Kadaitcha by Michael Aulfrey Part 4/7 ----------------------------------------------------------------- Crawford opened the door and came in bearing a roll of paper, which he lay out on a table. It was a geographical survey map, centred on Starkey's Creek and the area around it. Mulder popped the top of the marker again. "So. Frank Mereweather was found..." "Here." Crawford put his finger on the spot. "Ten kilometres out from the town. And the truck was found fifteen klicks away, here." Mulder dotted each place. "Five kilometres. Not a lot of distance between the two," said Scully. "Well, if we assume that they represent a diameter..." Mulder drew a circle taking the two points in. "The centre is this point, here. Where's that?" Crawford scrutinised the place. "It's private property. Western Mining, or something like that." "Have they got a mine out there?" asked Scully. Normally, mining towns were boom towns. "No. A few years ago, some surveyors came out here and marked off the area, saying it showed potential. But they never did anything about it. Think we should take a look?" Mulder chewed the inside of his lip. "Not much to put a search warrant out for...and Scully and I aren't even from this jurisdiction..." The phone rang, and Crawford picked it up. "Yeah." Pause. "Why?" Pause. "All right. But we haven't got time for anything crazy, right? Okay, we'll see you in a while. Bye." He put the phone down. "That was Charlie Duggan. He says he wants to see us at the Kaladjuma settlement." "Another killing?" asked Scully. "No. He just wants to see us about something he may have turned up." Crawford picked up a notebook and stuffed it into his pocket on the way out of the office. * * * "Why does he call you Rob?" asked Scully on the way out to the settlement. The car bumped and rattled on the gravel road. "Charlie?" Crawford glanced at her, beside him in the front seat. In the back, Mulder came out of his reverie to hear him. "We've known each other for a long time. Matter of fact, the reason I was assigned out here was because I was born here. And grew up here, as well. There's only been two people ever to graduate from university from Starkey's Creek. That's me and Charlie. Then he came back here, became a local cop...and I went to Canberra and joined the federal police. We've had him help us out on a number of occasions, simply because he's the best." Crawford squinted into the distance. "There it is." The settlement itself was little more than a series of broken-down asbestos-walled houses. Dogs sniffed at overflowing rubbish bins. Here and there, a rusted car or two sat awaiting reconstruction. The people walked slowly along the streets, looking intently at the strangers as they drove through the town to Charles Duggan's house. A carbon copy, Scully thought, of any native settlement across the world where they had been displaced by white conquerors. She shook the thoughts away and focused on the task at hand as Crawford pulled over at one house that looked no different from the rest. The front door was covered with a flyscreen, and it trilled like a snare drum as Crawford banged on it. A couple of seconds later, Duggan came out, his eyes quiet and unassuming as usual. "Come in," he said simply. They walked in. Loose boards creaked under their feet. The place was a little bit on the inside than it looked outside. It was clear Duggan had made some effort to keep the place fairly neat. "What did you want us here for, Charlie?" asked Crawford. "We've got an investigation to run at Starkey's Creek." "You haven't got anything to run," replied Charlie in that same finality as he had spoken when Mulder had seen him last. "Like I said. You didn't find anything at the site, and your fellas won't find anything in the daylight, either." "Look, Mr. Duggan, Charlie, whatever your name is, we're getting a little tired of this stuff. We're not the enemy. Why don't you try telling us what you know?" Mulder squared up to Charlie. Movement caught Mulder's eye, and he flicked a glance at a doorway from the front lounge. An old form, thicker, stockier than Duggan, shuffled off into the bowels of the house. "Who's he?" asked Mulder. "My grandfather," said Charlie. "All right. You want to know what I know? Take a seat." He motioned at the chairs, and they sat down. Charlie chewed the inside of his lip for a second, then breathed deeply and spoke. "I looked over the site already. No tracks...nothing. I tried everything I was taught to find some trace of whoever murdered those five boys, but there was nothing at all. The only thing I found was that all the animals around the area were scared half to death." "Animals?" Scully's eyebrows were