See No Evil: Part Two

by Lise

II.
speak no evil.
--

"No."

Logan was strangely silent. "Agent Braddock, this is just a fact-finding trip," Scott said, looking to Logan for support. Logan remained silent. "It's been ordered."

Betsy said "no," again, but the fight was gone out of her.

The agent seen most in Braddock's company came up just then, a Kitty Pryde. Scott nodded politely. She looked barely old enough to be out of college, never mind working undercover for vice. "Agent Braddock?" she said. "I have those--"

Betsy took half the papers out of her hand with a last angry look at Logan, and stalked off. Scott frowned. Kitty smiled at them both. "I heard that you two are going to come with us," she said. "To Emma's."

"You call her Emma?" Logan asked. "That regulation?"

Kitty pursed her lips, tapped one finger on the desk. Scott peered at the papers she was holding, getting a glimpse of some familiar faces. Kitty retorted, "I'm undercover. I have to keep that up every day."

Logan nodded. Scott blinked. He rarely saw Logan capitulate to anyone. "Fair enough," Logan answered. "Listen, you wanna do me and Slim," and he jerked his thumb at Scott, "a favour? Can you keep an eye out for boys that people pay for? Expensive ones. Maybe ones that switch hit for clients." He paused a minute, and added casually, "nothing but the best, if you know what I mean."

Kitty frowned. "For a case?"

"Yeah," Logan answered. "For a case."

"Is it the Worthington case?"

Logan stared at her, patiently, until she excused herself. Scott turned to Logan. "Did you see what she had in her hands?"

Logan nodded, grabbing his car keys. "Bobby Drake. Warren Worthington."

Scott chewed on his lip. He hadn't seen Logan look down at her hands once. No way could he have known. No way. He followed Logan out.

~

"Xavier ordered us to work together," Betsy hissed, flipping her hair off her shoulders, "but that doesn't mean I like it. You two," and one well-manicured hand waved to indicate Logan and Scott, "are far too heavy handed for such a delicate--"

Logan grabbed her wrist, tightening his grip. "We're all decked out, darlin'," and she tore her hand away from his grasp, glaring. He continued, "Don't ruin such a nice evening."

Kitty, on Scott's other side, looked nervous. Betsy composed herself, massaging her wrist. "Shall we?"

Scott went to take Kitty's elbow, but Betsy did first, standing in front of the two men. He straightened his bowtie conscientiously, and waited for someone to answer the door.

They didn't have long to wait.

~

"Katherine," Emma said, taking her elbow from Betsy, "Charmed. Champagne?"

Kitty took a crystal flute of champagne, and held her glass up. "To you, Emma," she said with a little smile. "Thank you for inviting me again."

Emma tilted her own glass towards Kitty, and sipped. Kitty did the same. "So, Katherine, tell me everything about yourself."

Emma monopolized her time, and Kitty, a few minutes in, realized that she was being subtly interrogated. She never would have realized it if Agent Braddock hadn't done the very same thing the very first time the two of them had met, and then played the tape back to her a dozen times, pointing out the flaws until Kitty had the whole conversation memorized. Braddock had made her repeat her answers, one after another with slightly different intonations, until she felt like a completely different person. One made in Betsy's image.

"I did go to college, yes," Kitty answered, "Computer engineering."

"You must have a magnificent mind," Emma said, grabbing them two more glasses of champagne from a young man carrying a tray. He smiled at Kitty, nodded briefly, and disappeared into the crowd in the other room.

Don't mention anything about thinking logically or rationally, Kitty instructed herself silently. She sipped, to give herself time to collect her answers. The boy who'd smiled at her looked familiar somehow, she'd seen him, or read about him. He couldn't have been much older than twenty. It was jarring to recognise someone and not be able to place them. "I enjoyed it," Kitty finally said. "You can get a kind of--"

She was about to say 'intuition', but then paused. That was another word she wasn't supposed to use. Despite herself, she glanced briefly over Emma's shoulder, and saw Logan walking towards the same boy, puffing on a Cuban cigar. Kitty was sure it was from Emma's own private store. The boy ducked behind a curtain, out of sight, and Logan stopped. Kitty could clearly see his irritated expression.

