The X-Files Episode 12x12: Volpone
My latest fan fiction; I'm not sure if I'm fully satisfied - I think I need to go back and clean it up, set out that it's a fan fiction about a leprechaun that doesn't show the leprechaun - perhaps have more mentions of it at the end, as well as more explanation that most of the victims are basically constantly using drugs.
Let's call it my first draft:
Episode 12x12: Volpone
PHOENIX, AZ
17 MARCH 2019
The Arizona sun beat down over Derren Cotta’s mustang convertible as he drove along.
He could see the reflection of his sunglasses in the rear view mirror of his car. They were a new pair, almost as expensive as his car, but he could afford it.
The success of his car dealership in Phoenix, Cotta’s Cars, had amassed him a large fortune. It had allowed him to open up several other branches across the States. He now ran businesses in England (on the edge of Manchester), and also Australia. He was driving to the Phoenix outlet following another successful day making deals, while discussing Tea Party policies with his wealthy shareholders. Just because it was a Sunday did not stop him from trading.
Later that evening, he expected to sit in the hot tub with his wife Charlene, while drinking champagne, like they did almost every evening.
He drove into the dealership, and quickly saw one of his new salespeople talking to a couple by a car. Billy Gerrard had only been in the position for a few months, so Derren was being patient with him, but he could see right away that this was not going to end in a sale.
“You can always come back next week if you want to think about it”, Andy was telling the couple who were standing by the car looking disinterested.
Derren strode over to the husband, and shook him firmly by the hand, ignoring his wife’s disapproving looks when he ignored hers.
“Derren Cotta’s the name” he said; “now, this is a mighty fine car you’re thinking about buying”.
“To be honest” the wife chimed in; “we’re not too sure”.
Derren barely looked at the woman, and continued to say to her husband: “Now, what I’m concerned about is that if you come back next week, you may be disappointed. You see, this car may not be here”.
The man looked at his wife, and looked back at Derren.
“A lot of demand for this make of car” Derren replied; “and we only have a few left in stock. To be honest, I’m thinking of increasing the price by a few thousand dollars soon. I could make a lot of bucks selling it”.
The man turned to his wife: “Are you sure you want to pass this up?” he asked; “it’s the best car we’ve seen today”.
“If you want to buy it, then let’s buy it” the wife replied.
“Where do I sign?” the husband asked.
“My colleague will deal with that, sir” replied Derren.
Billy led the couple away to the site office, and soon after Derren watched them leaving, with the keys to their new car. He ignored the wife’s mutterings about how she’d never seen such blatant misogyny.
Cotta walked into the sales office, and walked up to Andy: “See, that’s all you need to do. You give them the hard sell, don’t let them go away without buying a car”.
“Yes, Mr. Cotta” Billy replied.
As he started to leave, Cotta grabbed him; his tone turned much darker.
“Because you know, if I have to step in again to save your backside - THEN I WILL FIRE YOU ON THE SPOT!”
“Yes, Mr. Cotta”.
“DON’T INTERRUPT ME!” Cotta yelled; “NOT ONLY WILL I FIRE YOU, I WILL GIVE YOU A REFERENCE SO BAD, I’LL MAKE SURE YOU NEVER WORK AGAIN FOR THE REST OF YOUR SORRY LIFE! NOW, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!”
Billy ran away, nervously, past the nightwatchman, Robert Goodman, who had arrived for his shift.
“You didn’t hear any of that, did you?” Cotta asked.
Goodman had heard it all, but despite being a burly man, he knew not to get on the wrong side of Derren Cotta, and he knew the correct answer.
“Hear any of what, Mr Cotta?” he asked.
Cotta grinned in satisfaction: “Hope the night shift goes well”.
XXXXX
11PM
The parking lot at the car dealership was vast; it seemed even bigger somehow in the dark.
The rows of cars for sale were very long; they seemed to stretch for miles, though Goodman was sure it was just an illusion.
As he sat in his booth, he read a secondhand copy of a book named Thatcher vs Reagan, a sort of “what if” type book about two of the most powerful politicians of the 80s. It was by an author named Jose Chung, who had been murdered back in the late 1990s. Apparently he’d upset a cult, and they’d put a hit out on him, similar to what Salman Rushdie had been threatened with.
Goodman looked up; he thought he had heard a car engine. He also thought he could hear music, and it was getting louder.
A car radio, or maybe a CD player. Some of the cars Mr. Cotta sold still came with CD players, despite the popularity of Spotify.
He put the book down, and walked out in the parking lot, shining his torch.
As he walked through the rows of cars, he suddenly saw dazzling lights. He could hear the music playing clearly now: The Pogues’ Fairytale of New York.
I could have been someone blasted out from the car.
Car headlights.
He suddenly that a car was sat in the middle of one of the aisles, with its headlights on full blast.
A T-bird, with its hood down.
It was Goodman’s favourite type of car, and if anyone stole it, it would be over his dead body.
Well, so could anyone,
“HEY!” Goodman shouted; “WHOEVER YOU ARE, GET OUT OF THE CAR NOW! I AM GOING TO CALL THE COPS!”
Goodman saw the car start to rev its engine, and begin to approach him, gaining speed.
You took my dreams from me,
He ducked between two rows of cars. It could have been his imagination, but he couldn’t see a driver in the car.
He stepped into the next aisle, and looked around.
When I first found you.
What happened next was too fast for him to react. The car sped towards him, increasing its speed even more, and before he could get out of the way, he was flung over the hood.
As he lay half-conscious on the ground, he heard the car turn, and start to reverse.
I kept them with me, Babe,
I put them with my own.
The last thing he felt before he died was the car driving over him, felt his bones cracking, and felt his skull being crushed under the tyres of the car.
The empty T-bird slowed down, and then drove itself back to the empty parking space where it had come from.
Can’t make it all alone,
I’ve built my dreams around you
The T-bird came to a halt, and sat in place as though it had never moved.
The damage it had inflicted on the late Robert Goodman made the bumper sticker that Cotta had insisted on adorning it with particularly ironic.
HOW’S MY DRIVING?
The car stereo kept going for a few moments as the engine switched off:
The boys of the NYPD choir,
Still singing Galway Bay,
And the bells were ringing out,
For Christmas Day.
XXXXX
WASHINGTON, DC
18 MARCH 2019
“So, how’s the engagement going?”
Scully and Einstein were meeting for coffee and one of their regular mentoring sessions.
“I’m just glad to be living back with him again”, Scully admitted.
Einstein nodded; having Scully living with her for a few months had not been easy, and she had not got anywhere with her partner, Agent Miller.
Scully took a sip of her coffee, while looking around at the garish St. Patrick’s Day decorations; images of shamrocks, pots of gold and even pints of Guinness. She noticed that everyone in the coffee shop was drinking out of green mugs.
“So, anything new at work?”
“Bobby and I were on a stakeout last night” replied Einstein; “I kept thinking, imagine what Agent Mulder would have thought while watching that building last night. He’d have probably come up with several theories about alien activity that was going on, right in the middle of DC”.
Scully raised her eyes.
“Of course, it turned out that the reason why people were vanishing into the building and never coming out was because it was a sweatshop; they had about a hundred people working in there as illegal slaves when we were finally able to bust the entire operation”.
“Some terrible stuff goes on, even these days”, was all Scully could reply, “how are things with Agent Miller?”
“I kept wanting to kiss him, tell him how I felt about him” Einstein replied; “but he was too focused on our stakeout. I think, for him, work will always come first”.
Scully heard her phone receive a message; checking it, she saw a message from Mulder.
HEY, SCULLY
THE COMMANDANT WANTS TO SEE US IN 15 MINUTES’
“I’m afraid I have to go” Scully said, finishing her coffee.
“Duty calls?” asked Einstein.
“You got it”, Scully sighed.
XXXXX
PHOENIX, AZ
18 MARCH 2019
“Thank you for all coming so early this morning”.
Derren Cotta sat on his terrace, facing the three people who owned shares in Cotta’s Cars.
Andrew Frankel, a ruthless lawyer, who stopped at nothing to get his own way. He would bribe juries to find his clients not guilty, and then charge the clients much more than was necessary. He’d occasionally resorted to intimidation to ensure that he got paid in full. Despite it being a hot day, he sat there wearing a suit. His grey hair was slicked back, and his clean-shaven face wore a smile that looked anything but genuine.
Samuel Smithers, owner of a large investment firm. His company had invested lots of money into fracking companies, and he often enjoyed hearing about where their operations were taking place. Usually it was near to the houses of people less well off than him; people him loved to laugh at. He was pacing around wearing a suit, as he smoked a Morley cigarette, and wiped the top of his bald head.
Ivo Steele, a retired dentist, who spent most his money travelling around the world. He had been to Africa on safari many times, and his main claim to fame was that he had got away will illegally killing lions, and killing elephants to poach their tusks for ivory. He seemed to be permanently red in the face behind his large moustache, and was slumped in a chair wearing a tweed jacket. He was smoking a large Havana cigar.
“Robert was found dead on my parking lot last night”, Cotta announced.
“Are you suggesting he was murdered?” Ivo Steele asked.
“We’re not sure” replied Cotta, “but it does mean that we’re going to have some F.B.I. Agents sniffing around.”
“Yeah, right” Andrew Frankel muttered, impassionately. He didn’t seem to be to keen on this meeting.
“Are you expecting them to talk to us?”, Samuel Smithers asked.
“I’m not sure” Cotta replied; “but here’s one thing I know. We need to avoid telling them too much about my business. I’m sure you all know, I didn’t exactly acquire my wealth by any legal means”.
“If they try to prosecute”, Andrew Frankel reminded Cotta; “you’ve got my back”.
Cotta was one of the few clients who Andrew Frankel did not mistreat. He preferred to suck up instead.
“So, what you’re asking”, Ivo Steele added, “is that we tell the feds what you want them to hear, and hopefully they’ll go away”.
“Precisely” replied Cotta.
XXXXX
F.B.I. HEADQUARTERS
18 MARCH 2019
Mulder and Scully sat outside Deputy Director Kersh’s office, wondering what was in store for them. Mulder stroked the engagement ring that he now wore on his finger, still stunned at Scully’s surprise marriage proposal. It didn’t appear that their superior had noticed.
After what felt like an age, Kersh’s assistant ushered them in, and to their surprise they found Mulder’s half-brother, Jeffrey Spender sat opposite Kersh’s desk.
“What are you doing here, Agent Spender?” Mulder asked.
“Agents” Kersh interrupted; “as much as I am reluctant to admit it, there is a new X-File”.
Mulder nodded.
“It may have come to your attention that I have been quite slow at replacing Assistant Director Skinner” added Kersh; “so I am also very pleased to introduce you to the F.B.I.’s latest AD”.
Mulder and Scully looked at each other.
“Oh, and next time you address him, it’s Assistant Director Spender to you” Kersh continued; “you will now report to him, and there will be no need to bother me with any of your alleged stretchy people or shape-shifters”.
Mulder and Scully reluctantly nodded to show that they had understood.
“You’re to fly out to Phoenix” Spender added; “security guard found dead in a car dealership parking lot”.
“Oh, let me guess” Mulder smiled; they think the attacker was the Mogollon”.
Scully, Kersh and Spender stared at him.
“The Arizonan Bigfoot”, Mulder explained, an ape-like creature…”.
He saw Kersh’s disapproving look, and stopped talking.
“The victim, Robert Goodman, 50, appears to have been run over by a car” Spender continued; “but there is no evidence of any of the cars in the dealership having been stolen”.
“Which is unusual” Scully interjected; “the obvious motive would have been theft”.
“Also, the entire place was locked up” Spender continued; “it would have been difficult to get in or out”.
“However” Kersh added; “AD Spender and I have both agreed that there has to be a rational explanation to this. Hopefully, Agent Scully, you will be able to stop any of your partner’s wild theories raising their heads”.
Scully nodded; she would try.
As they turned to go, Kersh added: “If AD Spender gives me any stories about you two causing trouble, then I won’t hesitate to shut down the X-Files again.
With that, he waved them away, and asked Spender to close the door.
XXXXX
WASHINGTON REAGAN NATIONAL AIRPORT
“So, what do you think of Assistant Director Spender?” Mulder asked, as they entered the departure lounge.
“I’m happy for him” Scully replied; “I’ve known him for a long time, and he needs a bit of luck”.
Mulder nodded, remembering how they had found Spender in the basement office back in 1999, alive but unconscious after the Cigarette Smoking Man had shot him in the face. After he disappeared from the hospital, Kersh blocked the agents from investigating. They definitely had no idea that he was undergoing unimaginable torture, until he showed up disfigured in the basement office, and confronted Special Agent Doggett.
His extensive cosmetic surgery had covered up most of the damage, although Spender still wore a prosthetic nose. It looked so real, however, that it was difficult to tell.
“I’m sure C.G.B. Spender is wild with excitement to have a son who is climbing the F.B.I. ladder”, Mulder muttered; “so, what do you think happened?”
“Self-driving cars are all talk at the moment” Scully replied; “did we establish whether the dealership sells those?”
“Come on, big guy. Let’s go for a ride. Let’s cruise” Mulder grinned.
“Huh?”, Scully asked.
“Stephen King, Scully. Christine”, Mulder replied; “but I don’t think that particular car is at our crime scene. Meaning that they don’t stock self-driving cars”.
Scully rolled her eyes; Mulder had to get in a pop culture reference rather than give a straight answer.
“I can only conclude that a human was driving the car” Scully replied; “even if their motive wasn’t theft, maybe they had a grudge against our victim”.
Mulder nodded: “AD Spender would be pleased to hear you say that”.
