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

their way between the traffic lights. Few bothered
to look at him and Scully, and those who did smiled faintly and moved on.
    A breeze drifted down the sidewalk, picking up strength, flapping his open
topcoat against his legs, slipping an unpleasant chill inside his suit. Scully followed the
meandering progress of a mongrel along the curb. “Did you notice how he
changed? Hawks, I mean?”
    He nodded. “Cop for us, hick for Licia. The man’s no dope. I’m actually a little surprised he didn’t ask for help right away. As far as I can tell, when they need a
detective, he’s it. And what’s with Andrews, anyway?”
    She shrugged. “First case jitters?”
    He supposed it could be, but he didn’t like it. Like the assignment of this
case, it just didn’t feel right. He didn’t doubt she was competent; she wouldn’t
have gotten this far otherwise. Something, however, would have to be done about
that superior attitude she had taken in the station. Behavior like that would
shut Hawks up faster than a judge’s order.
    As Barney’s slipped by them on the far side, he glanced over and saw, as
before, nothing special. A tired bar in a tired town. Pick it up and put it down
in Michigan or Oregon, it wouldn’t change. And immediately he thought it, he
realized he had probably made a big mistake, letting her go with Webber. The man
had a knack for getting people to talk to him. That face, that grin, that shock
of red hair was disarming. He hoped it would be enough to offset Licia Andrews.
    The morning light dimmed.
    The scent of rain grew stronger.
    From the corner of his vision he watched Scully tracing the probable path
Grady Pierce had taken, leaving the bar, making his way at some point across the
street, maybe weaving, maybe not. An empty street. Light rain.
    “He didn’t see anybody,” he said as they approached the alley. It was set
between a pair of three-story brick buildings, clothing stores on the ground floor in both,
what looked to be apartments above.
    Scully didn’t question him. “Or he didn’t notice.”
    “That late, in this town? On a Saturday night? It may not be very healthy,
but it isn’t dead yet. He would have noticed. Especially if it was raining.”
    Again Scully didn’t argue. She only said, “Unless he knew him.”
    A sideways glance: “Sexist comment, Scully. I am offended.”
    “Impersonal pronoun, Mulder. I am unbiased. So far.”
    Just as they reached their destination, a gleaming white patrol car pulled in
at the curb, facing in the wrong direction. Chief Hawks slid out, jacket and tie
in place, hair barely touched by the breeze now a wind. As he came around the
trunk, he was greeted by several pedestrians, and he responded in kind, calling
each by name. He slipped a hand into a pocket as he joined them, pushing the
suit jacket behind his arm.
    Mulder saw the shoulder holster.
    The chief shivered, rolling his shoulders against the damp. “Are you sure
about this?”
    “I know it’s old,” Mulder answered, “but it’s always better than reading
about it in a report.”
    “Visualization,” Scully added.
    Hawks nodded understanding. “So… ?”
    The alley was a few inches wider than six feet, extending another twenty yards to a twelve-foot-high, weather-stained
stockade fence. Although there were no garbage cans or a Dumpster, there were
small fluttering islands of wind-deposited trash against the base of the walls.
There were no windows. There were no fire escapes. The yellow crime scene ribbon
had long since been taken down.
    They stood on the sidewalk, forcing what foot traffic there was to walk
behind them.
    The stores on either side had sale signs in their windows, but the one on the
right was dark, nothing on display. Above, the windows were all curtained or
blind with shades.
    Somebody died here, Mulder thought; some poor guy bled to death here.
    It was time to walk the crooked path.
    Hawks pointed: “Grady was found there, a couple of feet in,