"--a questioning sense, I suppose," she continued, "about why you're studying something that seems next-to irrelevant. It was very difficult to find a job," and Kitty grinned a little, trying to keep her answer light.

Emma nodded sympathetically. "I've heard that many times over," she replied. "It's difficult for even the most intelligent people to find satisfying work."

Kitty made sure she was leaning in just enough, tilting her head up just enough so that she looked submissive yet not weak. She said, "it must be nice."

Emma actually paused for a second or two, and then smiled for real, a wide stretch of frosted lips and blur of white teeth. "*Very* charmed, Katherine," she said, and nodded to her. "Talk to me later, we'll discuss your employment if you'd wish. I am always on the lookout for intelligent people, and I think I may have a lucrative position for you, if you're interested. One of my firms requires someone."

Kitty smiled at her again, letting hope show in her eyes. She was supposed to jump at any chances to work for Emma, and it seemed like Emma liked her well enough, respected that she might be useful. Kitty couldn't help mulling over her answer to the question of whether Emma's work was satisfying. It was daring to question Emma in any sense. Kitty sat down on a delicate sofa and watched the crowd mingle on a subconscious level. The people were just shadows, the lighting not quite bright enough to let anyone see each other's faces properly. Emma had been pleased by the daring, Kitty decided. It seemed that Betsy, who'd advised her to be submissive above all else, didn't know Emma as well as she thought.

She continued to sit, sip champagne, until the same boy Logan had been following appeared at her elbow, with a tray of drinks. He looked a little pale this time, however. Kitty couldn't see Logan anywhere, or anyone she recognised. "May I ask you a question?" she murmured to the boy.

"Oui," he said, and put the drink tray down. "What d'you want t'know?"

"Do you enjoy working with Emma Frost?" Kitty wasn't sure why she was asking. Braddock obviously preferred this climate. Logan didn't seem comfortable anywhere. "Is it difficult?"

The boy leaned back, tucking hair behind his ears. He was very attractive, and Kitty realized that he was probably one of the actual prostitutes, a host; not a servant like she'd originally thought. "Is she tryin' t'get you t'work for her?"

"It was insinuated." She looked at him. "Is that good?"

He frowned, and brushed hair out of his face again. "Then y' be careful about who y' work with."

"What do you--" and then Betsy appeared from nowhere, smiling. Kitty looked up; the boy stood, handed Betsy a glass of champagne, and disappeared again. The smile plastered on Betsy's face was the same one she wore every time they met at the station. "Hello there," Kitty said to her.

"Come with me please," and the smile dropped off her face.

Kitty rose, and followed her into a bathroom, with elegant grey granite sinks and pure white marble tiles. One of the pure silver taps was on, dripping against the basin. "What were you doing?" Betsy asked her, arms crossed. Her red lips were thin and angry.

"I was--" She'd been asking questions of one of Emma's boys, she realized suddenly. That's why she'd felt compelled to speak with him. "It was," and she tried to think of an answer. Betsy continued to stare at her. Finally, Kitty said, "Logan asked--"

"You don't work for Logan," Betsy said sharply, "you work for me. Are you homicide? No. You're vice. Do your job."

Kitty bit her lip, getting lipstick on her teeth. She glanced in the mirror, and then carefully, with a tissue, wiped it away. The tissue looked grotesque, sitting in the garbage can, a blotch of bright pink against white. Kitty pulled another piece of tissue off the roll and covered the lipstick up.

Betsy put a hand on her hip, tapping her manicure against the silk of her dress. "Tell me what you're going to do when you go out there."

Kitty patted her hair, feeling the soft curls bounce back against her palm. "I'm going to talk politely to Ms. Frost, and hopefully she'll continue to invite me to dinner."

"And?"

Kitty pulled out her lipstick, applying more carefully. She said, "and I'm not going to talk to anyone else about anything aside from the weather," and dabbed at her lips.

Betsy smiled at her reflection, and put a hand on Kitty's neck, caressing her collarbone in what was probably meant as a soothing gesture. "Good." Betsy's hand was cold. "Because that's Logan's department, and you know he's handling it. You're a good agent," Betsy said, "just follow procedure."

