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

[tinstar]

Raylan's expression was one of amused doubt. He'd heard the stories. Maybe the mental institutions were the exception to the rule. Leading the way out and down, Raylan nodded.

"You tell me where to go, I'll drive," he said, fishing out his keys and unlocking the car. "We'll see if it takes 20 minutes with someone who doesn't know where the hell I am, functionally speaking."

With a turn of the key, the car sprung to life and Raylan pulled them out into traffic.

"Will he know we're coming?"

[abrightboy]

"He'll know someone is coming when the staff put him in his restraints and he'll probably guess that it's me, but he won't know, no," Malcolm answered. "I'm sure they'll tell you the rules when we get there, but... it's really important to stay behind the red line, okay?"

He might not have said anything, except for Raylan's penchant for crossing lines. His insistence on intervening in Malcolm's night terrors scared Malcolm a little, but not as much as him potentially underestimating the Surgeon's... creativity in harming people.

"He kills people in horrible ways for fun."

[tinstar]

Raylan nodded at the first and glanced at Malcolm sidelong at the second, trying to gauge his intent around the warning without crashing them in the narrow streets.

"What happened to the faith in security at the maximum security hospital prison for the criminally insane? Cuffed and chained, he's not killing anyone, boring ways or not. Now I'm not saying I'm gonna poke the bear-" He was going to poke the bear. "-but he can't do much of anything in there."

He could tell Malcolm was still scared of his father, and for good reason. Raylan would agree to that in a heartbeat but the leggy man wasn't keen on his own fear and tended to grind it into a dust.

[abrightboy]

"Cuffed and chained, he's not killing anyone who keeps their butt behind the red line," Malcolm insisted firmly. "That is the security. He's tethered to the wall." He looked at Raylan. Yes, he was afraid of what his father was capable of. Almost as much as he was afraid of whether he was capable of it, too. "Please don't underestimate him. He's a volatile predatory psychopath and he hasn't had the opportunity to kill anyone in twenty years."

[tinstar]

"This isn't my first ride around the block," he reassured, glancing over as he could to Malcolm's worried gaze. "I'm not underestimating anyone." Including himself. "And I'm not planning on giving anyone any chances to do the same, don't worry."

He half expected Malcolm to wrest a promise out of him, at this rate. It really spoke to how deeply held Martin Whitly was.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm huffed a small sigh at that, like he wanted to say anything but couldn't see pushing it any further. He looked out the window, wringing his hands, his right leg bouncing faintly as he tried to swallow his anxiety and preempt his tremor. It wouldn't do to walk into Dr Whitly's cell already displaying a stress reaction.

[tinstar]

"You're still worrying," Raylan accused with a playful faint lift of his eyebrows. "You've come with other people, right? This isn't a new thing for you and him? He attempted to kill any of them?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looked over. "Funny story: my sister did an interview with him for television - I don't know if you caught it - and he'd manipulated another inmate into causing a lockdown at the facility and her cameraman suffered a thoracic stab wound and almost died. I mean, we have the element of surprise compared to them, but even then we all stayed behind the red line."

He looked out the window.

"I usually go alone."

He usually did most things alone.

He clenched his right hand into a tight fist.

[tinstar]

Raylan opted for silence, mulling the immovable idea that Martin wasn't secure where he was. Malcolm's insistence was telling but Raylan wasn't sure if this was something that applied to everyone, or if it had something to do with the firmness Malcolm had used when talking about where Raylan should keep his butt.

There was an impulse to somehow 'properly' reassure Malcolm, but Raylan wasn't sure about how to put it into practice now that he'd already gone through his usual steps. A lot of people worried about what Raylan Givens would do in any given situation, but not normally to this extend. Maybe Winona; she'd used a similar tone with him more than a few times during their marriage.

"Okay, I promise to stay behind the line, alright?" Would that make it better?

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looked over sharply, examining Raylan's profile. He nodded, flexing his hand and then going back to wringing them, but a little less fiercely than before.

"I'd appreciate that."

Claremont soon loomed in front of them and Malcolm pointed to it.

"There's parking around the back."

As Raylan parked the car, Malcolm took a couple of deep breaths, centering himself and calming his anxiety symptoms. When he got out of the car, he put his hands in his coat pockets.

[tinstar]

With a few glances, Raylan seemed satisfied that his promise had worked as intended. Good. Now all he had to do was try and keep that promise. Following Malcolm's indication, Raylan pulled in and parked, stepping out himself and wishing he'd brought his hat all over again.