“What are you going to suggest, Mulder?”
“The obvious answer would be a poltergeist, Scully. A poltergeist who drove the murder weapon back to where it belongs.”
“What a polite phantom” Scully muttered. She hoped Leyla Harrison was having a more enjoyable time looking after Tena.
XXXXX
PHOENIX, AZ
18 MARCH 2019
As the sun beat down on them, Derren Cotta greeted Mulder and Scully with his trademark smile that he’d learned to fake convincingly.
“Derren Cotta” he told them; “I understand you’re the Feds”.
“Agents Mulder and Scully”, replied Scully.
“We understand that Mr. Goodman was killed by a car that is in your parking lot” Mulder replied.
“Yes” Cotta replied; “and it seems that the forensics team who came up here have managed to pinpoint the exact vehicle; something to do with finding paint stains on my colleague’s body”.
“Can you show us which one?” Scully asked.
Cotta led them to a nondescript-looking white T-bird, which had Mulder yelping with excitement: “Just the sort of car I always wanted to drive”.
“Let me know what you find” Cotta replied, his mood darkening; “but more importantly, let me know when I can open again for business”.
Scully rolled her eyes as Cotta walked away; she could tell that accumulating wealth was the only thing on his mind.
“He probably dives into a swimming pool full of money” Mulder told Scully, sotto voce; “he seems like a real-life Scrooge McDuck”.
Scully smiled at her partner’s joke, but set to examining the car: “It looks like the paint has been slightly scraped” she said; “and these small red patches on the bumper and tyres are most likely Mr. Goodman’s blood”.
Mulder nodded: “The tyre marks nearby indicate that it was driven out of this spot recently. I’ll see if I can dust for fingerprints, see if anyone was tampering with it”.
“I would guess that maybe whoever did access the car may have hot-wired it” Scully suggested.
“You’re living in the past, Scully” Mulder chuckled; “you forget that cars aren’t so easy to hot-wire these days”.
“Look who’s become a car expert” Scully replied; “did you forget to renew your subscription to Celebrity Skin?”
“Actually, I’m still getting that one” Mulder replied; “I just hide all my copies from you and Tena, but I did decide to stop reading Big and Bouncy. I’ve managed to pull some fingerprints, looks like we’ll have to send those for analysis.
“Let’s not discount the possibility that someone working here may have had a grudge against the victim”, Scully suggested; “they would probably also have had access to the ignition keys”.
Mulder was looking intently at something.
“Mulder?”
“Pass me an evidence bag, Scully; it looks like our killer may have left a calling card”.
Scully passed Mulder a plastic bag, and he dug around in the car; standing up, he held out the bag in one gloved hand. It contained a single shamrock.
A four-leafed clover.
“Oh, the shamrock” Scully remarked, “the green immortal shamrock! Lucky for some…”
“But not for Mr. Goodman”, Mulder finished her sentence; “you’re familiar with Thomas Moore then, Scully?”
“My Mum’s parents were both Irish” Scully smiled; “she would read his poems to Bill, Melissa, Charles and myself every St. Patrick’s Day”.
She paused for a moment; she still missed her mother, just as she missed Melissa, killed by Alex Krycek and his accomplice in a case of mistaken identity.
“Let’s get this down to evidence” Mulder continued; “it might tell us a few things about our killer”.
“You think so?”, Scully asked.
“It is only through mystery and madness that the soul is revealed”, Mulder replied; “Thomas Moore again; trust me on this one”.
“When have I not?” Scully muttered.
Mulder was examining the car closely: “A CD player”, he added; “a rarity these days. Looks like there’s something in it”.
“Are you interested in our killer’s musical tastes, Mulder?”
“A fascination of mine”, Mulder replied; “remember Charles Manson? He used to play his Beatles records backwards, looking for hidden messages. When I wrote the profile on John Lee Roche all those years ago, I found that he was really into Pink Floyd - Another Brick in the Wall was his favourite”.
“What did that tell you about him?”, Scully asked.
“Just that he had good musical tastes” replied Mulder; “his one redeeming quality”.
He ejected the CD.
“If I Were to Fall From Grace With God by The Pogues” replied Scully, “I know that’s the one that introduced Fairytale of New York, the Christmas song that too many people like to play all year round”.
Mulder looked at her curiously.
“Matthew shares a party wall at college with a student who plays the song at least once a day”, Scully added.
“Do you know his name?” Mulder grinned; “maybe we already have a prime suspect”.
“Maybe we could dust the CD for fingerprints?”, Scully suggested; “I don’t need to be a psychologist to tell you that whoever owns this CD has probably committed a murder”.
XXXXX
ANDREW FRANKEL RESIDENCE
18 MARCH 2019
Andrew Frankel sat in his penthouse flat, which gave him an amazing view of Phoenix.
He held a glass of bourbon in his hand.
Just behind his seat was his kitchen area, with its range of high tech appliances: hob built into the work surface, fridge freezer with built-in water cooler, tap that used smart technology to activate it. There was a range of low-technology items too, including a rack full of menacing-looking knives, good for carving up steaks, which he was partial to.
Cotta was worrying about nothing; surely the F.B.I. agents would find nothing. He was very careful about hiding all his ‘goods’.
He unlocked a cupboard, and slit open one of the many plastic bags inside.
He poured out a line of the white powder inside onto the surface of his coffee table, and quickly locked the cabinet.
Cocaine.
He snorted the line of cocaine, felt it surging up his nostril. He loved the stimulus that it gave him.
He sat back and relaxed in his seat; he had a feeling things were going to be okay.
Something flew over his head, just missing him; it smashed the glass coffee table that he was drinking at, spilling his bourbon glass on the floor.
“What the…” he asked, looking around, “whoever is there, show yourself”.
He looked at the empty room behind him, but moments later was half-blinded in pain as another knife flew towards him. This one hit him directly, embedding itself in his left eye.
He stood up and staggered around; the pain was excruciating, and moments later he felt the stabbing pain in his chest as another knife plunged itself into his heart.
Andrew Frankel collapsed to the floor, and breathed his last.
XXXXX
“I always said, if a man says a woman’s place is in the kitchen, he should remember that’s where the knives are”, Mulder quipped.
Mulder and Scully stood above the lifeless body of Andrew Frankel, the two murder weapons protruding from his eye and chest.
“His wife has an alibi” Scully replied calmly; “and it checks out; turns out she was out with some friends when the murder took place”.
Mulder looked around to see Andrew Frankel’s wife Sylvia being comforted by police officers.
“So, whoever killed this man somehow got into the house” added Scully; “we should dust those knives for prints. I’m not sure why we’re being called to this case; it seems unconnected”.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that” Mulder replied, looking under the coffee table; looks like our killer left their calling card”.
He pulled on some rubber gloves, and moved the table, picking up the shamrock that was underneath.
“To think I’d assumed your eyesight was deteriorating” Scully replied.
“It must be all those carrots”, Mulder laughed; “but there’s something else”.
He pointed to a trace amount of a thin white powder on the floor by the shamrock.
“Is that what I think it is?”, Scully asked.
“My name is Andrew Frankel” Mulder deadpanned; “I live at 1121 Warwick Boulevard, Phoenix Arizona, 01013. To all law enforcement authorities, this is not an admission of guilt. Could it be that Sylvia Frankel was trying to hide something? That maybe her husband was breaking bad?”
“I’m sure an autopsy will confirm whether the late Mr. Frankel was taking cocaine” Scully mused, “but I don’t really see the connection between the two victims”.
Mulder was drawn to a photograph that he saw on the wall: “I think I have an idea”.
Mulder really was becoming quite eagle-eyed.
Scully walked over to the photograph. Along with two other people, Andrew Frankel was clearly shown at a table, with Derren Cotta. All four looked happy, and were holding champagne flutes.
“Seems that Derren Cotta is the common denominator in both killings” replied Scully.
XXXXX
COUNTY MORGUE
Scully washed her hands after finishing her autopsy on Andrew Frankel, and called Mulder.
“You were right”, she told Mulder; “I found traces of white powder around our victim’s nose, and burn marks on his hands and lips. So, if our victim and his wife were in possession of cocaine, is it possible that Mr. Frankel upset the local cookers? Maybe there’s some sort of turf war going on.”
“Drug dealers who use shamrocks as a calling card?” Mulder wondered; “an Irish gang, perhaps? The lab just confirmed that the white powder we found was indeed cocaine. They found more of it in other places on the floor. Following a hunch, we suspected that Mrs. Frankel may have been trying to dispose of evidence”.
“Did you find anything else?”
“We searched the Frankel’s trashcans; nothing there, but a search of a public trashcan not far from the Frankel house revealed several bags of the stuff. Looks like our victim’s wife was careful, but not too careful. Her fingerprints were all over them, as were her husband’s”.
“So, seems that we should be bringing in Sylvia Frankel for questioning”.
XXXXX
PHOENIX POLICE DEPARTMENT
Sylvia Frankel looked like a very prim and proper woman, and certainly wasn’t thrilled at being arrested for possession of cocaine. She had sensed the judging looks of the wives from all the large houses nearby as she was led out in handcuffs.
Mulder and Scully sat in the interview room facing her, a cop standing in the corner of the room, watching the proceedings.
“Mrs. Frankel” said Scully, “were you aware that your husband was in possession of cocaine?”
“What sort of a question is that?” Skylia demanded; “Andrew has just died, and you’re questioning me about his lifestyle?”
“I know this is difficult”, Mulder replied; “but this may be vital in finding out who killed your husband”.
Syliva gulped: “Yes, I did know about it. He told me to keep quiet about it.”
Scully nodded; this was understandable. “Do you know where he got it from?”, she asked.
“No”, Sylvia replied; “he never told me”.
“Do you know if any of these people were also involved?”, Mulder added, showing Sylvia a shot taken on his phone of the picture he saw in the Frankel household.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if they were”, Sylvia replied; “I recognise Derren Cotta; Andrew is - was - a shareholder in his company”.
Mulder and Scully looked at each other.
“Do you recognize the other two people in this picture?”, Mulder asked.
“Sarah Smithers and Ivo Steele”, Sylvia gasped; “they’re Mr. Cotta’s other shareholders. Andrew used to invite all three of them and their partners to dinner at our house regularly. Now, when do I get to speak to a lawyer? Just because there was cocaine in my house doesn't mean I’m breaking bad”.
“You also tried to cover up the evidence from the crime scene” Scully reminded her.
As the cop led Sylvia away, another officer opened the door: “They just arrested a local coke dealer, Lorcan Murphy” he told the agents; “we’re wondering if he’s our killer”.
A thirty-something man with close-cropped hair and a goatee beard was led through the doors; he wore only a pair of shorts and a baseball cap, its bill facing backwards. He had a shamrock tattooed on his bare chest, and his right arm was in a sling. He had a chain around his waist, clamping his free arm in place.
Mulder and Scully both noticed the red devil tattoo on his right shoulder, which Mulder recognized from his Oxford days as the logo of Manchester United. Their suspect was also a fan of British football then.
“You’re acting the maggot”, Lorcan growled, in a thick Irish accent; “I ain’t a killer”.
“Have you got an alibi for last night?”, Scully asked.
“I was spending time with my little girl”, Lorcan replied; “my ex-wife can also tell you I was there”.
“How about two nights ago?”, Scully added; “did you break into Derren Cotta’s parking lot and run over a security guard?”
“It was St. Paddy’s Day”, Lorcan protested; “I was in Molly Malone’s, drinking the Black Stuff all night; plenty of witnesses. In the end, my mates had to help me home, I was so sozzled. Look, I come over here from the old country two years ago, and I’m now being treated as a killer, as well as the sneatcha charges”.
“What did you do to your arm?”, Mulder asked.
“Risks of the drug dealing business”, Lorcan replied; “got into a fight with a punter last week. Means that I can’t play cricket with my little girl, as it’s my throwing arm”.
“Are you by any chance a fan of the Pogues?”, Mulder asked.
Lorcan looked a bit nonplussed by the question: “I prefer Oasis myself”, he mutted; “just because I’m Irish doesn’t mean I have to like every band that comes from there”.
“The weapons expert suggested that at least one of the murder weapons used to kill was thrown with great force”, Mulder told Scully; “also, I’m not certain this guy could have driven a car over our first victim. I think the cops are barking up the wrong tree”.
“We’ll check out your alibis” Scully told Lorcan, as he was led away towards a holding cell.
Mulder spotted the New York Knicks logo on the bill of Lorcan’s baseball cap, and added: “Well, at least you follow a great team; you can’t be all that bad”.
“Cheers, Boyo” replied Lorcan; he looked around and attempted a smile. It seemed that Agent Mulder was the good cop in this scenario. He did his best effort at a peace sign in Mulder’s direction, and just about managed it, despite his arm being pinned to his side.
“So, I suppose you’re going to suggest this is another poltergeist?”, Scully groaned. She couldn’t wait to type up her report for Assistant Director Spender.
XXXXX
“Is Derren Cotta in?”, Mulder and Scully asked Billy Gerrard as they arrived at Cotta’s Motors.
“Y - yes”, Billy replied nervously; I can take you to him”.
Billy took the agents through the car showroom to an office door, and knocked nervously.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”, Cotta’s voice barked out, aggressively.
“Mr. Cotta”, Billy replied nervously; “some people to s - see you”.
“The F.B.I. Agents” Mulder added.
Mulder and Scully heard the sound of a drawer being slammed, and a key in a lock, then the office door swung open.
“Why didn’t you say?”, Cotta demanded; he looked flustered, and red in the face; “do come in”.