"Okay," Kitty said. "Okay."

When the two of them went back out to the party, most of the guests had disappeared. Kitty looked around, and watched Betsy stride off down the corridor and up a flight of stairs. She looked around once more, and then set off uncertainly. Around a corner, she saw the same boy. He was rubbing his forehead, leaning out an open window. The hand holding his cigarette made little circles along his temple; once and a while he'd flick ash into the ashtray on the sill. She could swear his hand was shaking.

Kitty sat on a chair, watching him. She knew that Emma was probably expecting her, but people disappeared in her house all the time; it would probably look better if, at least once, she showed up late. She could always use the excuse that she needed a moment to herself. People would accept that of a person at a party. The boy didn't look at her, but she'd bet he was aware of her presence. He continued to chain-smoke. The butts, he ground out carefully into the ashtray on the windowsill.

Kitty had a feeling that he'd take the ashtray with him.

~

Scott wasn't sure what, exactly, he was supposed to be doing. Kitty had disappeared, obviously having other things on her mind, and Logan was talking to Emma quietly. Wandering past the two of them, he heard, "--no, mostly from work, we don't actually spend time socially--" which was a very odd phrase to hear from Logan. He moved away again.

A young girl with a white stripe in her hair smiled up at him, suddenly. "You care to go upstairs?" she said. "It's quieter there, we could talk."

Scott smiled. "I have to wait for them," and he was about to nod to Logan and Betsy, but realized that both of them had disappeared. He could just see Logan's back following Emma's very shapely form into the dining room. Most everyone else had already gone to eat. "Well," and he put his champagne down. "I'm mostly here on business, understand," he said to her with a charming smile.

The girl smiled back, a little bashful, and pretty. "I'd like to chat with you, is all," she answered. "But we can do that here as well as anywhere. Who's your favourite Renaissance painter?"

Scott was taken aback; he dug in his memory for some knowledge of art. "Perhaps I'm a horrible dunce, but I enjoy Michaelangelo."

The girl smiled, taking his elbow in her delicately gloved hand. "So you're not one for art," and she led him over to a couch. "What about literature?" Off Scott's blank face, she smiled gently. "Proverbs," she said. "You look like a man who deals in proverbs."

"From time to time," he told her. The girl had a cool palm on his knee, and Scott wondered if she was trying to get him as a client. For one wild moment, he considered accepting.

"My favorite proverb," she said, "is 'see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil." Scott was barely listening to her as she spoke; her fingers were caressing his knee gently, his thigh. "They say," she said, "that the saying comes from 17th century Japan, from carvings of three wise monkeys in the Nikko Toshogo shrine."

"Hmm," Scott said agreeably. The girl had some kind of floral perfume on, and her voice lilted softly. She was southern.

"But they say," she continued, "that the gesturing monkeys were actually introduced to Japan from China in the eighth century by a Buddhist monk." She leaned forward. Scott found himself turned on. "That would make them hundreds of years old," she told him. "Something that old has to be important, I figure," she said, in her sweet voice.

"Really?" Scott said, trying to sound interested. He wondered if it would blow the case if he ended up in bed with this girl.

Her hand went still, suddenly, and she looked away from Scott. The girl said, "I've always wondered what the saying means."

Scott blinked, jarred, and leaned away from her. He looked at her pink nails, laying still on his trousers, and said, "what?" He was about to grab her wrist, when Betsy's voice in his head shocked him into forgetting all about the girl.

#Scott,# Betsy hissed in his mind, #Logan. Would you kindly stop talking to the snake in the grass and come give me a hand?#

Scott stood up, and down the stairs, he saw Logan bow, gruffly, to Emma Frost, who nodded at him coolly. "Thanks fer your time, Ms. Frost." Logan's voice drifted up to him on the landing, as Scott watched them speaking.

She raised a fine eyebrow. "As ever, Logan." Logan looked up at Scott, obviously not surprised to see him there. He made his way up to where Scott was standing, and looked up. Two floors above them, Betsy was peering down at them from over the railing, looking quite trapped. For a minute, Scott considered stranding her there.

