The Lengths That I Would Go To

[abrightboy]

The killer was moving around the country. Malcolm Bright could see the pattern, but he wasn't working for the FBI these days and they weren't exactly taking his calls. Short sighted of them, but they did fire him on suspicion of being crazy. The NYPD's jurisdiction was New York. With the killer beyond its borders, they handed it upwards and left it at that.

Let it go, Bright, had been Gil's sage advice. You can't catch every killer in America single-handedly.

Challenge accepted, some part of him retorted, though he'd only nodded mutely and forced a smile. Gil knew he hadn't simply let it go, but he wasn't going to have him followed to stop him doing anything stupid, either. He didn't have the will or the resources to keep tabs on Malcolm Bright 24/7 and Malcolm Bright knew it.

His mother, on the other hand, had extensive resources, so he simply didn't tell her he was leaving town. He did arrange for Ainsley to feed his bird, so the truth would come out eventually, but he'd be several states away by then.

He rode the bus. There was something oddly comforting about the anonymity of being in a crowd of strangers who had no interest in him whatsoever. He stared out the window and watched the country go by. When he stepped off the Greyhound in Lexington, Kentucky, he walked to a nearby hotel and checked in, then headed straight to the US Marshals office. There was no point in trying to talk to the FBI. If he was going to stop a killer from killing again, he needed someone in law enforcement to listen to him. The pattern suggested the next murder would happen in one of the rural communities around Lexington and it would be precipitated by a young woman's disappearance. He needed law enforcement with local knowledge, specifically.

He wandered into the Marshals' offices in a tidy three piece suit, charcoal grey with a burgundy tie perfectly knotted at his collar. He got a few suspicious sidelong glances but nobody asked if they could help him. He cleared his throat.

"Um, hello? I'm wondering if there's anyone here I can talk to about murder." He held up his hands. "Stopping murder, specifically, not... like... smalltalk."

Comments

[abrightboy]

"He wouldn't kill in his own hotel room," Malcolm said, getting up to follow him. "But he might leave evidence of where he's going next or who his second victim is going to be."

[tinstar]

"Is it really his if he's renting it by the hour? You pay cash and you can sign any name to these logbooks." Raylan had been looking at who'd checked in around that time, after the timestamp, and there'd only been one entry.

Said logbook was dropped on the counter as Raylan passed by with a loud thunk. "Thank you kindly," he said, tipping his hat as he walked out the door, circling back around Malcolm to stick his head back into the office. "And uh, do me a favor? Don't go anywhere."

Now they could go.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm wondered where the receptionist might go, but he didn't ask. He followed Raylan out into the parking lot. "If this isn't where he's really staying, then he's staying somewhere else. He has a base in this area. Where could he go that nobody would spot him, say, carrying a woman out of the car?"

[tinstar]

There was never any telling. Kids got spooked from a high breeze it seemed, sometime. Plus. Raylan wanted to ask him some questions. The kid was the only person who'd seen their perp so far - they needed a better description, anything that would help.

"With as many hollars and abandoned places? Hell, if he knows the area, he could ghost us. But what I take from you is that he's not - he's travelin', right?" Might narrow down the choices, or at least give Raylan a hint of someone he might talk to about newcomers showing their face.

"There's a lot of land between here and there. Maybe he left a map," he replied with a sardonic but positive kind of vibe as he pulls his gun out. No way were they walking up on a door without his weapon in his hand.

[abrightboy]

"A figurative map, maybe," Malcolm suggested. He stayed a little behind Raylan as they approached the room; he was used to Gil's insistence on it. He hung back, but stayed close enough that he could see inside the door when it was opened. And get shot in the face if anyone inside decided to fire on whoever opened the door.

Maybe a receipt and a that partial is enough for them to go back to the office? Dark is coming?

[tinstar]

As they came up to it, the door was technically already open, cracked and silent beyond. Raylan glanced at Malcolm with a surprised little shrug of his eyebrows before he was pressing against the door frame and using his boot to slowly push in the door. Just as slowly, he slid forward and peeked around the door.

It was clear. Oddly clear. The room had been half trashed - a struggle had happened. Malcolm would note the claw marks on the headboard of one of the two twin beds, both slept in. One foot in front of the other led Raylan in, muzzle swinging up to the ready as he checked the bathroom with the same skillful caution.

"Clear," he called, going far enough to check the single closet as well, just in case. "If they were here, they're gone now," he sighed, lowering his weapon.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm stepped into the room behind him, moving past him, looking around.

"They were here," Malcolm said, nodding towards the scratched headboard. He glanced around, pulling on a paid of nitrile gloves from his pocket. He opened a couple of drawers, then picked up the knocked over waste basket and riffled through it.

"A receipt from the hardware store for a circular saw, duct tape, some garage door opener chain..." He looked at Raylan. "Well, we know what he did with the circular saw," he remarked, continuing to glance around. "If you have scene of crime people, they might be able to lift prints off of some of this," he said, gesturing to the furniture strewn and broken around the room.

[tinstar]

"Which means you were right. He did want her to see. He made sure she saw." Raylan sucked his teeth, eyes brighter than they were before as he glanced around, face a little vicious with purpose as the proof settled things in his head.

"How long you think he'll take to find another look alike and set up a new twisted display room?"

[abrightboy]

"That depends on whether he's already targeted someone or if he still has to find her. But he'll have his last intended victim with him until then. Which means they need someplace more discreet than this motel to stay until then."