Scully made note of the look Cotta gave Billy as they were ushered in, with his eyes. Vamoose, get out of here. The boss’s bullying towards his young employee was not quite as subtle as he thought.
Mulder and Scully walked into the office, and Cotta gestured to them to sit down.
This man really knew how to set up an office, and slack on the job; that must be what being rich does for you.
In the middle of the floor was a mini putting green, where he most likely spent at least an hour a day practicing his golf swing. Several newspaper articles hung on the wall, all about Cotta’s own success, one of them showed a large image of him shaking hands with Donald Trump himself. Both had large beaming smiles on their faces.
Cotta had a computer set up at his desk, where Mulder suspected he spent much of his time playing minesweeper. His desk seemed to be elevated quite high, with a large chair. The chairs he and Scully sat on seemed quite small by comparison, and Cotta seemed to tower over them. It must have been how he intimidated employees when speaking to them.
“We believe you knew Andrew Frankel” said Scully, getting straight to the point.
“One of my shareholders” Cotta replied; looking directly at Mulder, and conspicuously avoiding eye contact with Scully, he asked: “Are you suggesting he is the killer?”
“Mr. Cotta” continued Scully; “he was found murdered last night”.
“What’s this, Agent Mulder?” Cotta asked, giving Scully a dismissive wave of his hand. One thing was certain, his misogynistic attitude was far from subtle.
“Mr. Cotta”, Mulder continued through gritted teeth, trying to remain professional; “Mr. Frankel was found to be in possession of cocaine. Agent Scully and I are wondering if he might have upset some local dealers”.
“So, you and your assistant are coming in here suggesting what?” Cotta replied testily; “what Mr. Frankel got up to in his spare time is his own business, and sure as hell doesn’t seem to have any connection with what I thought you were here to investigate”.
Mulder showed Cotta the image on his phone, of the picture he saw in Frankel’s house: “I’m guessing these other two people are shareholders too?”, he asked; “maybe you could give us their names”.
“Just in case there is a connection”, Scully added; “they could end up as targets for our killer”.
“Samuel Smithers and Ivo Steele”, muttered Cotta. “I have a reservation at my favourite steakhouse tonight, entertaining a client. I am looking forward to eating the largest T-bone on the menu, with a large side of fries. Now, if you’re not here to give me good news, I suggest you get out”.
“A real-life Michael Corleone”, Mulder muttered as they left the room, “and probably twice as misogynistic”.
“I was surprised when he didn’t pat my butt James Bond style as I left the room” Scully replied; “the atmosphere was so toxic I thought I would choke on it”.
“If he gets killed”, Mulder added; “my money’s on Gloria Steinem. Let’s see if we can contact Samuel Smithers and Ivo Steele, and see if we can warn them”.
XXXXX
VARNS GOLF CLUB
NEAR PHOENIX
Samuel Smithers enjoyed practicing his golf; all the better for seeing if he could win against Darren Cotta in their next game.
The golf course was relatively empty at this time of day; perfect for him. He had once been banned from a golf club after an incident when he had played through another man’s game. The offended party had objected; Samuel had turned round and punched the man hard in the face.
Derren Cotta had agreed that the man got what he deserves: “Someone who is that casual on the golf course should go back to the putting green”.
He was approaching the 18th hole now, right on the green. This was his chance to get a record on this hole. He pulled the flag out of the hole so it wouldn’t get in his way.
He hit the ball; it missed the hole by inches.
Cussing to himself, Smithers walked over to find his ball.
As he bent over, he felt a blow to his head, as the flag struck him from behind. It was although it were being wielded with a maximum amount of brute force.
Reeling, Smithers was only just about conscious. He put his hand on the back of his head; bringing it away, he saw blood.
“Who … who are you?” he stammered.
As he looked around, he saw the golf flag hovering in the air, as though by its own volition; it was at that point that the flag appeared to thrust itself - directly through Smithers’ chest.
Two golf caddies - one male and one female - ran from the staff building, having heard the commotion.
Smithers was barely alive as they crouched down by him.
“Don’t worry” said the young woman; we’re going to call 911”.
“What happened?” was all her colleague could ask.
With his last breath, Smithers coughed up blood, and stammered: “I think it was … a ghost”.
With that, Samuel Smithers expired.
No one noticed the shamrock lying on his stomach.
XXXXX
Derren Cotta did not appreciate being interrupted by the meek waiter as he gorged his way through a large steak. He hadn’t agreed to pay a four-figure bill in the best restaurant in town to have his meal ruined.
“I’m told its urgent”, the waiter said; “it involves a friend of yours, name of Smithers”.
Cotta sighed, and looked at his clients. The three men who sat at the table with him were quite large; it was easy to tell that they enjoyed eating even more than Cotta did.
“Excuse me a moment”, he said, and left the room.
“What is it?” he snapped.
“Derren … Mr. Cotta” came the anxious voice of Jane Smithers.
“Okay, calm down” said Cotta; “this had better be good, I was just about to close on a deal. To be honest, I’d rather be speaking to your husband. I think he’s the one with the brains”.
“That’s just the thing”, protested Jane; “he’s been murdered”.
Cotta hung up the phone; suddenly he had lost his appetite.
It did appear that someone was targeting his shareholders.
He walked back into the dining room, and told the waiter: “Put whatever the table owes on my card.”
It was time to apologise to the clients, and ask if they could reschedule.
XXXXX
“Any fingerprints?”
Mulder and Scully stood over the lifeless body of Samuel Smithers.
“Just the victim’s so far, Scully”, Mulder replied, “and our killer’s usual calling card. Are you ready to accept that there was no human intervention”.
“Has anyone spoken to the witnesses?”, Scully asked.
“As I understand it, the staff were nowhere near the victim when he was attacked”, Mulder replied.
“Someone else must have been on the course”, Scully replied.
“Someone angry enough to kill Mr. Smithers”, Mulder mused, “this is turning into quite a rivalry”.
“Swingers”, he added as Scully looked at him blankly.
“What we don’t have is a clear motive for the killing” Scully replied, “except that once again the victim is connected to Derren Cotta”.
Mulder nodded: “Someone is hunting them down, one by one. I think it’s about time we got into contact with Ivo Steele, convince him that he should be taken into protective custody.”
“Do you think Derren Cotta’s life is in danger too?”, Scully asked.
“It could well be”, Mulder replied, “but we’d have to let him agree to help him first”.
XXXXX
IVO STEELE RESIDENCE
The lifeless eyes of a tiger-skin rug stared back at Mulder; he started back, fascinated.
“So, you believe my life may be in danger”, Ivo Steele asked, as he reclined in his chair.
The whole room was full of hunting trophies; moose antlers hang on either side of a large clock, and the heads of several other animals were mounted on the wall, including all of South Africa’s ‘big five’: Lion, leopard, rhino, elephant, buffalo. The elephant was missing its tusks; it was clear that Ivo Steele had been illegally selling ivory.
“I’m most proud about the leopard”, Steele added; “it’s the hardest one to spot”.
“We need to take you somewhere where you’ll be safe”, Scully added.
“I’ll do nothing of the sort”, Steele replied, reddening; “this all seems like poppycock anyway. If one of you agents wants to stay over here, then so be it. I imagine this fine gentleman would maybe enjoy sharing a fine whisky with me, while hearing my hunting tales”. He indicated Mulder.
At that moment, Scully’s phone rang.
“Special Agent Dana Scully”.
Mulder heard her nod a few times, then she put the phone down; the indicated to Mulder that they should speak outside, in private.
“What is it, Scully?”, Mulder asked.
“Local police said they arrested a man who was acting suspiciously just outside the golf course last night”, Scully replied; “they think he may be our killer. I can go and question him”.
“I’ll keep Buffalo Bill here company”, Mulder replied; “then we’ve got all our bases covered”.
“Don’t let him bore you to death with his stories”, Scully replied, managing to smile at her fiancée.
XXXXX
“William Gerrard” said Scully, reading out the name of the young man who sat before her, “my partner and I saw you working at Cotta’s Motors”.
“I prefer Billy”, the suspect replied, looking down at the floor.
“Billy, can you tell me why you were near the golf course last night?”
“I was just out clearing my head”, Billy protested; Scully saw his eyes well up with tears.
Scully looked at him sympathetically: “Billy, I have to ask you, did you know Samuel Smithers, the deceased?”
“Not too well”, Billy replied; “I know he was a shareholder in Mr. Cotta’s firm”.
“But you deny that you had anything to do with his death”.
“I keep telling them I’m innocent”, Billy protested.
“Can you tell me what you were doing on the previous two nights?”, Scully asked.
“I was just at home”.
“Any witnesses?”
“I live alone”; Billy looked scared, almost like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car.
“Agent Scully” said a young officer, “a moment please, there is something you probably should see”.
XXXXX
Mulder’s phone rang as he sat in Ivo Steele’s lounge. He had checked beforehand that there were no other ways in, where someone could gain access. The windows, he was told, were shatter-proof, and the patio doors were locked from the inside.
Nobody would get in under Mulder’s watch.
“Mulder” said Scully, “I’ve been speaking to our suspect”.
“Who is it, Scully?”
“An employee of Derren Cotta’s, Billy Gerrard; he seems quite nervous, and I’m not sure whether it is just an act. I’m going to send through a video that one of the officers sent. It made for interesting, if unpleasant, viewing”.
“Okay, Scully”, Mulder replied; “so you think this is in no way an X-File”.
“I think there’s a perfectly logical explanation to it”, Scully replied calmly; “Billy is the young man who you see Mr. Cotta and the late Mr. Goodman speaking to. We also met him briefly at Cotta’s Motors. I’m going to hang up now, speak to you later”.
Mulder waited a few moments, until Scully had sent the video, and then watched it.
The video seemed to have been taken from a secret camera; evidently a disgruntled ex-employee had taken the video. A lot of people liked to discredit their old bosses now. Maybe Mulder should have found an excuse to do something like this to Kersh.
The room was decked out with a Christmas tree and decorations; this appeared to be at the firm’s festive party. A banner read: HAPPY CHRISTMAS 2018
Derren Cotta appeared drunk; he was telling Billy: “Can’t the little baby handle himself in the big boys’ club?”
Billy was shaking, and carrying a tray full of drinks; he managed to spill what looked like a French martini down Cotta’s front. Mulder noticed Andrew Frankel, Samuel Smithers and Ivo Steele laughing in the background.
Cotta smacked Billy over the head, causing him to drop the tray and what was left on it: “Can’t you even handle a simple task, you fool?” he snapped; “how do you expect to cope in the real world”.
Mulder’s stomach tightened; it was like watching a pledge being hazed at a frat boys’ party. It made him glad that he’d gone to Oxford, where none of that sort of thing happened.
Robert Goodman had stayed silent for a while, but at that moment, he grabbed Billy by the throat: “Mr. Cotta, shall I throw him out?”
“Be my guest”, Cotta replied; “he’s clearly no use as a waiter, the only way that he’ll get into one of these parties any time soon.
Robert Goodman grabbed Billy in an armlock with one hand, and punched him hard with the other, much to the amusement of Cotta and his three shareholders.
“Head butt him!”, Cotta yelled, excitedly, to which Goodman obliged. It seemed that Cotta had to get involved himself, and kicked Billy hard, in the direction of the door.
Mulder had to stop watching the video; it was too unpleasant. He called Scully’s mobile back.
“It looks like Billy definitely has a motive for wanting to kill all of these people”, Mulder replied, “but why wait for now?”
“You’re the psychologist”, Scully replied; “I’m told that Cotta and Goodman were giving a warning for the assault after it was first shown to the police. I can only guess that our suspect decided that it wasn’t enough”.
“I’m still not entirely convinced” replied Mulder, “if Billy is the person I remember seeing, he didn’t look like the type who would have had the physical strength to shove a golf flag through Samuel Smithers with such force that we saw. Either someone else was involved, or we’re going to have to presume supernatural means, like…”
“Poltergeists, telekinesis, whatever” Scully replied; she knew Mulder too well.
“You’ll have to keep Billy in custody”, Mulder replied; “but have someone sent round to Derren Cotta’s house to insist on keeping watch on him too”.
“Thank you for not suggesting I do it myself”, Scully replied; “I can easily do without his style of chat up lines”.
“Anything for you” Mulder replied.
XXXXX
COTTA RESIDENCE
“I don’t see why I need this protection”, Cotta muttered, as a young officer, Dale Pinker, stood in his lobby”.
“Just protocol, Sir”, Pinker replied.
“I see”, Cotta replied; “but I understand that someone has been arrested for the killings; my employee, Billy Gerrard. I might have known that he was bad news. If he’s the killer, surely we’re all safe”.
“Innocent until proven guilty”, Pinker answered.
“I’d suggest get the death by firing squad over with”, muttered Cotta; “you could at least put down that gun; I’m not going to attack you”.
“Sir, I may need to protect you”, Pinker tried to protest.
“Can’t you think of something other than duty for a moment?” asked Cotta, “why not try it; put the gun down on the table”.
“If it makes you feel better, sir”.
Pinker put his gun down, and quick as a flash, Cotta grabbed it. For a man his age, he was quite sprightly.
Pointing his gun at Pinker, Cotta smirked: “You young cops are so gullible”.
“Listen, nobody needs to get hurt”, Pinker stammered, putting his hands up.
“Nobody needs to get hurt”, Cotta replied; “now, you and I are going to go for a little drive”.
XXXXX
Mulder’s phone rang. He was half way through eating a home-made brownie that Ivo Steele had offered him.
Steele rolled his eyes, as he looked up from his almanac; maybe it was the irritation of hearing the ringtone again: The theme to The Twilight Zone.
Mulder held up a finger: Excuse me a minute, and stepped out of the room.