raised. "Didn't you hear it, too, miss? I don't think so. You people from the city have been half-deafened by your cars and trucks so you don't hear much now at all. Not your fault. I was like you for the few years I was in the cities studying. But if you could've heard it, you would have. There wasn't a single cricket out there last night. And that's odd; even when people are around, they still carry on regardless. But last night, the crickets were not at that place. I also lied about there being no tracks. There were some. Animal tracks. Snakes, fieldmice, a kangaroo...but they were all headed out of the area. The animal population of that stand of timber decided to migrate." The old man shuffled back in at that point, and they got their first look at him. His hair was shockingly white against the dark of his face, and his beard was like white steel wool hanging from his chin. He didn't even spare a second glance for Mulder and Scully. He began speaking to Duggan in a harsh tongue that Mulder didn't recognise. Charlie shook his head and replied quietly in the same voice. But the old man made a cutting gesture with his hand, and Charlie pressed his lips together. The old man pointed at them again, and spoke once more. Charlie breathed out slowly. "What seems to be the problem?" asked Mulder, his gaze flicking from the old man to Duggan. "It's no problem," said Duggan, though his eyes wouldn't meet the old man's. "He just wants to know who you are and why you're here. I told him you were policemen." The old man pointed to them again and began speaking, but Duggan cut him off with a stream of words that they didn't have to guess at. It was in the way of an admonishment. The old man frowned deeply, turned and shuffled out of the room again. Charlie gazed after him with an air of sadness, then looked back to the FBI agents and Crawford. "I think you'd better leave now. I have to go talk to him." "Is that it?" asked Crawford. "That's all you had to tell us? That the animals decided to move?" "That's it," said Duggan. He got up from his chair and started for the door the old man had passed out of. "You can show yourselves out." And like a shadow, he was gone into the back of the house. Crawford shook his head. "Good old Charlie. Never fails to piss me off. Even when he's doing his job." But Mulder was quiet all the way back to the car. Scully didn't ask him why. She'd seen him enter this pattern before. It usually telegraphed the coming of another of his wild theories. She didn't bother to laugh at him inwardly. She merely tried to put the evidence together in a way that would logically explain any wild intuition he had. At the moment, she wasn't having much success. * * * "Why did you not tell them, grandson?" The old man watched the foreigners' dust clouds fade into the distance, standing there on the verandah of the house. Charlie was looking at the ground. He was silent. The old man looked at him directly. "You should have told them." "Grandfather, they wouldn't believe you. I don't believe you." Charlie stalked off a few paces and looked at the horizon. "Kadaitcha has returned. The time has come--" "That's just a story, grandfather!" "You were there. The animals knew. Explain it otherwise." The old man hobbled off into the house, leaving Duggan to stare into the distance. * * * FILE #2847654 PRIORITY CLEARANCE AUDIO TAPE, RADIO NATIONAL NEWS AUSTRALIA BROADCAST DATE: 3/12/95, 7:00 pm. EXTRACT OF TRANSCRIPT: REPORTER: Western Australia, and a series of murders in the north west has shocked the small town of Starkey's Creek. John Gates in Starkey's Creek has the story. GATES: Last night, five young men were found dead in a utility truck fifteen kilometres out of town. Details of the murders are as yet sketchy, but Detective Robert Crawford of the Federal Police spoke with me today regarding the murders. CRAWFORD: At this stage our investigation is merely opening. We are utilising all resources at our command to apprehend the killers. There is little more that can be added at this stage. GATES: Is it true that the murders were perpetrated at close quarters, detective Crawford? CRAWFORD: (pause) As I said, our investigation is as yet still in its early stages. I'll be able to speak more on the matter later. GATES: Rumours are also circulating that these five killings are not the only ones to have occurred. Locals have noted that at least two areas have been cordoned off by police, and there is no indication at this stage of any lead on the matter. EXTRACT ENDS. COPY TO DIRECTORATE ASAP. CLEARANCE DAMOCLES REPEAT DAMOCLES. * * * The silence had been shattered by the morning. Mulder had just been getting to enjoy the quiet that came with