#Don't you dare.# Her small smile showed teeth.

~

Betsy unlocked a door with one of her hairpins, and opened it to a dead body on the floor. This one was an attractive older man, maybe in his fifties or sixties, who'd been shot in the chest. Scott gingerly stuck a finger in the overturned wine decanter. It was half-spilled, and the rest was rapidly evaporating; they'd have to get a sample soon. His finger started to tingle – it was obviously toxic, some kind of neural agent, maybe one to work with a mutation. "Why not just poison him?" Scott said, immediately. "Why take the time to drug him, then take the risk of shooting him? Even with a silencer, someone might have heard. Speaking of hear, Braddock, you didn't sense anything?"

Betsy shook her head. Logan stood against the door. He seemed loathe to approach this body, leaned quietly, obviously in thought.

"Brazen," Scott said. "With at least one telepath downstairs, at a party, he slips in and caps this guy." Scott scratched his scalp, feeling his fingertip tingle, then pulled his hand away from his head. "Why do it here?"

It was Betsy who answered, "Because he wanted to." Quietly, "it couldn't be simple."

"Plus you wouldn't wanna risk a mutant that controls metal around a revolver," Logan said., and pointed to the decanter. "You're safe, Slim, it'll just play with yer nerves." Scott pulled his phone out, ready to call the station-house, when Logan's hand shot out to grip his wrist. "Don't," Logan said quietly. "Just don't. We don't know what we have yet, and it could ruin Betsy's whole operation."

Scott kneeled closer to the man – his eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Logan kneeled beside him. "Do you know him?" Scott asked quietly, hopefully quiet enough that Betsy couldn't hear.

"Yeah," Logan answered. "He owns the New York Times. Or at least enough shares to control the board." He stared at the wound. "This is Erik Lensherr."

Scott put his phone away. Betsy covered her mouth. She didn't look startled, or surprised – rather, upset. "Did you know him?" Scott asked her. She didn't reply.

Logan said gruffly, "we're gonna have to move fast to keep a lid on this," and then, "someone had better go get Emma."

~

Emma, of course, was right outside the door. "What are you all doing here?" she asked sharply. Logan gave no sign of having heard her, staring at Lensherr's wound. Betsy was looking at her shoes, face red. There wasn't much point in trying to stay undercover any longer; Scott held his badge out for Emma's inspection. Ms. Frost turned directly to Betsy. "Elizabeth, I'm offended."

Her words were icy. Betsy looked stung, mouth a thin line, face pale. "I apologize for this, Emma. There's. We have another job to do--"

Emma crossed her arms under her breasts. "I will help you find out who did this, you may be sure of that. I'll leave you with this," and she indicated the body on the floor.

At the doorway, she added, "You will understand if I ask you not to come back here after tonight without a proper warrant, however." Betsy shrank into herself even more. Scott bent down, examining the victim. Examining Betsy could wait.

~

"Come and have a beer, Slim," Logan said, holding out a Miller's Draft bottle. The condensation on the outside was inviting and cold, the bottle looked slick and cool.

"I, thanks, but."

Logan jerked the bottle. "Have a beer. Sit down."

Scott took the drink and held it gingerly, sitting on the edge of Logan's sofa.

What had they found out? Scott drank the beer, half of it in one swallow, impulsively. Precious little. Erik Lensherr had a normal sexual appetite that he was hard-pressed to fulfill when sixteen hours of every day were devoted to his newspaper. He liked younger men than himself, preferred them brunette, and was often seen in the company of three different young men under Emma Frost's employ. "And Remy has rarely been home in the past several days," she had said.

Scott had asked, "Home?" but shrugged when Betsy levelled her best angry glare at him. Something in Betsy's face looked dangerous and wounded. In the background, a quiet forensics team was going over the room, the wine, the body – Logan had made the call. Erik would be taken out of the house through the servants' entrance. Most of the other guests had not been informed. The killer, Logan was sure, was already long gone. Scott hadn't bothered asking whether he thought it was Creed or whether he thought Creed had escaped his tail.