“Mulder”, he said.
“Mulder, there’s a situation at the police station”, Scully replied; “I’m heading down there myself. Apparently Derren Cotta has taken a cop hostage, and has forced his way into the police lockup. It seems that he’s insisting on speaking to Billy Gerrard”.
XXXXX
Ivo Steele looked up from his almanac, glancing at Mulder through the glass window in the top half of the door.
It may have been his imagination, but it felt like the hunting trophies on the wall were all looking in his direction. It was almost like they were giving him the evil eye.
He looked down; he must be getting tired.
This was when he felt something grip his ankle.
Steele looked down; the tiger skin rug appeared to have moved several feet, and was next to where he sat. That wasn’t all, though.
One of the tiger’s lifeless claws was clamped around his ankle.
“What the deuce?”, Steele asked.
He moved his foot; he managed to move it out of the grip of the claws. He looked down, it had made holes in the leg of his chinos, and he was bleeding.
He staggered across the room, and started to get Mulder’s attention.
XXXXX
“Scully, I probably should go”, Mulder said, seeing Steele waving at him.
He hung up the phone, and turned the door handle.
It didn’t open; locked, or jammed.
Steele had not gone anywhere near the door.
Mulder started banging on the door repeatedly.
XXXXX
Ivo Steele rolled his eyes; couldn’t this F.B.I. Agent even open a door? He was amazed the man could drive a car.
He reached for the door handle, but also found himself unable to open it.
That was when he heard the tiger’s roar.
He turned around to face a live tiger standing in the room. There was no doubt about it, it seemed that the tiger skin rug had come back from the dead.
“Clever girl”, muttered Steele.
He edged his way around the room, near to the hunting trophies, only to feel an unearthly force grab his arms. He felt them being clamped behind something; something heavy.
All the time, Mulder’s banging got louder.
Steele was trapped, and had nothing to do except watch as the tiger lunged at him, ravenously.
It was moments later that Mulder managed to open the door, too late to save the life of Ivo Steele.
He surveyed the scene: Ivo Steele with his hands trapped behind the moose trophy’s antlers. His throat had been torn out, and blood dripped all over the floor, and all over the tiger skin rug, which now flopped lifelessly on its hapless victim.
Looking closer, Mulder spotted the bloodstained shamrock on the floor.
XXXXX
“I’m tell you, Scully!”, Mulder shouted; “I witnessed that tiger skin rug come to life and attack Ivo Steele!”
Mulder was sweating heavily; Scully hadn’t seen her partner in such a state in a while; he was almost become aggressive towards her.
“You then insist that the stuffed head of a moose abetted in the killing”, Scully replied; “I can’t wait to tell Spender”.
“That’s exactly what happened”, Mulder protested.
“Mulder, did Mr. Steele give you anything to eat by any chance?”
“He gave me a brownie…” Mulder started, before gradually things became clear to him.
“Damn it, Mulder!” Scully snapped, “you’ve eaten a hash cake; you’re not exactly a credible witness. Your eyes are red, you’re sweating a lot, all of which point to you being completely stoned”.
“So, in other words you’re not going to listen to me”.
Scully bent down, and pulling on rubber gloves, she examined the corpse of Ivo Steele.
“He was high too”, she sighed; “in other words, he was fighting a delusion”.
“A delusion that killed him”, Mulder protested; “unless we’re dealing with another Augustus Cole”.
Augustus Cole was a Vietnam vet who Mulder had encountered years ago; years of not being able to sleep had made him able to cause his victims to have hallucinations so vivid, that they had the power to kill.
“There’s something here”, Scully added, spotting a piece of paper tucked inside Steele’s pocket.
She pulled it out; it read:
ask derren cotta where he got his fortune
“It appears to be a message from our killer”, Scully shrugged, “and another shamrock. Looks like we’ll need to speak to Derren Cotta”.
“You’ll manage that easy enough” said an officer, entering the room, “he’s down at the station, causing trouble. He’s taken an officer hostage, and is threatening Billy Gerrard”.
“If Billy’s still in jail” said Mulder, “I guess we can rule him out as the killer”.
“You mean - I can rule him out”, Scully scowled at him; “I’m taking you off the case, Mulder. You’re in no fit state”.
She whispered in his ear: “Lucky for you, this will be kept off the record. I will not mention this to AD Spender”.
At least there was one thing Mulder should feel grateful for.
XXXXX
Scully dropped Mulder off at their motel; as she drove off, Mulder made a quick decision that he wasn’t going to put the case aside, not quite yet.
“Danny”, he said, pulling out his phone; “I hope this isn’t a bad time; I need some information”.
Danny Valodeo was always happy to help.
XXXXX
“You might as well start talking”, Cotta yelled; “if doesn’t matter what you say now, because as of this conversation, you are FIRED!”
He was pointing his gun through the bars at Billy Gerrard, who looked terrified. With his free hand, he was holding Pinker, who looked nervous.
Several police officers were gradually appearing on the scene, guns drawn, and ready to use deadly force against Cotta if needed.
“Don’t make us do this, Mr. Cotta” said one officer; “you’re already under arrest for theft of a police weapon, taking a hostage and threatening a suspect; don’t make us add murder to your rap sheet”.
“BACK OFF!” Cotta shouted; “this is between me and Billy here”.
It was at this point that Scully arrived on the crime scene; her hostage negotiation skills almost immediately set in.
“Mr. Cotta” she said calmly; “I think you need to back away from Billy; I can tell you right away, he’s not our killer”.
“You think I’m going to listen to a woman?”, Cotta snapped; “that’s not going to happen”.
“Mr. Cotta”, Scully continues; “it might interest you to know that Ivo Steele is dead”.
“Ivo?” Cotta replied, letting his guard down slightly.
In that moment, Pinker was able to release Cotta’s hold on him, and knock the gun out of his hand. The gun slid across the floor, where Scully picked it up.
As Pinker grabbed Cotta in an armlock, Scully shouted: “Derren Cotta; you are under arrest for attempted obstruction of justice!” As she read him his Miranda rights, she realized that she was holding two guns. She almost felt like Mulder, with his ankle holster.
She handed Pinker his gun back, and Cotta was led away.
XXXXX
Scully sat opposite Cotta in the interview room.
“I suppose you also think I committed all of these murders”, he snapped, “I was nowhere near Ivo when he died; that pathetic cop is a witness to that”.
“You’re not under suspicion of murder” replied Scully, “though you are here because of various other things. We believe the killings may be linked to your fortune, of which three of the victims received shares in”.
“What do you want to know?”, Cotta demanded.
“Well, first of all how you came about it”, Scully replied.
“If you must know”, Cotta sighed; “I used to be into metal detecting. I never really found anything, but one day I was out in a field, and I struck lucky.
“The metal detector was going off like crazy; I got my spade, and dug, and found myself uncovering a small fortune. A pot of gold coins; all old ones, but I could tell right away that they were worth a lot of money. Seemed like pirate treasure.
“I received a lot of money when I handed them in; it was worth a few million dollars. I started to realise that I could start my own business with the money, so I invested it into a bank account, and watched it grow; gradually I was able to built up enough money to start my own car business. I even had enough to go out wining and dining twice a week; always nice to have a good meal, and all thanks to whoever left that money out there for me to find”.
“That’s a good story”, Scully replied; “it’s also quite a tall one. I don’t think it helps us narrow down who our killer is. Just to be clear though, were Frankel, Smithers and Steele your only shareholders?”
“Not that its really your business, but that is correct. I suppose you’re going to suggest that the rightful owner has decided to get his revenge”, Cotta muttered, as Scully’s phone went off.
She signalled to Cotta to hold on a moment, and despite his protestations, left the room.
“Mulder”, she said, “what do you want now?”
“Scully”, Mulder replied, “I know you told me I was off the case, but I did a bit of research”.
Scully sighed: “What did you find out?”
“When I heard this was maybe related to how our real-life Scrooge McDuck got his fortune”, Mulder explained; “I started to wonder how our first victim was involved in this. I didn’t think he was a shareholder in the company himself.”
“Mr. Cotta just confirmed that to me”, Scully replied.
“Our friend Danny was able to access Mr. Goodman’s bank account” replied Mulder; “turns out he was embezzling money from the company”.
“That would give Cotta a motive to be the killer if he found out” replied Scully, “he just told me how he got his wealth, but take it with a pinch of salt”.
“I’m all ears, Scully”.
“He says he dug up buried treasure”.
“I expect if he’d looked carefully, he’d have even discovered the original book of Mormon”, Mulder laughed.
“What you’ve told me about Goodman certainly gives Cotta a motive to kill him”, Scully added; “but we can confirm his whereabouts when Ivo Steele was killed; this looks like it could have been some professional killer for hire”.
“I’m not sure why he’d kill his own shareholders off”, Mulder replied, “unless you’re suggesting he thought he’d be better off not sharing the wealth any more. In that case, why would he have let them have shares in the first place?”
“Can you think of a better explanation?”, Scully asked.
“You’re telling me Cotta found a pot of gold”, Mulder replied; “we find shamrocks on all bodies. I can only know one type of creature who is well known for burying gold. A leprechaun!”
Scully rolled her eyes: “Mulder, you’re still high, and I know you watched that abysmal nineties film a few weeks ago”.
“I think if a bunch of fatcats were using my money to start their own company, while spending the rest on their stomachs, then I’d be a little ticked off too”, Mulder answered back.
“I think you need to get some rest” Scully replied. “I’m going to go back into that room right now, and see if I can get a confession out of Cotta”.
She hung up before Mulder could reply.
As she returned to the interview room, she shouted: “Did you know Robert Goodman was stealing money from your company?”
Cotta looked bemused: “Goodman was my most trusted employee; he would never commit such a betrayal. Where did you get your information from?”
As Scully was about to reply, a heavy blow to the head caught her off guard. An overhead light fitting had fallen down from above her. In the confusion, she suddenly felt herself pushed aside by Cotta, who took the chance to escape and start running down the corridor. He’d spied his chance of freedom.
Scully regained her composure, as she and several officers gave chase to Cotta. It seemed that many of the lights were malfunctioning, as bulbs began exploding over their heads, with no human intervention.
As Cotta ran down the corridor, hearing bullets whizzing past his head, he saw the elevator doors opening ahead of him. Maybe this was his lucky day; if he could get into the lift, and close the doors, he might be able to make a clean getaway.
“Stop!”, Scully shouted, as Cotta plunged towards the lift, he suddenly felt something trip him up.
Simultaneously, all of the lights on the floor went out; the floor was plunged into blackness.
The last think Derren Cotta felt was his head and shoulders being forcibly detached from his body.
As the lights came on, Scully and the armed officers were faced with the grisly sight of Cotta’s arms, legs and torso lying by the empty lift shaft. It seemed that during the brief powercut, the lift had malfunctioned and plunged down to the basement, with the businessman only partially inside.
Somebody downstairs was going to get a nasty shock.
It seemed to Scully that this case was still unsolved; just like any X-File, but she spotted one thing on what remained of Cotta.
It was of course a shamrock.
XXXXX
“So, Scully, you’re going to claim that Derren Cotta died in a freak accident caused by a temporary loss of power in the station?”, Mulder asked.
“That seems to be the only thing that caused the lift to malfunction as our victim attempted to escape”, Scully replied, as they headed out of the motel.
“How’s your head by the way?”
“I’ll live”, Scully replied; the impact of the light fitting had left a small cut on her forehead.
“I suppose, given that the shamrock was there”, Mulder suggested; “that somehow our killer was behind the incident. How about your encounter with the lights, which conveniently allowed Cotta to get away, only to accidentally run into his own death. That must have been some careful planning”.
“I don’t know”, Scully replied, “I was told that the building was badly in need of repairs”.
“Then that is what you must tell Spender” said Mulder; “as well as that our killer may still be at large”.
XXXXX
F.B.I. HEADQUARTERS
“So, you have concluded that this is an unsolved case” Spender said, putting down Scully’s report.
“Whoever was doing these killings managed to elude the authorities”, Scully accepted.
“So” replied Spender, “we just need to wait to see if our ‘shamrock killer’ resurfaces”.
“Maybe his - or her - work is done”, Mulder suggested.
“You are excused, Agent Mulder” replied Spender; “Agent Scully, a word”.
“Did you forget to bring him an apple?” Mulder whispered, as he passed Scully.
As Mulder closed the door, Spender turned to Scully.
“Agent Scully, we’ve known each other for some time. Just between you and me, I think maybe working with Agent Mulder is holding you back”.
“How do you mean, Sir?” Scully asked; this was something that she would have to get used to calling Spender.
“Listening to all of his crazy theories”, Spender replied; “I’m just glad he wasn’t suggesting vengeful ghosts this time. All I’m saying is, if you ever want to use your skills in another division, have a word with me. I’m sure we can find someone else to endure Mulder”.
“Thank you for your thought, Sir”, Scully replied; “but I don’t feel I have to endure Mulder. I’ve come to accept him for all of his talk of E. T. the Extra Terrestrial”.
“That’s good of you to stick up for him”, Spender replied; “I must admit, you do know my half-brother better than I do”.
“Also, Sir, I should tell you now” Scully added; “Mulder and I are now engaged. I guess I really do want to spend the rest of my life with him”.
Spender was gobsmacked, but he managed to reply: “Congratulations”.
XXXXX
Mulder waited outside for Scully; he looked again at the item from Derren Cotta’s body that Scully had missed.
One of the cops had picked it up, and bought it round to Mulder at their motel; he had thought it might be useful evidence.
