“He almost dislocated his shoulder trying to climb under the table to get away from the photograph. Not many people would’ve put this all together, Mulder. If you were older, I’d hire you.” Ressler didn’t sound like he was making fun of him.
“Wait. Then you believe there’s another serial killer?” He stared at him in shock.
Ressler dodged the question by asking one himself. “When you were alone with Earl Roy, did he mention his brother?”
The word hit Mulder like a brick. “He has a brother?”
“Montgomery Propps. He’s three years older than Earl Roy, and we suspect he was either directly involved in Earl Roy’s crimes or he was at least aware of them. The fact that he didn’t show up for work the morning after Earl Roy was arrested makes both scenarios more likely.”
Mulder put the legal pad with his notes on Ressler’s desk and pushed it toward him. “I don’t know if this will help.”
Ressler picked it up and skimmed the pages. “You wrote this?”
“Yeah. I stayed up all night working on it.”
“These aren’t notes, Fox. This is a profile of Montgomery Propps.” He stared at Mulder, stunned. “And it will help. Sometimes profiles help us identify violent offenders, but we also use them to locate offenders faster. I need to show this to Agent Douglas, and then get it to our team at the BSU. Thank you.”
Agent Ressler led Mulder back to the reception area, where Phoebe was reading a pamphlet. “Give me a few minutes,” Ressler said. “And then I’ll walk you over to the coffee shop to meet your dad.”
“We’ll be fine on our own,” Mulder said. “It’s right across the street.”
“Stay put,” Ressler ordered, still reading Mulder’s notes as he pushed the office door open with his free hand.
The moment the door shut, Phoebe asked, “What just happened?”
It took Mulder a moment to respond. “I’m not really sure. But I think I just helped the FBI.”
CHAPTER 26
Coffee shop across from the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building 4:54 P.M.
Mulder spotted his father the minute he entered the coffee shop with Phoebe and Agent Ressler. His dad was parked at a table in the back of the restaurant, and from the plates on the table, it looked like he was on his second slice of pie.
His father stood up the moment he saw the FBI agent walking toward him. “How did it go? Was my son helpful?”
Ressler nodded. “Absolutely. Mulder is remarkably bright and his instincts are exceptional, two qualities we hold in high regard at the BSU.”
Mulder’s father tossed a few bills on the table. “Glad to hear it. But we have to get going. I’m needed at the office. The State Department took on a very ambitious project, and I’m the only person who understands the intricacies.” The remark sounded like a sad attempt to point out that Mulder’s exceptional genes were inherited from his even more exceptional father.
“We can’t leave yet. Gimble is still meeting with Agent Douglas,” Mulder said.
“They should be finished soon,” Agent Ressler assured Bill Mulder. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll be over there with Phoebe.” Mulder pointed to a booth across the aisle. He was done with his dad for today.
And tomorrow.
He grabbed Phoebe’s hand, led her to a booth, and then slid into the seat.
“What did Agent Ressler say about what you wrote?” she asked the moment she sat down.
The waitress swooped in before Mulder could answer.
“Can I get you kids something?” she asked, slipping the pencil from behind her ear.
They hadn’t looked at the menus tucked behind the napkin dispenser yet. But he just wanted to get rid of the woman so they could be alone. “I’ll just have a slice of pie,” he said.
“Me too,” Phoebe said.
“What kind? We have apple, cherry, lemon, Boston cream—”
Mulder cut her off. “Sweet potato.”
The waitress raised her eyebrows but wrote it down. “And for you?” she asked Phoebe.
“Chocolate?”
“Chocolate cream or chocolate silk?”
“Chocolate cream,” Phoebe said quickly, sensing that Mulder was losing his patience. The waitress started to ask another question, and she added, “And two waters. Thank you so much.”
When the waitress finally walked away, Phoebe folded her legs on the seat and got comfortable. “So what did Agent Ressler think about your notes?”
“I don’t know. He seemed sort of … impressed. Ressler said the notes I gave him are called a profile.”
“Your notes have a name?” Now she was impressed, too.
“Seems like it.” A hint of a smile played on Mulder’s lips. “From what Ressler told me, a profile is like a window into a violent offender’s mind. The FBI uses them to hunt down serial killers like Earl Roy Propps.”
Phoebe leaned back against the booth and tilted her head to the side, studying him. “You were only in his office for an hour and you already have the jargon down?”
Mulder shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
She looked across the table at him and their eyes locked. “You saved a girl’s life, Fox. It doesn’t get much bigger than that.”