said the tall blonde entering the office as Mulder stumbled to his
feet. “I’m Licia Andrews. I’m really glad to meet you, Agent Mulder. Hank’s told
me so much about you.”
    “Hank?” Mulder echoed dumbly as he shook her hand.
    Licia glanced at Dana. “Why, yes. Hank Webber. Didn’t he tell you? We’re
partners. Sort of. We’re going to New Jersey with you. Right, Agent Scully?”
    “Oh, yes,” Dana said, enjoying herself immensely, and not the least bit
ashamed of it. “Absolutely.”
     
    * * *
     
    The view from the apex of the Delaware Memorial Bridge was probably
spectacular—the Delaware Bay below, wooded shoreline upriver, the ocean to the
right, the factories and plants that lined the banks on both sides. It probably
was, but Barelli never saw it. He hated the height, hated the seagulls gloating
at him from eye level, and his knuckles bled white every time he crossed it.
Still, it was better than flying by a factor of ten.
    And once on the north side, he aimed his battered yellow Taurus straight for
the Turnpike, not wasting any time. Despite the call he had made even before he
had seen Mulder, and despite the senator’s reassurances that the family matter
would be expedited, he didn’t quite believe it.
    Especially after what Dana had said.
    After refusing, again, to succumb to his charms, she had coldly walked him to
the hushed, vast lobby and had, for God’s sake, patted his goddamn arm as if he
were a kid.
    “Stick to sports, Carl,” she’d said. “I’m sorry about the corporal, but use
your head, okay?”
    He’d been so mad, he’d barely been able to kiss and hug her goodbye.
    Stick to sports.
    Who the hell did she think she was, Sherlock Holmes in a skirt?
    Besides, he was not a sports reporter. He was a reporter whose interests