Scully had been in the shower at the time; Mulder had decided to not show his fiancée the note. It seemed better that way. No need to rub evidence in her face, evidence that may or may not point to a leprechaun being involved.
It was a hand-written note:
revenge is a dish best served cold
THE END
Let's call it my first draft:
Episode 12x12: Volpone
PHOENIX, AZ
17 MARCH 2019
The Arizona sun beat down over Derren Cotta’s mustang convertible as he drove along.
He could see the reflection of his sunglasses in the rear view mirror of his car. They were a new pair, almost as expensive as his car, but he could afford it.
The success of his car dealership in Phoenix, Cotta’s Cars, had amassed him a large fortune. It had allowed him to open up several other branches across the States. He now ran businesses in England (on the edge of Manchester), and also Australia. He was driving to the Phoenix outlet following another successful day making deals, while discussing Tea Party policies with his wealthy shareholders. Just because it was a Sunday did not stop him from trading.
Later that evening, he expected to sit in the hot tub with his wife Charlene, while drinking champagne, like they did almost every evening.
He drove into the dealership, and quickly saw one of his new salespeople talking to a couple by a car. Billy Gerrard had only been in the position for a few months, so Derren was being patient with him, but he could see right away that this was not going to end in a sale.
“You can always come back next week if you want to think about it”, Andy was telling the couple who were standing by the car looking disinterested.
Derren strode over to the husband, and shook him firmly by the hand, ignoring his wife’s disapproving looks when he ignored hers.
“Derren Cotta’s the name” he said; “now, this is a mighty fine car you’re thinking about buying”.
“To be honest” the wife chimed in; “we’re not too sure”.
Derren barely looked at the woman, and continued to say to her husband: “Now, what I’m concerned about is that if you come back next week, you may be disappointed. You see, this car may not be here”.
The man looked at his wife, and looked back at Derren.
“A lot of demand for this make of car” Derren replied; “and we only have a few left in stock. To be honest, I’m thinking of increasing the price by a few thousand dollars soon. I could make a lot of bucks selling it”.
The man turned to his wife: “Are you sure you want to pass this up?” he asked; “it’s the best car we’ve seen today”.
“If you want to buy it, then let’s buy it” the wife replied.
“Where do I sign?” the husband asked.
“My colleague will deal with that, sir” replied Derren.
Billy led the couple away to the site office, and soon after Derren watched them leaving, with the keys to their new car. He ignored the wife’s mutterings about how she’d never seen such blatant misogyny.
Cotta walked into the sales office, and walked up to Andy: “See, that’s all you need to do. You give them the hard sell, don’t let them go away without buying a car”.
“Yes, Mr. Cotta” Billy replied.
As he started to leave, Cotta grabbed him; his tone turned much darker.
“Because you know, if I have to step in again to save your backside - THEN I WILL FIRE YOU ON THE SPOT!”
“Yes, Mr. Cotta”.
“DON’T INTERRUPT ME!” Cotta yelled; “NOT ONLY WILL I FIRE YOU, I WILL GIVE YOU A REFERENCE SO BAD, I’LL MAKE SURE YOU NEVER WORK AGAIN FOR THE REST OF YOUR SORRY LIFE! NOW, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!”
Billy ran away, nervously, past the nightwatchman, Robert Goodman, who had arrived for his shift.
“You didn’t hear any of that, did you?” Cotta asked.
Goodman had heard it all, but despite being a burly man, he knew not to get on the wrong side of Derren Cotta, and he knew the correct answer.
“Hear any of what, Mr Cotta?” he asked.
Cotta grinned in satisfaction: “Hope the night shift goes well”.
XXXXX
11PM
The parking lot at the car dealership was vast; it seemed even bigger somehow in the dark.
The rows of cars for sale were very long; they seemed to stretch for miles, though Goodman was sure it was just an illusion.
As he sat in his booth, he read a secondhand copy of a book named Thatcher vs Reagan, a sort of “what if” type book about two of the most powerful politicians of the 80s. It was by an author named Jose Chung, who had been murdered back in the late 1990s. Apparently he’d upset a cult, and they’d put a hit out on him, similar to what Salman Rushdie had been threatened with.
Goodman looked up; he thought he had heard a car engine. He also thought he could hear music, and it was getting louder.
A car radio, or maybe a CD player. Some of the cars Mr. Cotta sold still came with CD players, despite the popularity of Spotify.
He put the book down, and walked out in the parking lot, shining his torch.
As he walked through the rows of cars, he suddenly saw dazzling lights. He could hear the music playing clearly now: The Pogues’ Fairytale of New York.
I could have been someone blasted out from the car.
Car headlights.
He suddenly that a car was sat in the middle of one of the aisles, with its headlights on full blast.
A T-bird, with its hood down.
It was Goodman’s favourite type of car, and if anyone stole it, it would be over his dead body.
Well, so could anyone,
“HEY!” Goodman shouted; “WHOEVER YOU ARE, GET OUT OF THE CAR NOW! I AM GOING TO CALL THE COPS!”
Goodman saw the car start to rev its engine, and begin to approach him, gaining speed.
You took my dreams from me,
He ducked between two rows of cars. It could have been his imagination, but he couldn’t see a driver in the car.
He stepped into the next aisle, and looked around.
When I first found you.
What happened next was too fast for him to react. The car sped towards him, increasing its speed even more, and before he could get out of the way, he was flung over the hood.
As he lay half-conscious on the ground, he heard the car turn, and start to reverse.
I kept them with me, Babe,
I put them with my own.
The last thing he felt before he died was the car driving over him, felt his bones cracking, and felt his skull being crushed under the tyres of the car.
The empty T-bird slowed down, and then drove itself back to the empty parking space where it had come from.
Can’t make it all alone,
I’ve built my dreams around you
The T-bird came to a halt, and sat in place as though it had never moved.
The damage it had inflicted on the late Robert Goodman made the bumper sticker that Cotta had insisted on adorning it with particularly ironic.
HOW’S MY DRIVING?
The car stereo kept going for a few moments as the engine switched off:
The boys of the NYPD choir,
Still singing Galway Bay,
And the bells were ringing out,
For Christmas Day.
XXXXX
WASHINGTON, DC
18 MARCH 2019
“So, how’s the engagement going?”
Scully and Einstein were meeting for coffee and one of their regular mentoring sessions.
“I’m just glad to be living back with him again”, Scully admitted.
Einstein nodded; having Scully living with her for a few months had not been easy, and she had not got anywhere with her partner, Agent Miller.
Scully took a sip of her coffee, while looking around at the garish St. Patrick’s Day decorations; images of shamrocks, pots of gold and even pints of Guinness. She noticed that everyone in the coffee shop was drinking out of green mugs.
“So, anything new at work?”
“Bobby and I were on a stakeout last night” replied Einstein; “I kept thinking, imagine what Agent Mulder would have thought while watching that building last night. He’d have probably come up with several theories about alien activity that was going on, right in the middle of DC”.
Scully raised her eyes.
“Of course, it turned out that the reason why people were vanishing into the building and never coming out was because it was a sweatshop; they had about a hundred people working in there as illegal slaves when we were finally able to bust the entire operation”.
“Some terrible stuff goes on, even these days”, was all Scully could reply, “how are things with Agent Miller?”
“I kept wanting to kiss him, tell him how I felt about him” Einstein replied; “but he was too focused on our stakeout. I think, for him, work will always come first”.
Scully heard her phone receive a message; checking it, she saw a message from Mulder.
HEY, SCULLY
THE COMMANDANT WANTS TO SEE US IN 15 MINUTES’
“I’m afraid I have to go” Scully said, finishing her coffee.
“Duty calls?” asked Einstein.
“You got it”, Scully sighed.
XXXXX
PHOENIX, AZ
18 MARCH 2019
“Thank you for all coming so early this morning”.
Derren Cotta sat on his terrace, facing the three people who owned shares in Cotta’s Cars.
Andrew Frankel, a ruthless lawyer, who stopped at nothing to get his own way. He would bribe juries to find his clients not guilty, and then charge the clients much more than was necessary. He’d occasionally resorted to intimidation to ensure that he got paid in full. Despite it being a hot day, he sat there wearing a suit. His grey hair was slicked back, and his clean-shaven face wore a smile that looked anything but genuine.
Samuel Smithers, owner of a large investment firm. His company had invested lots of money into fracking companies, and he often enjoyed hearing about where their operations were taking place. Usually it was near to the houses of people less well off than him; people him loved to laugh at. He was pacing around wearing a suit, as he smoked a Morley cigarette, and wiped the top of his bald head.
Ivo Steele, a retired dentist, who spent most his money travelling around the world. He had been to Africa on safari many times, and his main claim to fame was that he had got away will illegally killing lions, and killing elephants to poach their tusks for ivory. He seemed to be permanently red in the face behind his large moustache, and was slumped in a chair wearing a tweed jacket. He was smoking a large Havana cigar.
“Robert was found dead on my parking lot last night”, Cotta announced.
“Are you suggesting he was murdered?” Ivo Steele asked.
“We’re not sure” replied Cotta, “but it does mean that we’re going to have some F.B.I. Agents sniffing around.”
“Yeah, right” Andrew Frankel muttered, impassionately. He didn’t seem to be to keen on this meeting.
“Are you expecting them to talk to us?”, Samuel Smithers asked.
“I’m not sure” Cotta replied; “but here’s one thing I know. We need to avoid telling them too much about my business. I’m sure you all know, I didn’t exactly acquire my wealth by any legal means”.
“If they try to prosecute”, Andrew Frankel reminded Cotta; “you’ve got my back”.
Cotta was one of the few clients who Andrew Frankel did not mistreat. He preferred to suck up instead.
“So, what you’re asking”, Ivo Steele added, “is that we tell the feds what you want them to hear, and hopefully they’ll go away”.
“Precisely” replied Cotta.
XXXXX
F.B.I. HEADQUARTERS
18 MARCH 2019
Mulder and Scully sat outside Deputy Director Kersh’s office, wondering what was in store for them. Mulder stroked the engagement ring that he now wore on his finger, still stunned at Scully’s surprise marriage proposal. It didn’t appear that their superior had noticed.
After what felt like an age, Kersh’s assistant ushered them in, and to their surprise they found Mulder’s half-brother, Jeffrey Spender sat opposite Kersh’s desk.
“What are you doing here, Agent Spender?” Mulder asked.
“Agents” Kersh interrupted; “as much as I am reluctant to admit it, there is a new X-File”.
Mulder nodded.
“It may have come to your attention that I have been quite slow at replacing Assistant Director Skinner” added Kersh; “so I am also very pleased to introduce you to the F.B.I.’s latest AD”.
Mulder and Scully looked at each other.
“Oh, and next time you address him, it’s Assistant Director Spender to you” Kersh continued; “you will now report to him, and there will be no need to bother me with any of your alleged stretchy people or shape-shifters”.
Mulder and Scully reluctantly nodded to show that they had understood.
“You’re to fly out to Phoenix” Spender added; “security guard found dead in a car dealership parking lot”.
“Oh, let me guess” Mulder smiled; they think the attacker was the Mogollon”.
Scully, Kersh and Spender stared at him.
“The Arizonan Bigfoot”, Mulder explained, an ape-like creature…”.
He saw Kersh’s disapproving look, and stopped talking.
“The victim, Robert Goodman, 50, appears to have been run over by a car” Spender continued; “but there is no evidence of any of the cars in the dealership having been stolen”.
“Which is unusual” Scully interjected; “the obvious motive would have been theft”.
“Also, the entire place was locked up” Spender continued; “it would have been difficult to get in or out”.
“However” Kersh added; “AD Spender and I have both agreed that there has to be a rational explanation to this. Hopefully, Agent Scully, you will be able to stop any of your partner’s wild theories raising their heads”.
Scully nodded; she would try.
As they turned to go, Kersh added: “If AD Spender gives me any stories about you two causing trouble, then I won’t hesitate to shut down the X-Files again.
With that, he waved them away, and asked Spender to close the door.
XXXXX
WASHINGTON REAGAN NATIONAL AIRPORT
“So, what do you think of Assistant Director Spender?” Mulder asked, as they entered the departure lounge.
“I’m happy for him” Scully replied; “I’ve known him for a long time, and he needs a bit of luck”.
Mulder nodded, remembering how they had found Spender in the basement office back in 1999, alive but unconscious after the Cigarette Smoking Man had shot him in the face. After he disappeared from the hospital, Kersh blocked the agents from investigating. They definitely had no idea that he was undergoing unimaginable torture, until he showed up disfigured in the basement office, and confronted Special Agent Doggett.
His extensive cosmetic surgery had covered up most of the damage, although Spender still wore a prosthetic nose. It looked so real, however, that it was difficult to tell.
“I’m sure C.G.B. Spender is wild with excitement to have a son who is climbing the F.B.I. ladder”, Mulder muttered; “so, what do you think happened?”
“Self-driving cars are all talk at the moment” Scully replied; “did we establish whether the dealership sells those?”
“Come on, big guy. Let’s go for a ride. Let’s cruise” Mulder grinned.
“Huh?”, Scully asked.
“Stephen King, Scully. Christine”, Mulder replied; “but I don’t think that particular car is at our crime scene. Meaning that they don’t stock self-driving cars”.
Scully rolled her eyes; Mulder had to get in a pop culture reference rather than give a straight answer.
“I can only conclude that a human was driving the car” Scully replied; “even if their motive wasn’t theft, maybe they had a grudge against our victim”.
Mulder nodded: “AD Spender would be pleased to hear you say that”.
“What are you going to suggest, Mulder?”
“The obvious answer would be a poltergeist, Scully. A poltergeist who drove the murder weapon back to where it belongs.”