sleeping in the back country. The catalogue of noise was almost without end: journalists checking into rooms, walking around the creaky floorboards, cars screaming off into the distance, camera crews reporting on the incidents so many times Mulder could just about recall the individual reports from memory. He hadn't had much success with the evidence Crawford's men had brought in from the field. Nothing useable. Only bits and pieces that told them no more about the killer than did anything else. Scully had stayed up to perform an inspection with Crawford observing on the skinned body, but Mulder's stomach had objected violently and he decided to work back in his room instead. Crawford had been a pale white when he emerged from the interview with the reporter. He had sworn blue murder against the officer who had leaked the news to the press of the close-range killings, and after that there had been no further talk of the local police to the media. Mulder and Scully managed to lay low when the reporters had come around sniffing for news; Crawford covered their retreat to the hotel by letting them out the back door of the station. Later that evening, he'd brought some clothes around for Mulder to try on. "Just so you don't stand out so much in your suit," he said. Mulder found the clothes amusing, but he put them on. Cotton shirt, jeans and boots. Like any native Creeker. At least this way the reporters wouldn't talk to him so much. Crawford had also taken Scully down to the clothing shop herself, and she'd picked out suitably nondescript clothing as well--summer dress and light shoes. 7 am. Mulder stretched and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The sound was quiet. If he'd yawned, he wouldn't have heard it. But it was there. The solitary creak of a floorboard, on a hall where the only two guests were himself and Scully in the next room. Mulder had learned from long nights studying cases with her that Scully didn't get up until 7:30 as a rule. Mulder flicked a glance to the door. Outside, the morning light was creeping under the door. Except for the two columns of darkness where someone's feet were placed. They didn't move. His breathing seemed loud in his ears. His eyes strayed to the draw of the bedside table, where the gun was. He started to move towards the drawer even as he called out, "Who's there?" Then the two columns of darkness were gone, and this time Mulder distinctly heard the sound of feet pounding on wooden floorboards as they ran towards the stairs. He cursed and jumped the rest of the distance to the draw, pulled it out and snatched the gun. He half-kicked the door down in his hurry to get out, and then was running towards the stairs, where he barely spotted a sweep of hair recede out the doorway. Mulder cursed again, even as he heard Scully call out from her doorway, and ran down the stairs. Unfortunately, as one loose floorboard was his observer's undoing, so another was his. His right foot got the floorboard, his left, the air where he thought the next step was, and he crashed down the stairs. Somehow he got his hand to the safety on the gun before it flew out of his hand and hit the ground at the bottom of the stairs. Mulder hit his head on the last step, and saw stars for a second or two. Then Scully, in her robe--how the hell did she get dressed so fast? he wondered--was coming down the stairs, calling his name. Her own gun was jammed into the cloth belt of the robe. "Damn it!" he cursed. Then Scully was kneeling down next to him, her hands going to his head and running through his hair. "Are you all right? Did you hit your head?" "No..." he winced slightly as he started to move, but the pain came from his ankle. "No, I'm all right, I think." "You didn't black out at all?" "No. My left foot hurts, though." Scully's attention immediately turned onto his leg. She touched it experimentally. "Tell me if any of this hurts, Mulder." She touched the bottom part of his calf, and it brought no response. She continued down the leg until she reached his ankle, none of which generated any response. She was intent in her doing so. Mulder stared up at the ceiling for a second or two, cursing his clumsiness, then looked at Scully, still testing his leg with the occasional prod or two. "You're not engaging in any fantasies, are you, Scully?" he grinned slightly. He thought he saw her smile, but it was quickly suppressed. "You're the one who has the videos in your top drawer, Mulder. Not me." She stopped merely putting fingers to his ankle and this time moved his foot slightly to the left. "How's this?" A jet of pain shot up his leg. "Yeah. That hurts," he said, trying not to speak through clenched