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 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."

[abrightboy]

"Quarrrrrlesssss," Martin said, taking a thick file out of the bottom drawer of his desk and starting to flip through it.

He was taking his time, though he kept his fingers busy, checking each letter like it could be any of them.

"So how long have you two been working together?" he asked conversationally as he 'worked'.

[tinstar]

Raylan expected Martin to drag it out but the South was ready for that.

"8 hours. My boss knows the boss of his boss and the NYPD is always and forever happy to push papers off their desk onto anyone else's." Raylan glanced towards Malcolm. "He's the only way we get to you."

No way in hell was he going to give Martin any hints, even if it meant displaying his skill of lying better than he wished it did. But that was the job and for everyone's safety.

"When was the last time you heard from him? Quarals, that is." He wasn't looking to give a lot of room for misunderstanding either.

[abrightboy]

Martin glanced over his shoulder at Malcolm in amusement. "So you're the Surgeon tour guide now, huh? Regret changing your name yet?"

"Not for an instant," Malcolm said tightly.

"He's so serious, isn't he?" Martin said to Raylan like they were old friends as he continued flipping through papers. "God knows he gets that from his mother."

[tinstar]

"Let's focus on the now, hmm?" Raylan asked, with a gesture of his finger before his thumb reset the horseshoe ring on his fingers. "As intriguing as picking the lot of you apart psychologically might be. I'm sure there's a 60 minutes piece on it."

Despite his mouth's urge to ramble, Raylan managed to keep it closed. Mostly.

"When was the last time you heard from Robert Quarles?"

[abrightboy]

"Well, I won't know that until I find his letter, will I?" Martin said with a little laugh. "Malcolm, when did I allegedly receive this letter?" he called over his shoulder.

Malcolm crossed his arms and paced alongside the red line.

"The first was marked received a little over a year ago."

"A year ago. I see." He took a chunk of the papers away and set them back in the drawer, then carried on search through the remaining ones.

[tinstar]

Raylan huffed a breath. "And here I thought he was a genius," he quipped towards Malcolm, not expecting any real response. It was for Martin anyway. "This much information, I wouldn't have any problem remembering the last time I mentored a fellow psychopath. If you're not counting your fans, who is?"

[abrightboy]

"Well, obviously, if you received a letter of acclaim, that'd be memorable," Martin noted. "It's probably never happened before. But, like I said, get them all the time. They kind of start to blur together. How am I supposed to remember one letter from a year ago?" He shook his head and glanced at Raylan. "'Mentor' is an interesting word choice, though. What has my boy been telling you?"

[tinstar]

"Oh, I very much doubt that's the only letter you got from him, but its the only one the hospital has record of. And it's not yer boy that's been saying anything. Your stories tend to speak for themselves.." Raylan bobbed his head thoughtfully.

"Well, that and I got very good reason to think he's coming here to see you. That doesn't happen after one letter. So," he continued, leaning against the near bookshelf to watch Martin working. "I mean, you can try and stick to the bullshit but you're only playing with yourself, at this point."

[abrightboy]

Martin looked up at Raylan, raising his eyebrows and looking entirely delighted.

"I have a stalker? Well. That is exciting." He glanced back at Malcolm and then looked at Raylan. "I suppose I should be asking you for protection, if he's going to try to get in here."

"Dr Whitly, we know you've been corresponding with him. He hasn't kept it a secret. We need to know where he'd hide. He tortures children to death. Be decent for once in your life," Malcolm said bitingly.

Martin swiveled in his chair and looked at Malcolm. "When you say he tortures children to death, do you mean a violent pedophile?"

Malcolm nodded curtly.

"Ah. You should have said so. That I remember. Despicable practice, but I try not to judge other people's proclivities. Rocks, glass houses." He huffed a laugh and looked between the men. "You know how it is."

"No. We don't."

Martin shrugged. "Well, before he headed south, my understanding is he had a place here in the city where he'd, um... take them. I don't know if you've added the runaways he found on the streets that he started with to his total, but because he was mob muscle, he actually took one of their safe houses over without old Sol knowing about it and he used it as his..." Martin contemplated a term. "...intimate boudoir, if you will."

[tinstar]

Apparently, Raylan hadn't framed that information correctly. Something to think about later maybe, but it didn't much matter, as long as they were getting the information that they needed.

"And where about is this place?" If it was one of the addresses on their list, he was going to be irritated. Then again, this was already going a little easier than the thug they had to shake down in New Jersey to get this lead.

[abrightboy]

"Well, I don't know the address but I'm pretty sure it was in Hell's kitchen. A basement mob safehouse that they haven't used since he started killing should be pretty easy to find with your resources," Martin informed them. "You could always ask Sol; from what I hear, surrogate daddy doesn't approve of little Bobby's hobbies," he told them in the tone one might relate page 6 gossip in.

[tinstar]

"Kicked him outta the family for it," Raylan said, leaning in conspiratorially with the words before straightening and nodding. Page 6 gossip wasn't his thing, but if he had to work it, he would.

"Thank you for your help, Dr Whitly. I'm sure Malcolm will keep you up on our success." If he'd had a hat, he would have tipped it. "You have a good day now."

He lifted his eyebrows faintly at Malcolm before lifting his chin at Mr David for him to go ahead and open the door.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm turned to follow Raylan out of the cell.

"Oh, Malcolm," Martin called after him. "You should speak up more. You're a clever boy. You don't want to be dominated in this relationship."

"Good-bye, Dr Whitly," Malcolm told him flatly slipping out the door.

"Any time! Nice to meet you, Deputy!" he shouted after them.

[tinstar]

There was a sense of showmanship that wouldn't let Raylan glance behind him or otherwise acknowledge Martin's cheerful goodbye. Of course, that didn't mean he didn't hear it, or the admonishment to Malcolm. He waited until they were out of view before pausing to let Malcolm get up in stride with him.

"I don't know why but I don't feel like that was a total success. Can't say as to why." But he felt a lot better once he'd collected his gun. Maybe it was Martin's insistence (an invasion is what it felt like) that they had anything other than a decent working relationship that put him off.

"He's... something."

[abrightboy]

"My father, the notorious serial killer," Malcolm said with a sort of weariness. "That was classic him from start to finish."

[tinstar]

"You okay?" he asked as he held the door open for Malcolm out to the parking lot.

[abrightboy]

"Oh..." He waved it off with a 'psh' that was clearly bullshit. "I do this all the time," he said with a nod, like he was trying to convince himself. "You just have to let his manipulation tactics just... go in one ear and right out the other and not, for example, let them burrow their way right into your amygdala."

[tinstar]

"Uh-huh," Raylan sounded, resettling his jacket. He had no idea what that word meant but he knew enough to gather it was some part of the brain. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, people who don't speak up, don't have angry thugs threatening to beat their ass outside. So you've got that goin' for you."

Unlocking the car, Raylan opened and slid into his seat, fishing in his inside pocket for the small notebook that he'd transcribed the list of addresses on, flipping through them.

"But you trust the information, right?"