“What a polite phantom” Scully muttered. She hoped Leyla Harrison was having a more enjoyable time looking after Tena.
XXXXX
PHOENIX, AZ
18 MARCH 2019
As the sun beat down on them, Derren Cotta greeted Mulder and Scully with his trademark smile that he’d learned to fake convincingly.
“Derren Cotta” he told them; “I understand you’re the Feds”.
“Agents Mulder and Scully”, replied Scully.
“We understand that Mr. Goodman was killed by a car that is in your parking lot” Mulder replied.
“Yes” Cotta replied; “and it seems that the forensics team who came up here have managed to pinpoint the exact vehicle; something to do with finding paint stains on my colleague’s body”.
“Can you show us which one?” Scully asked.
Cotta led them to a nondescript-looking white T-bird, which had Mulder yelping with excitement: “Just the sort of car I always wanted to drive”.
“Let me know what you find” Cotta replied, his mood darkening; “but more importantly, let me know when I can open again for business”.
Scully rolled her eyes as Cotta walked away; she could tell that accumulating wealth was the only thing on his mind.
“He probably dives into a swimming pool full of money” Mulder told Scully, sotto voce; “he seems like a real-life Scrooge McDuck”.
Scully smiled at her partner’s joke, but set to examining the car: “It looks like the paint has been slightly scraped” she said; “and these small red patches on the bumper and tyres are most likely Mr. Goodman’s blood”.
Mulder nodded: “The tyre marks nearby indicate that it was driven out of this spot recently. I’ll see if I can dust for fingerprints, see if anyone was tampering with it”.
“I would guess that maybe whoever did access the car may have hot-wired it” Scully suggested.
“You’re living in the past, Scully” Mulder chuckled; “you forget that cars aren’t so easy to hot-wire these days”.
“Look who’s become a car expert” Scully replied; “did you forget to renew your subscription to Celebrity Skin?”
“Actually, I’m still getting that one” Mulder replied; “I just hide all my copies from you and Tena, but I did decide to stop reading Big and Bouncy. I’ve managed to pull some fingerprints, looks like we’ll have to send those for analysis.
“Let’s not discount the possibility that someone working here may have had a grudge against the victim”, Scully suggested; “they would probably also have had access to the ignition keys”.
Mulder was looking intently at something.
“Mulder?”
“Pass me an evidence bag, Scully; it looks like our killer may have left a calling card”.
Scully passed Mulder a plastic bag, and he dug around in the car; standing up, he held out the bag in one gloved hand. It contained a single shamrock.
A four-leafed clover.
“Oh, the shamrock” Scully remarked, “the green immortal shamrock! Lucky for some…”
“But not for Mr. Goodman”, Mulder finished her sentence; “you’re familiar with Thomas Moore then, Scully?”
“My Mum’s parents were both Irish” Scully smiled; “she would read his poems to Bill, Melissa, Charles and myself every St. Patrick’s Day”.
She paused for a moment; she still missed her mother, just as she missed Melissa, killed by Alex Krycek and his accomplice in a case of mistaken identity.
“Let’s get this down to evidence” Mulder continued; “it might tell us a few things about our killer”.
“You think so?”, Scully asked.
“It is only through mystery and madness that the soul is revealed”, Mulder replied; “Thomas Moore again; trust me on this one”.
“When have I not?” Scully muttered.
Mulder was examining the car closely: “A CD player”, he added; “a rarity these days. Looks like there’s something in it”.
“Are you interested in our killer’s musical tastes, Mulder?”
“A fascination of mine”, Mulder replied; “remember Charles Manson? He used to play his Beatles records backwards, looking for hidden messages. When I wrote the profile on John Lee Roche all those years ago, I found that he was really into Pink Floyd - Another Brick in the Wall was his favourite”.
“What did that tell you about him?”, Scully asked.
“Just that he had good musical tastes” replied Mulder; “his one redeeming quality”.
He ejected the CD.
“If I Were to Fall From Grace With God by The Pogues” replied Scully, “I know that’s the one that introduced Fairytale of New York, the Christmas song that too many people like to play all year round”.
Mulder looked at her curiously.
“Matthew shares a party wall at college with a student who plays the song at least once a day”, Scully added.
“Do you know his name?” Mulder grinned; “maybe we already have a prime suspect”.
“Maybe we could dust the CD for fingerprints?”, Scully suggested; “I don’t need to be a psychologist to tell you that whoever owns this CD has probably committed a murder”.
XXXXX
ANDREW FRANKEL RESIDENCE
18 MARCH 2019
Andrew Frankel sat in his penthouse flat, which gave him an amazing view of Phoenix.
He held a glass of bourbon in his hand.
Just behind his seat was his kitchen area, with its range of high tech appliances: hob built into the work surface, fridge freezer with built-in water cooler, tap that used smart technology to activate it. There was a range of low-technology items too, including a rack full of menacing-looking knives, good for carving up steaks, which he was partial to.
Cotta was worrying about nothing; surely the F.B.I. agents would find nothing. He was very careful about hiding all his ‘goods’.
He unlocked a cupboard, and slit open one of the many plastic bags inside.
He poured out a line of the white powder inside onto the surface of his coffee table, and quickly locked the cabinet.
Cocaine.
He snorted the line of cocaine, felt it surging up his nostril. He loved the stimulus that it gave him.
He sat back and relaxed in his seat; he had a feeling things were going to be okay.
Something flew over his head, just missing him; it smashed the glass coffee table that he was drinking at, spilling his bourbon glass on the floor.
“What the…” he asked, looking around, “whoever is there, show yourself”.
He looked at the empty room behind him, but moments later was half-blinded in pain as another knife flew towards him. This one hit him directly, embedding itself in his left eye.
He stood up and staggered around; the pain was excruciating, and moments later he felt the stabbing pain in his chest as another knife plunged itself into his heart.
Andrew Frankel collapsed to the floor, and breathed his last.
XXXXX
“I always said, if a man says a woman’s place is in the kitchen, he should remember that’s where the knives are”, Mulder quipped.
Mulder and Scully stood above the lifeless body of Andrew Frankel, the two murder weapons protruding from his eye and chest.
“His wife has an alibi” Scully replied calmly; “and it checks out; turns out she was out with some friends when the murder took place”.
Mulder looked around to see Andrew Frankel’s wife Sylvia being comforted by police officers.
“So, whoever killed this man somehow got into the house” added Scully; “we should dust those knives for prints. I’m not sure why we’re being called to this case; it seems unconnected”.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that” Mulder replied, looking under the coffee table; looks like our killer left their calling card”.
He pulled on some rubber gloves, and moved the table, picking up the shamrock that was underneath.
“To think I’d assumed your eyesight was deteriorating” Scully replied.
“It must be all those carrots”, Mulder laughed; “but there’s something else”.
He pointed to a trace amount of a thin white powder on the floor by the shamrock.
“Is that what I think it is?”, Scully asked.
“My name is Andrew Frankel” Mulder deadpanned; “I live at 1121 Warwick Boulevard, Phoenix Arizona, 01013. To all law enforcement authorities, this is not an admission of guilt. Could it be that Sylvia Frankel was trying to hide something? That maybe her husband was breaking bad?”
“I’m sure an autopsy will confirm whether the late Mr. Frankel was taking cocaine” Scully mused, “but I don’t really see the connection between the two victims”.
Mulder was drawn to a photograph that he saw on the wall: “I think I have an idea”.
Mulder really was becoming quite eagle-eyed.
Scully walked over to the photograph. Along with two other people, Andrew Frankel was clearly shown at a table, with Derren Cotta. All four looked happy, and were holding champagne flutes.
“Seems that Derren Cotta is the common denominator in both killings” replied Scully.
XXXXX
COUNTY MORGUE
Scully washed her hands after finishing her autopsy on Andrew Frankel, and called Mulder.
“You were right”, she told Mulder; “I found traces of white powder around our victim’s nose, and burn marks on his hands and lips. So, if our victim and his wife were in possession of cocaine, is it possible that Mr. Frankel upset the local cookers? Maybe there’s some sort of turf war going on.”
“Drug dealers who use shamrocks as a calling card?” Mulder wondered; “an Irish gang, perhaps? The lab just confirmed that the white powder we found was indeed cocaine. They found more of it in other places on the floor. Following a hunch, we suspected that Mrs. Frankel may have been trying to dispose of evidence”.
“Did you find anything else?”
“We searched the Frankel’s trashcans; nothing there, but a search of a public trashcan not far from the Frankel house revealed several bags of the stuff. Looks like our victim’s wife was careful, but not too careful. Her fingerprints were all over them, as were her husband’s”.
“So, seems that we should be bringing in Sylvia Frankel for questioning”.
XXXXX
PHOENIX POLICE DEPARTMENT
Sylvia Frankel looked like a very prim and proper woman, and certainly wasn’t thrilled at being arrested for possession of cocaine. She had sensed the judging looks of the wives from all the large houses nearby as she was led out in handcuffs.
Mulder and Scully sat in the interview room facing her, a cop standing in the corner of the room, watching the proceedings.
“Mrs. Frankel” said Scully, “were you aware that your husband was in possession of cocaine?”
“What sort of a question is that?” Skylia demanded; “Andrew has just died, and you’re questioning me about his lifestyle?”
“I know this is difficult”, Mulder replied; “but this may be vital in finding out who killed your husband”.
Syliva gulped: “Yes, I did know about it. He told me to keep quiet about it.”
Scully nodded; this was understandable. “Do you know where he got it from?”, she asked.
“No”, Sylvia replied; “he never told me”.
“Do you know if any of these people were also involved?”, Mulder added, showing Sylvia a shot taken on his phone of the picture he saw in the Frankel household.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if they were”, Sylvia replied; “I recognise Derren Cotta; Andrew is - was - a shareholder in his company”.
Mulder and Scully looked at each other.
“Do you recognize the other two people in this picture?”, Mulder asked.
“Sarah Smithers and Ivo Steele”, Sylvia gasped; “they’re Mr. Cotta’s other shareholders. Andrew used to invite all three of them and their partners to dinner at our house regularly. Now, when do I get to speak to a lawyer? Just because there was cocaine in my house doesn't mean I’m breaking bad”.
“You also tried to cover up the evidence from the crime scene” Scully reminded her.
As the cop led Sylvia away, another officer opened the door: “They just arrested a local coke dealer, Lorcan Murphy” he told the agents; “we’re wondering if he’s our killer”.
A thirty-something man with close-cropped hair and a goatee beard was led through the doors; he wore only a pair of shorts and a baseball cap, its bill facing backwards. He had a shamrock tattooed on his bare chest, and his right arm was in a sling. He had a chain around his waist, clamping his free arm in place.
Mulder and Scully both noticed the red devil tattoo on his right shoulder, which Mulder recognized from his Oxford days as the logo of Manchester United. Their suspect was also a fan of British football then.
“You’re acting the maggot”, Lorcan growled, in a thick Irish accent; “I ain’t a killer”.
“Have you got an alibi for last night?”, Scully asked.
“I was spending time with my little girl”, Lorcan replied; “my ex-wife can also tell you I was there”.
“How about two nights ago?”, Scully added; “did you break into Derren Cotta’s parking lot and run over a security guard?”
“It was St. Paddy’s Day”, Lorcan protested; “I was in Molly Malone’s, drinking the Black Stuff all night; plenty of witnesses. In the end, my mates had to help me home, I was so sozzled. Look, I come over here from the old country two years ago, and I’m now being treated as a killer, as well as the sneatcha charges”.
“What did you do to your arm?”, Mulder asked.
“Risks of the drug dealing business”, Lorcan replied; “got into a fight with a punter last week. Means that I can’t play cricket with my little girl, as it’s my throwing arm”.
“Are you by any chance a fan of the Pogues?”, Mulder asked.
Lorcan looked a bit nonplussed by the question: “I prefer Oasis myself”, he mutted; “just because I’m Irish doesn’t mean I have to like every band that comes from there”.
“The weapons expert suggested that at least one of the murder weapons used to kill was thrown with great force”, Mulder told Scully; “also, I’m not certain this guy could have driven a car over our first victim. I think the cops are barking up the wrong tree”.
“We’ll check out your alibis” Scully told Lorcan, as he was led away towards a holding cell.
Mulder spotted the New York Knicks logo on the bill of Lorcan’s baseball cap, and added: “Well, at least you follow a great team; you can’t be all that bad”.
“Cheers, Boyo” replied Lorcan; he looked around and attempted a smile. It seemed that Agent Mulder was the good cop in this scenario. He did his best effort at a peace sign in Mulder’s direction, and just about managed it, despite his arm being pinned to his side.
“So, I suppose you’re going to suggest this is another poltergeist?”, Scully groaned. She couldn’t wait to type up her report for Assistant Director Spender.
XXXXX
“Is Derren Cotta in?”, Mulder and Scully asked Billy Gerrard as they arrived at Cotta’s Motors.
“Y - yes”, Billy replied nervously; I can take you to him”.
Billy took the agents through the car showroom to an office door, and knocked nervously.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”, Cotta’s voice barked out, aggressively.
“Mr. Cotta”, Billy replied nervously; “some people to s - see you”.
“The F.B.I. Agents” Mulder added.
Mulder and Scully heard the sound of a drawer being slammed, and a key in a lock, then the office door swung open.
“Why didn’t you say?”, Cotta demanded; he looked flustered, and red in the face; “do come in”.
Scully made note of the look Cotta gave Billy as they were ushered in, with his eyes. Vamoose, get out of here. The boss’s bullying towards his young employee was not quite as subtle as he thought.
Mulder and Scully walked into the office, and Cotta gestured to them to sit down.
