“That’s me.” Gimble stepped forward.
“Nice to meet you,” Agent Douglas said to Gimble, before continuing his conversation with Mulder’s father. “Special Agent Ressler will be out in a minute. He’ll be conducting the interview with your son.”
Mulder’s dad sighed, annoyed by the delay.
Agent Douglas ignored him. “So where’s your father, Gary? I spoke with him on the phone briefly after the other agents spoke to him at your house.”
“Oh. He doesn’t leave the house,” Gimble said, as if it was completely normal. “He told me to give you this.” He handed Agent Douglas a sheet of paper folded into a perfect square.
The FBI agent raised an eyebrow and opened it. “‘I, Major William Wyatt Winchester, retired major of the 128th Recon Squadron of the United States Air Force, grant the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation permission to interview my son, Gary William Winchester, on April 4, 1979. I do not grant permission for FBI agents, or other persons employed by the United States government, to ask my son questions about myself, or my work as a civilian. Sincerely, Major William Wyatt Winchester, USAF.’”
Agent Douglas scratched his head and examined the note. “I’ve never seen anything quite like this.”
Gimble shrugged. “Yeah. My dad likes to do his own thing.”
“We don’t usually accept legal documents without a notary seal, or ones written in highlighter.”
“I told him that, but he couldn’t find a pen,” he explained.
“Right.” Agent Douglas gestured for Gimble to follow him as he opened the door. “Why don’t we go ahead and get started, Gary?”
Before the door closed, Mulder heard his friend say, “By the way, everyone calls me Gimble.”
“You didn’t tell me your best friend’s father had a screw loose,” Mulder’s dad said.
Phoebe shot him a dirty look.
But as far as Mulder was concerned, that was letting him off too easy. “Don’t talk about the Major like that. He’s a good man. I don’t care what you think.”
His father’s face turned red. “What did you just say to me?”
Mulder heard the door close behind him and turned to find another FBI agent watching them.
“Special Agent Robert Ressler.” The agent approached Bill Mulder and extended his hand. “I’m with the Behavioral Science Unit.”
Mulder’s father introduced himself, and Ressler turned to Mulder. “Fox, right?” Agent Ressler’s sleeves were rolled up, and his button-down shirt was wrinkled, as if he’d slept in it.
“You can call me Mulder, and this my friend Phoebe Larson.”
Phoebe smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“I think we have an appointment tomorrow, Miss Larson,” Agent Ressler said.
“Then I guess I’ll see you again tomorrow,” she said.
Mulder’s dad cleared his throat and gestured at the open door behind the agent. “Let’s get this over with.”
Agent Ressler held up his hand. “I’d prefer to speak to your son alone, if that’s all right with you? There’s a great coffee shop across the street. Best chocolate cream pie I’ve ever tasted.”
Bill Mulder opened his mouth to argue, but Ressler kept talking. “I bet the State Department has a smart guy like you working around the clock.”
“I was on a business trip when your office called me,” Mulder’s father grumbled. “I flew in last night.”
Ressler offered a sympathetic nod. “So we’re both overworked. Go ahead and take a break. Have a slice of pie.”
“Are you all right with going in alone?” Mulder’s dad asked him.
“Yeah.” A week ago Mulder would’ve cared about the fact that his father was ditching him, during an interview about his son being held captive by a serial killer, to eat pie. Now he saw his dad for what he was—a coward who gave up on his family.
“I’ll wait here,” Phoebe said, planting herself in a vinyl chair. “For moral support.”
“I’ll run F—” Ressler caught himself. “Mulder and Phoebe across the street to you when we finish.” He walked Bill Mulder to the hallway before the man changed his mind.
Ressler returned and ushered Mulder toward the door to the back offices. Mulder glanced over his shoulder to nod at Phoebe, and she gave him a thumbs-up.
“Can I get you a soda or a snack from the vending machine before we get started?” Agent Ressler asked as they walked down the hall.
“You got rid of my dad, so I’m good.”
Ressler laughed. “My father isn’t the easiest person to get along with, either.”
By the time Mulder took a seat in front of Agent Ressler’s desk, he felt comfortable enough to walk the agent through what they had pieced together and the events that had taken place at Earl Roy’s house. Ressler sat behind his desk taking notes, even though he was recording the conversation. He stopped Mulder whenever he had a question or needed clarification, but mostly he just listened.
When Mulder finally finished telling his story, he slumped in the leather armchair. “It feels like I just ran a marathon.”