He looked at Raylan. "Any idea where we should start looking? Anyone you can send to cover more ground?"

[tinstar]

"There's about a hundred of 'em in a 6 mile radius," he replied, sucking his teeth again in irritation. He needed to regroup. He needed more leads.

"Short answer, no." Without much explanation, Raylan holstered his gun and strode out of the room, making short work of the stairs to get back down to the front desk.

"What'd he look like," Raylan demanded as he brust back into the front office. "What do you remember about this guy," he asked, busy furious hands flipping open the login book open and turning it around, tapping on the page with an thinly veiled intensity.

The kid stammered and spilled what he could - a guy, mid 30's, white, New York type accent. Rough looking and a tattoo crawling up his neck.

[abrightboy]

"I don't suppose you noticed a woman in his company? Maybe he brought her back here late? Maybe she seemed to be passed out drunk from the bar?" Malcolm asked. "Did anyone report any noise complaints from the room?"

[tinstar]

The kid shook his head. "Came in alone, paid in cash. We're kinda light on business this time of year," he explained nervously.

Raylan sucked his teeth again and nodded, lifting his finger towards the security room. "We're gonna have to take those tapes. That gonna be a problem?"

The kid shook his head and Raylan nodded at Malcolm. "I'll call the room in, you get the tape and we'll head over to Arlo's for the night, unless you feel like a 3 hour drive back, only to come back tomorrow."

He pulled out his phone and headed out the door to get Rachel and Tim on the line.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm fetched the tape while Raylan was on the phone, but his anxiety was ramping up. When Raylan was off the phone, he had to clarify.

"...You mean... sleep? At-at Arlo's? For the night? I... need some things from my hotel room," he said with a frown.

[tinstar]

"Yeah," Raylan replied, confused once again by the oddities of the man he'd found himself saddled with. "That thing people do most of the time when the sun ain't up."

Sliding into the driver's seat of his car, he closed the door and adjusted his hat as Malcolm slid in next to him, sighing.

"Need some things," he echoed, though with his accent it came out a bit like 'thangs' as his hazel mixed eyes gauge Malcolm. "And it's things you absolutely can't do without for one night," he half questioned, half stated.

[abrightboy]

"...I didn't know we weren't going back," he said, which wasn't really an answer to the question. "Did you know we weren't going back?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

[tinstar]

"No, but that's why God made Motels and government paid rooms," Raylan returned just as conversationally. "Lemme ask you this, what is it, exactly that you need? Harlan ain't good for much but we got.. most of what everyone else has got. You need a special neck pillow or something?"

[abrightboy]

"No. ...No, nothing like that. I have..." What? What wasn't weird and also plausible? "Medication that I'm taking." Ah. Not weird and even true. But also concerning. Mitigate, mitigate..... "But I can just take it in the afternoon. When we get back. No big deal." He glanced at Raylan. Convincing, right?

[tinstar]

"Medication." To rhythm with 'uh-huh' in its cadence. He wasn't gunna ask. "Nothing that the Marshall's service can do to..." He gestured uselessly over his steering wheel. "We got CVS's and shit."

He wasn't sure if he should ask what it was for. "You sure?"

[abrightboy]

"It's prescription," he said. "It's fine. What's 'Arlo's place'?"

[tinstar]

"My daddy's house," he replied, turning over the engine so he could roll down the window. He wanted to wait to see Tim's SUV pull up before he pulled away. "I grew up here in Harlan. The Givens have been here for some 3 generations, least til I went down to Miami."

There was Tim. Raylan raised a hand and nodded before putting the car into reverse and getting them on the road again.

"Gives me a place to stay when I'm down here workin' on something. At least til I get it off the market. You ever sold a house before?"

[abrightboy]

"... No. When I worked in DC, I rented a place." A beat. "I still rent a place." From his mother. "In New York."

He looked over at Raylan. "Do your dad still live there?"

[tinstar]

"Damn." Clearly, he was hoping for some pointers.

Raylan kept his eyes on the road, face unchanging as he answered. "Yeah, in the grave plots out front. You'll see 'em - hellva lawn decoration. I think that's why the place won't sell. No one wants generational land with people already in its dirt."

But moving Arlo and his mother and Helen was.. well, unthinkable.

[abrightboy]

"...There are graves in the front?"

Malcolm grew up in a generational home, but the Miltons were not buried in the yard of the posh townhouse.

"That's... personal. Why do you want to sell it?"

Somewhere, 'You'll never leave Harlan Alive' is playing

[tinstar]

"Three full and one waiting with my name on it.. Literally." Not exactly the friendliest reminder that life was short and he'd be in the ground sooner than he meant to be.

Raylan glanced over from his driving for a half second as he answered.

"Because it's personal. And I'm not using the land, or the house. Don't want it, never did. Once it sells and I get finished with some.. cases down here-" Namely Boyd Crowder- "I'm getting on with my life."

Raylan continued. "You got anything in New York besides your rented apartment?"

[abrightboy]

"My family lives there," he said distractedly, watching the line of Raylan's jaw; the tension in his face. "You didn't want to come back here. Something happened that made you. Something personal or something professional? ... Something professional. You had some sort of setback at work that sent you here. Personal came after. When you get rid of the house, where will you go?"

Sorry, Raylan, he can't always shut it off.