Scott had asked Emma, "do you know where we could find Remy LeBeau?"

Emma had not.

"What do you think?" Scott asked, finally settling down on Logan's sofa more comfortably. "We find this kid, we get the killer?"

Logan shook his head abruptly. "Something ain't right," he said. "If it was Creed, how'd we miss him tonight? And the kid ran, but whoever killed Wagner didn't even bother. This kid ain't evil, probably not even that dangerous," he said.

It was odd, coming from Logan's mouth. "Not evil?" Scott said, laughing weakly. "Or maybe some are just more evil than others."

Logan looked up sharply, his head whipped around to face Scott. Scott blinked a few times, while Logan studied him. Scott realized it was the first time he'd ever been invited into Logan's apartment before. He didn't really know what it looked like because they were sitting in the dark. Finally, Logan relaxed. "It doesn't matter," he said. "The kid hasn't gone back to Emma's, and he won't now, so unless he wants to be found--"

Someone had got a hold of Bobby Drake's story and plastered it all over the eleven o'clock news. They'd got to Logan's place in just enough time to see the story. "Would *you* want to be found?"

~

Kitty met Agent Braddock at the pre-arranged diner off the highway, and was shocked to see that Betsy was already there, tapping her fingers on the counter nervously. "What happened?" Kitty said.

Betsy moved to a table and sank into a chair, putting her face in her hands. Kitty had a feeling she didn't know how upset she looked. "I suppose you'll find it all out – there was another murder, upstairs," she said. "As everyone was eating."

"But." Kitty sat, took in Betsy's upset, shocked. Something Betsy had done had changed her, had made her vulnerable. Kitty bet that Emma hadn't been pleased. Kitty said, "And you investigated?"

"I found the body," Betsy said. "Logan and Scott are still there."

"So Emma knows about you," Kitty murmured.

Betsy's head shot up, and the glare she gave Kitty was momentarily angry, almost hateful. Then she closed her eyes, nodding. "You're the only one still in Emma's good graces," Betsy answered. "You might be assigned head of our case."

"If she knows about you," Kitty said slowly, "she also knows about me--"

"It doesn't matter." Betsy ran a hand through her hair. "Emma always knew who you were. She's beginning to trust you, be careful to stay discreet, keep your priorities and you'll run the case well."

"But I don't want--"

"Take it for what it is," Betsy said, and there was no malice in her voice or posture. "I welcome the vacation. If you can keep yourself focused, help catch the bastards who are beating up on Emma's people, more power to you."

Kitty was also fairly sure that Agent Braddock wasn't aware of how different she sounded right now. She looked utterly drained, mask gone. Kitty paused for a moment, reviewing the conversation in her mind. "Good graces?" she asked.

Betsy didn't answer. Kitty had a feeling that she hadn't lost any of her previous affection for Emma. She rather thought that Betsy wanted very much to interact with Emma without work getting in the way.

~

"Where are we going?" Scott asked. Logan just kept driving. The morning sunshine was definitely at odds with Scott's mood. Logan had roused him out of bed at eight thirty and said to be ready for breakfast in ten minutes. He'd barely had time for a shower, but since Logan was dressed casual, not even prepared for the office, Scott wasn't too worried about his still-damp hair and jeans. He readjusted his sunglasses.

Logan pulled in at a diner just off the highway. He turned to Scott. "We're just goin' in for a friendly meeting," he said, "so don't say too much, all right?"

They went inside. Scott understood the warning when he saw Emma Frost sitting, back to the wall and sipping orange juice, in a booth at the back of the room. She held her hand out to Scott, and he shook it. "Scott, good morning," she told him pleasantly. "Logan, what do you want?"

Logan slid into the booth; Scott followed his lead. He suddenly realized that they'd gone to the same diner the night of the Worthington and Drake murders. "I'll have a waffle to go," Logan said.

"I mean," Emma replied impatiently, "what do you want with me?"

The waitress came, and Logan ordered for he and Scott. The waitress filled their coffee cups, and Scott watched Logan put honey in his instead of sugar. "Need a favor."