This man really knew how to set up an office, and slack on the job; that must be what being rich does for you.
In the middle of the floor was a mini putting green, where he most likely spent at least an hour a day practicing his golf swing. Several newspaper articles hung on the wall, all about Cotta’s own success, one of them showed a large image of him shaking hands with Donald Trump himself. Both had large beaming smiles on their faces.
Cotta had a computer set up at his desk, where Mulder suspected he spent much of his time playing minesweeper. His desk seemed to be elevated quite high, with a large chair. The chairs he and Scully sat on seemed quite small by comparison, and Cotta seemed to tower over them. It must have been how he intimidated employees when speaking to them.
“We believe you knew Andrew Frankel” said Scully, getting straight to the point.
“One of my shareholders” Cotta replied; looking directly at Mulder, and conspicuously avoiding eye contact with Scully, he asked: “Are you suggesting he is the killer?”
“Mr. Cotta” continued Scully; “he was found murdered last night”.
“What’s this, Agent Mulder?” Cotta asked, giving Scully a dismissive wave of his hand. One thing was certain, his misogynistic attitude was far from subtle.
“Mr. Cotta”, Mulder continued through gritted teeth, trying to remain professional; “Mr. Frankel was found to be in possession of cocaine. Agent Scully and I are wondering if he might have upset some local dealers”.
“So, you and your assistant are coming in here suggesting what?” Cotta replied testily; “what Mr. Frankel got up to in his spare time is his own business, and sure as hell doesn’t seem to have any connection with what I thought you were here to investigate”.
Mulder showed Cotta the image on his phone, of the picture he saw in Frankel’s house: “I’m guessing these other two people are shareholders too?”, he asked; “maybe you could give us their names”.
“Just in case there is a connection”, Scully added; “they could end up as targets for our killer”.
“Samuel Smithers and Ivo Steele”, muttered Cotta. “I have a reservation at my favourite steakhouse tonight, entertaining a client. I am looking forward to eating the largest T-bone on the menu, with a large side of fries. Now, if you’re not here to give me good news, I suggest you get out”.
“A real-life Michael Corleone”, Mulder muttered as they left the room, “and probably twice as misogynistic”.
“I was surprised when he didn’t pat my butt James Bond style as I left the room” Scully replied; “the atmosphere was so toxic I thought I would choke on it”.
“If he gets killed”, Mulder added; “my money’s on Gloria Steinem. Let’s see if we can contact Samuel Smithers and Ivo Steele, and see if we can warn them”.
XXXXX
VARNS GOLF CLUB
NEAR PHOENIX
Samuel Smithers enjoyed practicing his golf; all the better for seeing if he could win against Darren Cotta in their next game.
The golf course was relatively empty at this time of day; perfect for him. He had once been banned from a golf club after an incident when he had played through another man’s game. The offended party had objected; Samuel had turned round and punched the man hard in the face.
Derren Cotta had agreed that the man got what he deserves: “Someone who is that casual on the golf course should go back to the putting green”.
He was approaching the 18th hole now, right on the green. This was his chance to get a record on this hole. He pulled the flag out of the hole so it wouldn’t get in his way.
He hit the ball; it missed the hole by inches.
Cussing to himself, Smithers walked over to find his ball.
As he bent over, he felt a blow to his head, as the flag struck him from behind. It was although it were being wielded with a maximum amount of brute force.
Reeling, Smithers was only just about conscious. He put his hand on the back of his head; bringing it away, he saw blood.
“Who … who are you?” he stammered.
As he looked around, he saw the golf flag hovering in the air, as though by its own volition; it was at that point that the flag appeared to thrust itself - directly through Smithers’ chest.
Two golf caddies - one male and one female - ran from the staff building, having heard the commotion.
Smithers was barely alive as they crouched down by him.
“Don’t worry” said the young woman; we’re going to call 911”.
“What happened?” was all her colleague could ask.
With his last breath, Smithers coughed up blood, and stammered: “I think it was … a ghost”.
With that, Samuel Smithers expired.
No one noticed the shamrock lying on his stomach.
XXXXX
Derren Cotta did not appreciate being interrupted by the meek waiter as he gorged his way through a large steak. He hadn’t agreed to pay a four-figure bill in the best restaurant in town to have his meal ruined.
“I’m told its urgent”, the waiter said; “it involves a friend of yours, name of Smithers”.
Cotta sighed, and looked at his clients. The three men who sat at the table with him were quite large; it was easy to tell that they enjoyed eating even more than Cotta did.
“Excuse me a moment”, he said, and left the room.
“What is it?” he snapped.
“Derren … Mr. Cotta” came the anxious voice of Jane Smithers.
“Okay, calm down” said Cotta; “this had better be good, I was just about to close on a deal. To be honest, I’d rather be speaking to your husband. I think he’s the one with the brains”.
“That’s just the thing”, protested Jane; “he’s been murdered”.
Cotta hung up the phone; suddenly he had lost his appetite.
It did appear that someone was targeting his shareholders.
He walked back into the dining room, and told the waiter: “Put whatever the table owes on my card.”
It was time to apologise to the clients, and ask if they could reschedule.
XXXXX
“Any fingerprints?”
Mulder and Scully stood over the lifeless body of Samuel Smithers.
“Just the victim’s so far, Scully”, Mulder replied, “and our killer’s usual calling card. Are you ready to accept that there was no human intervention”.
“Has anyone spoken to the witnesses?”, Scully asked.
“As I understand it, the staff were nowhere near the victim when he was attacked”, Mulder replied.
“Someone else must have been on the course”, Scully replied.
“Someone angry enough to kill Mr. Smithers”, Mulder mused, “this is turning into quite a rivalry”.
“Swingers”, he added as Scully looked at him blankly.
“What we don’t have is a clear motive for the killing” Scully replied, “except that once again the victim is connected to Derren Cotta”.
Mulder nodded: “Someone is hunting them down, one by one. I think it’s about time we got into contact with Ivo Steele, convince him that he should be taken into protective custody.”
“Do you think Derren Cotta’s life is in danger too?”, Scully asked.
“It could well be”, Mulder replied, “but we’d have to let him agree to help him first”.
XXXXX
IVO STEELE RESIDENCE
The lifeless eyes of a tiger-skin rug stared back at Mulder; he started back, fascinated.
“So, you believe my life may be in danger”, Ivo Steele asked, as he reclined in his chair.
The whole room was full of hunting trophies; moose antlers hang on either side of a large clock, and the heads of several other animals were mounted on the wall, including all of South Africa’s ‘big five’: Lion, leopard, rhino, elephant, buffalo. The elephant was missing its tusks; it was clear that Ivo Steele had been illegally selling ivory.
“I’m most proud about the leopard”, Steele added; “it’s the hardest one to spot”.
“We need to take you somewhere where you’ll be safe”, Scully added.
“I’ll do nothing of the sort”, Steele replied, reddening; “this all seems like poppycock anyway. If one of you agents wants to stay over here, then so be it. I imagine this fine gentleman would maybe enjoy sharing a fine whisky with me, while hearing my hunting tales”. He indicated Mulder.
At that moment, Scully’s phone rang.
“Special Agent Dana Scully”.
Mulder heard her nod a few times, then she put the phone down; the indicated to Mulder that they should speak outside, in private.
“What is it, Scully?”, Mulder asked.
“Local police said they arrested a man who was acting suspiciously just outside the golf course last night”, Scully replied; “they think he may be our killer. I can go and question him”.
“I’ll keep Buffalo Bill here company”, Mulder replied; “then we’ve got all our bases covered”.
“Don’t let him bore you to death with his stories”, Scully replied, managing to smile at her fiancée.
XXXXX
“William Gerrard” said Scully, reading out the name of the young man who sat before her, “my partner and I saw you working at Cotta’s Motors”.
“I prefer Billy”, the suspect replied, looking down at the floor.
“Billy, can you tell me why you were near the golf course last night?”
“I was just out clearing my head”, Billy protested; Scully saw his eyes well up with tears.
Scully looked at him sympathetically: “Billy, I have to ask you, did you know Samuel Smithers, the deceased?”
“Not too well”, Billy replied; “I know he was a shareholder in Mr. Cotta’s firm”.
“But you deny that you had anything to do with his death”.
“I keep telling them I’m innocent”, Billy protested.
“Can you tell me what you were doing on the previous two nights?”, Scully asked.
“I was just at home”.
“Any witnesses?”
“I live alone”; Billy looked scared, almost like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car.
“Agent Scully” said a young officer, “a moment please, there is something you probably should see”.
XXXXX
Mulder’s phone rang as he sat in Ivo Steele’s lounge. He had checked beforehand that there were no other ways in, where someone could gain access. The windows, he was told, were shatter-proof, and the patio doors were locked from the inside.
Nobody would get in under Mulder’s watch.
“Mulder” said Scully, “I’ve been speaking to our suspect”.
“Who is it, Scully?”
“An employee of Derren Cotta’s, Billy Gerrard; he seems quite nervous, and I’m not sure whether it is just an act. I’m going to send through a video that one of the officers sent. It made for interesting, if unpleasant, viewing”.
“Okay, Scully”, Mulder replied; “so you think this is in no way an X-File”.
“I think there’s a perfectly logical explanation to it”, Scully replied calmly; “Billy is the young man who you see Mr. Cotta and the late Mr. Goodman speaking to. We also met him briefly at Cotta’s Motors. I’m going to hang up now, speak to you later”.
Mulder waited a few moments, until Scully had sent the video, and then watched it.
The video seemed to have been taken from a secret camera; evidently a disgruntled ex-employee had taken the video. A lot of people liked to discredit their old bosses now. Maybe Mulder should have found an excuse to do something like this to Kersh.
The room was decked out with a Christmas tree and decorations; this appeared to be at the firm’s festive party. A banner read: HAPPY CHRISTMAS 2018
Derren Cotta appeared drunk; he was telling Billy: “Can’t the little baby handle himself in the big boys’ club?”
Billy was shaking, and carrying a tray full of drinks; he managed to spill what looked like a French martini down Cotta’s front. Mulder noticed Andrew Frankel, Samuel Smithers and Ivo Steele laughing in the background.
Cotta smacked Billy over the head, causing him to drop the tray and what was left on it: “Can’t you even handle a simple task, you fool?” he snapped; “how do you expect to cope in the real world”.
Mulder’s stomach tightened; it was like watching a pledge being hazed at a frat boys’ party. It made him glad that he’d gone to Oxford, where none of that sort of thing happened.
Robert Goodman had stayed silent for a while, but at that moment, he grabbed Billy by the throat: “Mr. Cotta, shall I throw him out?”
“Be my guest”, Cotta replied; “he’s clearly no use as a waiter, the only way that he’ll get into one of these parties any time soon.
Robert Goodman grabbed Billy in an armlock with one hand, and punched him hard with the other, much to the amusement of Cotta and his three shareholders.
“Head butt him!”, Cotta yelled, excitedly, to which Goodman obliged. It seemed that Cotta had to get involved himself, and kicked Billy hard, in the direction of the door.
Mulder had to stop watching the video; it was too unpleasant. He called Scully’s mobile back.
“It looks like Billy definitely has a motive for wanting to kill all of these people”, Mulder replied, “but why wait for now?”
“You’re the psychologist”, Scully replied; “I’m told that Cotta and Goodman were giving a warning for the assault after it was first shown to the police. I can only guess that our suspect decided that it wasn’t enough”.
“I’m still not entirely convinced” replied Mulder, “if Billy is the person I remember seeing, he didn’t look like the type who would have had the physical strength to shove a golf flag through Samuel Smithers with such force that we saw. Either someone else was involved, or we’re going to have to presume supernatural means, like…”
“Poltergeists, telekinesis, whatever” Scully replied; she knew Mulder too well.
“You’ll have to keep Billy in custody”, Mulder replied; “but have someone sent round to Derren Cotta’s house to insist on keeping watch on him too”.
“Thank you for not suggesting I do it myself”, Scully replied; “I can easily do without his style of chat up lines”.
“Anything for you” Mulder replied.
XXXXX
COTTA RESIDENCE
“I don’t see why I need this protection”, Cotta muttered, as a young officer, Dale Pinker, stood in his lobby”.
“Just protocol, Sir”, Pinker replied.
“I see”, Cotta replied; “but I understand that someone has been arrested for the killings; my employee, Billy Gerrard. I might have known that he was bad news. If he’s the killer, surely we’re all safe”.
“Innocent until proven guilty”, Pinker answered.
“I’d suggest get the death by firing squad over with”, muttered Cotta; “you could at least put down that gun; I’m not going to attack you”.
“Sir, I may need to protect you”, Pinker tried to protest.
“Can’t you think of something other than duty for a moment?” asked Cotta, “why not try it; put the gun down on the table”.
“If it makes you feel better, sir”.
Pinker put his gun down, and quick as a flash, Cotta grabbed it. For a man his age, he was quite sprightly.
Pointing his gun at Pinker, Cotta smirked: “You young cops are so gullible”.
“Listen, nobody needs to get hurt”, Pinker stammered, putting his hands up.
“Nobody needs to get hurt”, Cotta replied; “now, you and I are going to go for a little drive”.
XXXXX
Mulder’s phone rang. He was half way through eating a home-made brownie that Ivo Steele had offered him.
Steele rolled his eyes, as he looked up from his almanac; maybe it was the irritation of hearing the ringtone again: The theme to The Twilight Zone.
Mulder held up a finger: Excuse me a minute, and stepped out of the room.
“Mulder”, he said.