Stepping up beside Malcolm, Raylan took a deep breath himself and looked over.

"Let's go ask Daddy Dearest some questions and then go find some breakfast."

[abrightboy]

That suggestion made him smile despite himself and he ducked his head as it brightened his face.

"Sounds good," he said.

They reached the doors and Malcolm led the way with the practiced ease of someone who'd been to the registration desk and through the series of increasingly thick locked doors many times.

Finally they stepped through a locked door into a short empty hallway that ended in another locked door. A very tall guard nodded to Malcolm before leading the way down the hall, reading Raylan the Dr Whitly Riot Act.

Then he opened the door and Malcolm stepped in first, though Raylan was a head taller than him and hardly concealed behind him.

The unassuming man inside, dressed in inmate whites and a cozy beige cardigan, got up from his chair with a welcoming smile.

"Malcolm! My boy! What a pleasant surprise."

Malcolm's expression remained carefully neutral. "Dr Whitly," he replied formally.

"And who's your friend?" Martin asked, looking the taller man over.

"This is Deputy United States Marshal Givens," Malcolm explained, stepping aside. "He has some questions about an acquaintance of yours."

"Ooooh a Marshal." He all but rubbed his hands together. "They never tell me anything in here. Has someone escaped?" he asked eagerly.

[tinstar]

Raylan had found that sometimes, a very rare sometimes, short range plans were a good thing. A decent breakfast was more than enough to motivate Raylan to get through it. Even if he didn't need any additional motivation beyond what Malcolm had already put under his belt.

"Nice place," he quipped sincerely as they made their way through the hallways, giving up his gun to the attending guard in the outer layers with a promise that he'd be coming back for that. Raylan glanced at Malcolm as the Riot Act of rules was read to him, faintly lifting his eyebrows in something akin to being impressed. This place was just as worried as Malcolm was.

Finally, they were let into the end room and Raylan only gave Martin a once glance over before his eyes were busy with the rest of the room. "Another bookshelf," he muttered, ambling over, one hand propping on his hip as he started to run a gentle finger over the spines. He reacted to the hum with a half distracted glance over his shoulder before responding.

"Not this time. Least not yet," he addendum with a faint facial shrug as he moved on to idly picking over Martin's desk with a critical eye. "You got a lotta papers here. I'm gussin' surgical records? I hear you're still big in that department, despite your.." Raylan glanced around, one finger turning to gesture broadly to the room. "Living arrangments."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm was visibly vigilant as the dance started, tension across his shoulders and up his spine, his face still carefully schooled.

Martin spared Malcolm a glance, then looked at Raylan as he casually invaded the Surgeon's space with (yet) stepping over the line.

"Interesting accent you've got," he remarked, imitating it as he added "You ain't from around here." He laughed. "Georgia? ...No," he said before Raylan could answer. "Kentucky! Kentucky, right?" he guessed, still grinning.

[tinstar]

He had made a promise, after all. Raylan offered no hints and smirked warmly. "Good ear. You must have been, at some point. Not a lot of New York years can tell the difference between hillbillies. You ever been to Memphis? Tennessee?"

There was a point behind the question - Quarles had moved through there for the Dixie Mafia a few times as they dealt with the Memphis Mafia. Martin might have gone there when he was younger, made a connection or two that Quarles might know.

Common threads and all.

[abrightboy]

Martin thought about it - or at least put on a show of thinking about it - and then admitted "I've been to Nashville. They had a conference there for advancements in heart surgery in '96." He smiled. "I was the keynote speaker," he revealed, looking at Malcolm and then at Raylan. "Not that I saw much of the city but..." he shrugged. "I'm not a big country music fan anyway." He looked at Malcolm again. "You remember that week I went to Nashville, right? I brought you one of those engineering kits they sold in the gift shop at the Adventure Science Center and we built it together that weekend."

Malcolm pressed his lips together but didn't dignify that reminiscence with a response.

[tinstar]

Raylan glanced at Malcolm before he chuckled. "Too bad. You only saw what was on the brochure. Never been to Graceland? Shame," he continued conversationally. If the South had one thing going for them, it was that they could talk about seemingly nothing at all for time in memorium. "Only good part of Memphis that's worth a hoot.. You.. never answered me 'bout these papers - how do you spend your time here, Mr. Whitly?"