"Obviously," Emma said icily. "I assume this is important, as well, or you wouldn't have abused the privilege of having the number to my private line."

Logan stirred his coffee thoughtfully. "What do you think of what happened last night?" he finally asked. "Any thoughts?"

Emma pursed her lips. "Erik was a good friend. Surely you do not think I had the slightest to do with this? Logan, you *know* I would not--"

"No, no," Logan cut her off rather abruptly. "I just want your gut impression. What was goin' on? How could someone have got into the house?"

Emma leaned back, a little more relaxed. "There were close to a hundred people in my house that night, and I do not have surveillance cameras in the majority of my rooms. I have no idea."

Logan smiled grimly. "Didn't expect you'd have filmed it, nah." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Look, we're pretty sure on who's doin' it. Just need to figure out how he got inside."

Emma sipped her orange juice. Even during the day time, at nine in the morning in jeans, she had the air of being perfectly made up. Her lips were clean of lipstick and still Scott kept thinking they shone, every time he caught them out of the corner of his eye. "The most likely way would be straight through the front door," she said slowly, "because I do not greet all of my guests personally."

Logan chuckled. "Guess we're special." Scott was holding his cup of coffee by the rim instead of the handle, trying to decide whether he actually wanted to drink it. It was scalding his hand. Logan had his fingers wrapped around the entire cup, and didn't seem to notice the heat. Logan said, "But we didn't see our guy at the party, so is there any other way?"

Emma stood, taking her purse and coat. "I will enquire. Your number is the same?" Logan inclined his head. "Thank you for breakfast," she said, and then swept out of the restaurant.

"What was all that about?" Scott asked. "We know who it is?"

"Had ta be Creed," Logan said, unconcerned. "Just gotta figure out how he got inside and to Lensherr with a party going on."

Scott put his cup down, poured a bit of cream in it and stuck the spoon in. The most logical answer was that Creed had help getting into Emma's house. It had to be someone who lived there. Scott said, "You think the kid was there last night too?"

The waitress came with their boxed waffles. Logan pulled out a twenty dollar bill, and slapped it down on the table. "Don't know anything," he told Scott. "Come on."

"Is Emma likely to help?" Scott asked. Logan nodded. "How are you so sure?"

"Did her a favor once," Logan said.

Scott asked automatically, "what kind of favor?" Logan simply unlocked the door for him, and waited by the passenger door until Scott climbed into the car.

~

Betsy wandered into the storage room, mug of coffee in her hand. Scott couldn't help but notice she wasn't wearing one of her usual silk dresses, but a business suit, even a tie. "Scott, what are you doing all the way down here in Records?"

Scott nodded politely to her. "Looking up some records," he said. "How are you, Agent Braddock?"

"So formal," she said, sitting down across from him. The only thing that was the same about her was her shoes – still spindly heels, still elegant and sharp. The suit made her look like a banker and hid her beauty; her hair was pinned up and almost messy. Without overt make-up, even, Betsy looked almost normal. Nothing shone on her eyes, no powder on her cheeks. She eyed him from over her cup. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

He was about to ask her if she knew anything about Victor Creed or Remy LeBeau or Erik Lensherr – and then clicked his teeth together, once. "Was Logan upstairs, did you see?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Your partner missing?"

"He went on an errand," Scott replied. "I was merely wondering if he'd come back yet."

Betsy stood gracefully, leaving her cup on Scott's table. The imprint of lipstick was barely visible around the rim, some neutral natural color. "I'll leave you to it," she said, but not before pulling out her own file from two shelves down. Scott tried to see what it said, but somehow she hid the label from view. He heard her chatting to the sergeant on duty, and peered through the bookcases. She definitely didn't sign the folder out.

~

Logan came back with a scrap of napkin in his hand and a fierce expression. Scott had gotten into the car without one word.

"This is it," Logan said, turning his four by four off. The engine died, leaving the only sounds in the street the birds and the squeals of children from the park; somewhere, distant, a dog barked insistently.

They walked up the drive, and Scott said, "Are you sure we're at the right address?"