“Mulder, there’s a situation at the police station”, Scully replied; “I’m heading down there myself. Apparently Derren Cotta has taken a cop hostage, and has forced his way into the police lockup. It seems that he’s insisting on speaking to Billy Gerrard”.
XXXXX
Ivo Steele looked up from his almanac, glancing at Mulder through the glass window in the top half of the door.
It may have been his imagination, but it felt like the hunting trophies on the wall were all looking in his direction. It was almost like they were giving him the evil eye.
He looked down; he must be getting tired.
This was when he felt something grip his ankle.
Steele looked down; the tiger skin rug appeared to have moved several feet, and was next to where he sat. That wasn’t all, though.
One of the tiger’s lifeless claws was clamped around his ankle.
“What the deuce?”, Steele asked.
He moved his foot; he managed to move it out of the grip of the claws. He looked down, it had made holes in the leg of his chinos, and he was bleeding.
He staggered across the room, and started to get Mulder’s attention.
XXXXX
“Scully, I probably should go”, Mulder said, seeing Steele waving at him.
He hung up the phone, and turned the door handle.
It didn’t open; locked, or jammed.
Steele had not gone anywhere near the door.
Mulder started banging on the door repeatedly.
XXXXX
Ivo Steele rolled his eyes; couldn’t this F.B.I. Agent even open a door? He was amazed the man could drive a car.
He reached for the door handle, but also found himself unable to open it.
That was when he heard the tiger’s roar.
He turned around to face a live tiger standing in the room. There was no doubt about it, it seemed that the tiger skin rug had come back from the dead.
“Clever girl”, muttered Steele.
He edged his way around the room, near to the hunting trophies, only to feel an unearthly force grab his arms. He felt them being clamped behind something; something heavy.
All the time, Mulder’s banging got louder.
Steele was trapped, and had nothing to do except watch as the tiger lunged at him, ravenously.
It was moments later that Mulder managed to open the door, too late to save the life of Ivo Steele.
He surveyed the scene: Ivo Steele with his hands trapped behind the moose trophy’s antlers. His throat had been torn out, and blood dripped all over the floor, and all over the tiger skin rug, which now flopped lifelessly on its hapless victim.
Looking closer, Mulder spotted the bloodstained shamrock on the floor.
XXXXX
“I’m tell you, Scully!”, Mulder shouted; “I witnessed that tiger skin rug come to life and attack Ivo Steele!”
Mulder was sweating heavily; Scully hadn’t seen her partner in such a state in a while; he was almost become aggressive towards her.
“You then insist that the stuffed head of a moose abetted in the killing”, Scully replied; “I can’t wait to tell Spender”.
“That’s exactly what happened”, Mulder protested.
“Mulder, did Mr. Steele give you anything to eat by any chance?”
“He gave me a brownie…” Mulder started, before gradually things became clear to him.
“Damn it, Mulder!” Scully snapped, “you’ve eaten a hash cake; you’re not exactly a credible witness. Your eyes are red, you’re sweating a lot, all of which point to you being completely stoned”.
“So, in other words you’re not going to listen to me”.
Scully bent down, and pulling on rubber gloves, she examined the corpse of Ivo Steele.
“He was high too”, she sighed; “in other words, he was fighting a delusion”.
“A delusion that killed him”, Mulder protested; “unless we’re dealing with another Augustus Cole”.
Augustus Cole was a Vietnam vet who Mulder had encountered years ago; years of not being able to sleep had made him able to cause his victims to have hallucinations so vivid, that they had the power to kill.
“There’s something here”, Scully added, spotting a piece of paper tucked inside Steele’s pocket.
She pulled it out; it read:
ask derren cotta where he got his fortune
“It appears to be a message from our killer”, Scully shrugged, “and another shamrock. Looks like we’ll need to speak to Derren Cotta”.
“You’ll manage that easy enough” said an officer, entering the room, “he’s down at the station, causing trouble. He’s taken an officer hostage, and is threatening Billy Gerrard”.
“If Billy’s still in jail” said Mulder, “I guess we can rule him out as the killer”.
“You mean - I can rule him out”, Scully scowled at him; “I’m taking you off the case, Mulder. You’re in no fit state”.
She whispered in his ear: “Lucky for you, this will be kept off the record. I will not mention this to AD Spender”.
At least there was one thing Mulder should feel grateful for.
XXXXX
Scully dropped Mulder off at their motel; as she drove off, Mulder made a quick decision that he wasn’t going to put the case aside, not quite yet.
“Danny”, he said, pulling out his phone; “I hope this isn’t a bad time; I need some information”.
Danny Valodeo was always happy to help.
XXXXX
“You might as well start talking”, Cotta yelled; “if doesn’t matter what you say now, because as of this conversation, you are FIRED!”
He was pointing his gun through the bars at Billy Gerrard, who looked terrified. With his free hand, he was holding Pinker, who looked nervous.
Several police officers were gradually appearing on the scene, guns drawn, and ready to use deadly force against Cotta if needed.
“Don’t make us do this, Mr. Cotta” said one officer; “you’re already under arrest for theft of a police weapon, taking a hostage and threatening a suspect; don’t make us add murder to your rap sheet”.
“BACK OFF!” Cotta shouted; “this is between me and Billy here”.
It was at this point that Scully arrived on the crime scene; her hostage negotiation skills almost immediately set in.
“Mr. Cotta” she said calmly; “I think you need to back away from Billy; I can tell you right away, he’s not our killer”.
“You think I’m going to listen to a woman?”, Cotta snapped; “that’s not going to happen”.
“Mr. Cotta”, Scully continues; “it might interest you to know that Ivo Steele is dead”.
“Ivo?” Cotta replied, letting his guard down slightly.
In that moment, Pinker was able to release Cotta’s hold on him, and knock the gun out of his hand. The gun slid across the floor, where Scully picked it up.
As Pinker grabbed Cotta in an armlock, Scully shouted: “Derren Cotta; you are under arrest for attempted obstruction of justice!” As she read him his Miranda rights, she realized that she was holding two guns. She almost felt like Mulder, with his ankle holster.
She handed Pinker his gun back, and Cotta was led away.
XXXXX
Scully sat opposite Cotta in the interview room.
“I suppose you also think I committed all of these murders”, he snapped, “I was nowhere near Ivo when he died; that pathetic cop is a witness to that”.
“You’re not under suspicion of murder” replied Scully, “though you are here because of various other things. We believe the killings may be linked to your fortune, of which three of the victims received shares in”.
“What do you want to know?”, Cotta demanded.
“Well, first of all how you came about it”, Scully replied.
“If you must know”, Cotta sighed; “I used to be into metal detecting. I never really found anything, but one day I was out in a field, and I struck lucky.
“The metal detector was going off like crazy; I got my spade, and dug, and found myself uncovering a small fortune. A pot of gold coins; all old ones, but I could tell right away that they were worth a lot of money. Seemed like pirate treasure.
“I received a lot of money when I handed them in; it was worth a few million dollars. I started to realise that I could start my own business with the money, so I invested it into a bank account, and watched it grow; gradually I was able to built up enough money to start my own car business. I even had enough to go out wining and dining twice a week; always nice to have a good meal, and all thanks to whoever left that money out there for me to find”.
“That’s a good story”, Scully replied; “it’s also quite a tall one. I don’t think it helps us narrow down who our killer is. Just to be clear though, were Frankel, Smithers and Steele your only shareholders?”
“Not that its really your business, but that is correct. I suppose you’re going to suggest that the rightful owner has decided to get his revenge”, Cotta muttered, as Scully’s phone went off.
She signalled to Cotta to hold on a moment, and despite his protestations, left the room.
“Mulder”, she said, “what do you want now?”
“Scully”, Mulder replied, “I know you told me I was off the case, but I did a bit of research”.
Scully sighed: “What did you find out?”
“When I heard this was maybe related to how our real-life Scrooge McDuck got his fortune”, Mulder explained; “I started to wonder how our first victim was involved in this. I didn’t think he was a shareholder in the company himself.”
“Mr. Cotta just confirmed that to me”, Scully replied.
“Our friend Danny was able to access Mr. Goodman’s bank account” replied Mulder; “turns out he was embezzling money from the company”.
“That would give Cotta a motive to be the killer if he found out” replied Scully, “he just told me how he got his wealth, but take it with a pinch of salt”.
“I’m all ears, Scully”.
“He says he dug up buried treasure”.
“I expect if he’d looked carefully, he’d have even discovered the original book of Mormon”, Mulder laughed.
“What you’ve told me about Goodman certainly gives Cotta a motive to kill him”, Scully added; “but we can confirm his whereabouts when Ivo Steele was killed; this looks like it could have been some professional killer for hire”.
“I’m not sure why he’d kill his own shareholders off”, Mulder replied, “unless you’re suggesting he thought he’d be better off not sharing the wealth any more. In that case, why would he have let them have shares in the first place?”
“Can you think of a better explanation?”, Scully asked.
“You’re telling me Cotta found a pot of gold”, Mulder replied; “we find shamrocks on all bodies. I can only know one type of creature who is well known for burying gold. A leprechaun!”
Scully rolled her eyes: “Mulder, you’re still high, and I know you watched that abysmal nineties film a few weeks ago”.
“I think if a bunch of fatcats were using my money to start their own company, while spending the rest on their stomachs, then I’d be a little ticked off too”, Mulder answered back.
“I think you need to get some rest” Scully replied. “I’m going to go back into that room right now, and see if I can get a confession out of Cotta”.
She hung up before Mulder could reply.
As she returned to the interview room, she shouted: “Did you know Robert Goodman was stealing money from your company?”
Cotta looked bemused: “Goodman was my most trusted employee; he would never commit such a betrayal. Where did you get your information from?”
As Scully was about to reply, a heavy blow to the head caught her off guard. An overhead light fitting had fallen down from above her. In the confusion, she suddenly felt herself pushed aside by Cotta, who took the chance to escape and start running down the corridor. He’d spied his chance of freedom.
Scully regained her composure, as she and several officers gave chase to Cotta. It seemed that many of the lights were malfunctioning, as bulbs began exploding over their heads, with no human intervention.
As Cotta ran down the corridor, hearing bullets whizzing past his head, he saw the elevator doors opening ahead of him. Maybe this was his lucky day; if he could get into the lift, and close the doors, he might be able to make a clean getaway.
“Stop!”, Scully shouted, as Cotta plunged towards the lift, he suddenly felt something trip him up.
Simultaneously, all of the lights on the floor went out; the floor was plunged into blackness.
The last think Derren Cotta felt was his head and shoulders being forcibly detached from his body.
As the lights came on, Scully and the armed officers were faced with the grisly sight of Cotta’s arms, legs and torso lying by the empty lift shaft. It seemed that during the brief powercut, the lift had malfunctioned and plunged down to the basement, with the businessman only partially inside.
Somebody downstairs was going to get a nasty shock.
It seemed to Scully that this case was still unsolved; just like any X-File, but she spotted one thing on what remained of Cotta.
It was of course a shamrock.
XXXXX
“So, Scully, you’re going to claim that Derren Cotta died in a freak accident caused by a temporary loss of power in the station?”, Mulder asked.
“That seems to be the only thing that caused the lift to malfunction as our victim attempted to escape”, Scully replied, as they headed out of the motel.
“How’s your head by the way?”
“I’ll live”, Scully replied; the impact of the light fitting had left a small cut on her forehead.
“I suppose, given that the shamrock was there”, Mulder suggested; “that somehow our killer was behind the incident. How about your encounter with the lights, which conveniently allowed Cotta to get away, only to accidentally run into his own death. That must have been some careful planning”.
“I don’t know”, Scully replied, “I was told that the building was badly in need of repairs”.
“Then that is what you must tell Spender” said Mulder; “as well as that our killer may still be at large”.
XXXXX
F.B.I. HEADQUARTERS
“So, you have concluded that this is an unsolved case” Spender said, putting down Scully’s report.
“Whoever was doing these killings managed to elude the authorities”, Scully accepted.
“So” replied Spender, “we just need to wait to see if our ‘shamrock killer’ resurfaces”.
“Maybe his - or her - work is done”, Mulder suggested.
“You are excused, Agent Mulder” replied Spender; “Agent Scully, a word”.
“Did you forget to bring him an apple?” Mulder whispered, as he passed Scully.
As Mulder closed the door, Spender turned to Scully.
“Agent Scully, we’ve known each other for some time. Just between you and me, I think maybe working with Agent Mulder is holding you back”.
“How do you mean, Sir?” Scully asked; this was something that she would have to get used to calling Spender.
“Listening to all of his crazy theories”, Spender replied; “I’m just glad he wasn’t suggesting vengeful ghosts this time. All I’m saying is, if you ever want to use your skills in another division, have a word with me. I’m sure we can find someone else to endure Mulder”.
“Thank you for your thought, Sir”, Scully replied; “but I don’t feel I have to endure Mulder. I’ve come to accept him for all of his talk of E. T. the Extra Terrestrial”.
“That’s good of you to stick up for him”, Spender replied; “I must admit, you do know my half-brother better than I do”.
“Also, Sir, I should tell you now” Scully added; “Mulder and I are now engaged. I guess I really do want to spend the rest of my life with him”.
Spender was gobsmacked, but he managed to reply: “Congratulations”.
XXXXX
Mulder waited outside for Scully; he looked again at the item from Derren Cotta’s body that Scully had missed.
One of the cops had picked it up, and bought it round to Mulder at their motel; he had thought it might be useful evidence.
Scully had been in the shower at the time; Mulder had decided to not show his fiancée the note. It seemed better that way. No need to rub evidence in her face, evidence that may or may not point to a leprechaun being involved.
It was a hand-written note:
revenge is a dish best served cold
THE END