[abrightboy]

Martin's expression flickered before becoming coolly amicable again.

"That's a fairly... pedestrian attempt at riling me up," he noted. "You know it's Doctor Whitly. You heard Malcolm say it when you came in," he explained matter-of-factly. "And I expect you already know what I do if you've spent any amount of time with Malcolm." He glanced between them, gauging that. He raised his eyebrows at Raylan. "But my proclivities are easy to look up on the internet, I expect. What are you doing here?"

[tinstar]

Raylan hitched his eyebrows and laughed, glancing at Malcolm as though Martin had just told a very clever joke. "I know that you were once a doctor, yes, but that doesn't make you one now. Not exactly serving the general population in here, are you? It doesn't matter," Raylan said, dismissing it with a casual wave of his hand before pointing back over at Martin's desk and ambling that way.

"I am here about your papers, sir. More specifically, what they are and how long you've been a pen pal to the outside. You must have some interesting friends," he continued, turning one of the wide stiff paper binders towards him and popping the button keeping it shut. "Your 'proclivities' so easy to search. New York does love talking about you."

[abrightboy]

Martin's eyes followed Raylan's hands as they opened the binder of patient files.

"All of my work is sanctioned by the hospital. I'm just... in here saving lives," he said airily. "But tell New York I'm flattered." He clasped his hand. "But you mentioned pen pals. You must know I get a lot of fan mail." Laughing, he remarked "People just love serial killers, you know!" He shrugged modestly. "I wouldn't call them my friends, though. Truth be told, my friends largely fled after my arrest. Good thing I was always a family man first," he said, looking at Malcolm. "Friends are fleeting but family is forever, right Malcolm?"

"Dr Whitly, we know you've corresponded with a man named Robert Quarles," Malcolm said evenly. "Can we see his letters?"

Martin thought about it. "Doesn't ring a bell," he said.

[tinstar]

"Ah but what do the guards know, right?" Raylan asked as he started thumbing through the files, only half looking at them. "I'm sure a smart man like you can get around those rules, right? Because records here show you receiving a letter from a man with that name, so I very much doubt a new fanatic student, lavishing you with praise slips your mind so easily."

Raylan gave Martin a smile. "We're not interested in you beyond possibly letting you take a fraction of credit for stopping a known child molestor and murderer. In the interest of families."

[abrightboy]

"I receive a lot of letters," Martin told them with an easy shrug. "And I assure you, they're all quite effusive. I had three marriage proposals last month, as a matter of fact. I had to let them down easy," he told Raylan faux-conspiratorially. "If you've ever met my wife, she's a glamourous wolverine."

Malcolm rolled his eyes restlessly.

"There's no following that act," he said with a laugh.

"Dr Whitly," Malcolm said sharply. "Deputy Givens is giving you the opportunity to cooperate, but we don't actually need you for this."

He turned to Raylan.

"The staff can remove Dr Whitly from the cell and we can search through his things until we find the letters ourselves. He would never throw them away." He glanced at Martin. "He's a raging narcissist. His ego wouldn't let him."

[tinstar]

The Marshal slid steely and yet still somehow quietly amused look over to the good Doctor. He would have thought Martin aware of those rules, as sharp as he was, but Raylan wasn't looking to push Martin.. Not like that, anyway.

It seemed wiser to not confirm anything regarding Malcolm's mother, so he opted not to. Glamourous wolverine was a very apt description though. How would Martin feel about the two men before them being at a Gala, dressed by and at her invitation?

"It's your choice, Martin. Like I said, we're not interested in you - no charges, no follow ups. We're just lookin for a little help. Malcolm here thought you might be inclined, but if you're not.." Raylan shrugged, entirely with his face and moved towards the door, one hand crooking and lifting to knock on the window. If Martin changed his mind before Raylan's knuckle hit the window, Raylan wouldn't knock, but that was the game of it, wasn't it.

[abrightboy]

Martin sat in his chair.

"What did you say his name was?" he asked nonchalantly. "Obviously I'm happy to help." He tilted his head towards Malcolm. "I help with his cases all the time. If you say this man sent me a letter at some point, I can check," he offered generously.

[tinstar]

Progress. Raylan stopped short and looked over his shoulder, half turning that way. "Robert Quarles. Psydo-son of Sol Tonin. Letters would have come post stamped from the south or here in New York. Jersey, maybe."