The shabby brownstone, squat against the rest of the suburban landscape, was utterly unremarkable. It was old, run-down. Nothing else was apparent, except for the unusual knocker they could see on the front door.

Logan squinted at the door for a second or two, and then shrugged. "Came out all this way, might as well make sure."

Scott raised his hand, and carefully banged on the door. The three monkeys on the knocker rattled. One had his hand over his ears, smirking, one over his mouth, eyes widened. The third little monkey had his hands over his eyes, and the expression was completely unreadable, hidden beneath little monkey fingers. It was creepy.

A woman in a housecoat opened the door, crossed her arms. She didn't open the screen. "Can I do something for you?"

Logan flashed his badge. "We're looking for Jean Luc."

She immediately tensed up, shoulders hunched and mouth thin. "No one by that name here."

Scott tilted his head. "This is his registered address."

The front door opened inward, but she was leaning against the doorsill so that they could barely see into the ground floor. "Jean Luc doesn't." She looked away. "He moved."

Scott coaxed, "We really need to find him. Can you help?"

"What's he done?" Eyes suspiciously flashing from him to Logan and back again. "I never had any part of any of Jean Luc's--"

"Never said you did, ma'am," Scott interrupted. "We're looking for him--"

"The boy," Logan said, flicking his cigar butt down. He stepped on it, ground it out onto her sagging front porch. "Remy. You know where he is?"

The effect was immediate; the woman's eyes widened and she put a hand over her mouth just like her door knocker. "Merde, non, non," and then a string of what sounded like Creole French, desperate and worried, cursing them, then slamming the door in their faces.

Scott muttered, "We're never going to get anywhere here. Can't bring her in on charges, can't search the place. Our hands are tied."

Logan turned on his heel, stomping back to their car. Scott traced his finger over the woman's front door, the strange knocker. The design was familiar, he'd seen it somewhere. It would come to him eventually.

~

"May I suggest the peach?" Betsy said. She held the lipstick tube out to Kitty, smiling. "It will compliment your complexion."

Kitty took it from her, and put some on. "I don't know if I can do this," she admitted. "I'm scared to be going in with no back-up."

"Don't worry," Betsy replied, "you have nothing to fear in Emma's house. Even if she does admit that you're not just a computer programmer, the worst she'll do is ask you to leave. Fair enough?" Betsy stared at her. "After all, that's all she did with Logan and Scott."

And you, Kitty thought. She re-adjusted her dress. "You three have seniority, a working relationship."

"Emma liked you well enough, Pryde," Betsy snapped, "you'll do your job and you'll do it well."

"Should I take her job offer?"

Betsy handed Kitty her purse. "Of course."

Kitty followed her back out to the elegant lounge. They were in the same bar they'd met the first night they worked together; Kitty still didn't know the name of the place. Betsy went to sit at the bar. "Have a drink with me, Betsy," Kitty said, impulsively, "before Emma's car arrives for me."

Betsy's eyes widened. "See?" she finally said, "you're the perfect agent for this job. You can do this."

Kitty pulled a cigarette case out of her purse, and looked around for matchbooks. The bartender handed her a little crystal bowl full of matchboxes, white with no name, nothing at all except a tiny replica of the animal insignia outside the door. "What's this lounge called, ma'am?" Kitty asked, quietly.

"Two glasses of port, please," Betsy told the bartender in a pleasant voice, "and may I see a menu as well?" She turned to Kitty, saying lightly, "seeing as I am no longer welcome for dinner at Emma's, I'd better make other plans."

Kitty nodded. She looked around, and then pocketed the box of matches, putting them in her coat rather than her purse. "Do you want me to look for anything specific, tonight?"

Betsy sighed. "I'm going to have to ask you to keep an eye out for a particular boy," she said, as if the very thought was a little distasteful. She slipped Kitty a photograph across the bar of an extremely handsome young man, long reddish hair, in sunglasses.

"I saw him!" Kitty whispered. "The last time we were at Emma's."

Immediately, Betsy's whole demeanour changed and she leaned forward. Kitty recognised the change from relaxed to working instantly, her spine straightening, her eyes just a little bit narrowed. "Where? For how long? Did you see where he went?"