teeth. Scully nodded slowly and sighed. "Sprained ankle. I think we'd better get you back upstairs." "It's not that bad. I'm not a cripple." "If it had been your neck that you twisted, you could well have been. Come on." "But I---" "Mulder." Scully's eyes brooked no argument. "Now." She picked up his fallen gun. Between the two of them, they got him on his feet, braced against the narrow stairway's walls. Leaning on her, he hobbled back up the stairs with her. Despite the fact he was on one foot, she didn't find him too heavy at all. "So. You want to tell me why you came sprinting out of your room?" He looked at her with genuine surprise. "You didn't see him?" "No. Who?" He motioned to the door of his room, and they stumbled inside. Mulder leaned against the wall as he shut the door behind them. "There was someone outside my room this morning, Scully. Someone who didn't want to be heard or seen. I heard floorboards creak, and the second I called out to him, he started running." "That doesn't make any sense. You probably scared off some newspaper boy or something." "No way. Whoever it was weighed a lot more than some kid, to make the floorboards creak like that." He forgot his ankle for a second, leaned on it and remembered with a powerful wince that made him groan in spite of himself. Scully was instantly back by his side, but he waved her away as he sat down on the bed. "Any idea how long I'll be like this?" "I'll find a bucket of water for you to soak it in. That ought to reduce the swelling. You'll be limping for a couple of days, I'd say. In future, I wouldn't try running down stairs so much." "Thanks. I'll take it out of my callisthenics course." He smiled with that wry tilt to his grin that he knew exasperated her so much. Scully shook her head and went back to her room, leaving his gun on the bedside table. He sat there staring at the gun for some time. * * * It was 10:00 am. before they finally got to the police station. Once more, they had to enter by the back door; at least one journalist's car was out the front of the place. Crawford was in his office, reading over the reports of the inspecting police at the site of the last murders. Dark circles were under his eyes. He looked up wearily as they walked in. "Oh--hello." He looked at Mulder's foot. "What happened to you?" "I fell down some stairs. Find anything?" "Nothing. I've read this one report so many times I'm seeing it behind my eyelids. It seems the metal slivers are still our best lead. No tracks...nothing. It's like they were killed by a ghost or something." "Well, I didn't turn up anything else from their bodies. It would take a full autopsy to determine anything further," said Scully. "So what's on the plan today?" said Crawford. "I'm sure as hell stuck for ideas, anyway." There was a sudden trill from the phone. Crawford picked it up. "Crawford." He suddenly stiffened. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, I saw it myself. Well, I don't think that's quite a fair assessment- -" He broke off again, his face melting into a mask of anger. "Sir, I don't see why--no, sir. It's just I think that--dammit, Jack! Cut the bulldust! Why are you doing this? This was my--yes, sir. No. All right." Crawford raised his voice once more. "No, I don't like this, sir. Not one bloody bit!" He slammed the phone down. "Bastard!" He got up and strode around the room. "What's wrong?" asked Scully, and at her voice the Australian cop slowed down slightly. But his voice was thick with anger. "They took me off the case. That was my supervisor. He just told me they've decided to assign someone else to the case. Seems they're not too happy about the big TV interview yesterday." Mulder cast a sidelong glance at Scully, who shrugged. "So what's this mean for us?" "It means your presence is no longer required, or wanted," said Crawford, his voice a growl. "They specifically told me to tell you this new detective they're putting on the case doesn't want any help. You might as well go pack. I'll meet you outside your rooms in an hour. Just give me enough time to pack my stuff." Mulder looked like he was about to argue, but Scully put a hand on his arm, and they disconsolately left Crawford alone in the office. "You think there's something more to this, don't you?" said Scully as they walked along. Mulder had been deep in thought again. "I don't know, Scully. I honestly don't. It's like you said. There's nothing here that is really unexplainable. And all the case lacks is a lead. There isn't much more we can do here." Scully nodded. "All right. I'll meet you back at the hotel. There's a couple of files I left at the mortuary that I have to pick up." She walked off. END OF PART 4/7