Kitty studied the photograph. "Can I have this?" she said. "I won't let on how I got it or anything." Betsy nodded, clearly waiting for her to answer. "He was serving in the parlour where I was talking to Emma. He ducked out to the kitchen every once and a while, but immediately came back with a tray." She hesitated. "Logan tried to talk to him but then he disappeared, maybe for five minutes?"

Betsy sat up straighter. She was frowning. "Logan saw him, tried to talk to him?"

"He ducked out of sight – but then I saw him, probably five minutes later, maybe less, in a hallway near the side door. He was just leaning out the window and smoking."

"When? How long was he there?"

Kitty glanced to the door; her car was already waiting. But it would do Emma's driver no disservice to keep him waiting a few minutes. Emma would understand. And being seen with Betsy wouldn't hurt her any – since Emma already had the two of them pegged as associates. "I sat with him for almost fifteen minutes. I missed the first course."

Betsy was still frowning. "I was already upstairs by then."

Kitty nodded slowly. "You were." She looked towards the entrance; Emma's driver was still leaning patiently against the Lincoln. "This is about Logan's case, isn't it?" Betsy looked at her sharply. "The Worthington case."

"Are you sure this boy didn't disappear for longer? Not ever?"

Kitty shook her head. "I was watching him fairly closely because," and she swallowed. "I suppose because he was attractive." She paused. "And Logan's interest caught my interest."

"Yes, you're good at noticing things other people think are trivial," Betsy answered, distracted. "I'm going to move to a table, get some work done." She smiled at Kitty, standing up. Kitty drained her drink and did the same. "You'd better not keep Emma waiting any longer, right?"

Betsy took the menu, her glass of untouched port, and her soft briefcase to a table in the corner, and sat down, obviously getting ready to work. Kitty walked across the lounge as slowly as possible, glancing at Betsy from the corner of her eye, but Betsy did nothing but study the menu until Kitty couldn't see her anymore.

~

Now they had the first glimpses of proof that it wasn't a typical serial killer, despite the evidence to the contrary, it was about time to tell the chief. Scott knocked on Xavier's door lightly, half-hoping he wasn't in today. "Come in," he called out, and Scott's heart sank. "Ah, yes, Scott, come in. How are you?" Xavier asked politely.

"It's about the Worthington case, sir--" Scott answered. It was hot in Xavier's office, hot and muggy like the city, and not like the rest of the building. Maybe his air conditioning was broken.

"Yes, I called in some help for you two on that," Xavier said, smiling. "The FBI sent someone down. I gave him the reports we have so far," Xavier continued, "and he said he'd get right on it." Scott was shocked, and it obviously showed, because Xavier immediately added, "no, no, don't worry, he understands you and Logan are in charge of the case. The profiler is simply in town to aid us in identifying what kind of man could do these crimes. He has a lot of experience with multiple murderer cases."

Scott was taken aback. "You called in a profiler?" he said. There was a tapping sound coming from somewhere, a faint tapping that was getting steadily louder. "For the Worthington case."

Xavier nodded. "After rereading your work, I thought it prudent." He shifted, suit jacket momentarily bunching up. "The best profiler the FBI has," he added.

"Oh," Scott said. Now Xavier was pushing the investigation in the direction of a serial killer. Scott looked down at the smudged report clutched in his hand, Remy LeBeau's name in there somewhere. He turned on his heel to leave.

~

"It was a phone call," the uniform told Scott, "one of the Vice agents saw him downtown." He scratched his head. "How'd you say you were involved?"

Scott didn't answer the man, chewing on his lip for a minute. He was staring through the window of one of the interrogation rooms, where a young kid, maybe twenty, was sitting at the table and looking right at the two-way mirror. It put him in mind, fleetingly, of Creed when Logan was in there with him, and Scott was unnerved.

"Who called again?" Scott asked. He didn't even have a name for the kid, just the knowledge that whoever had had him picked up specified that Logan be called immediately.

"Uh, young thing, Pryde."

Of course. Scott nodded, and just then Logan came jogging down the stairs. Logan asked the uniform, "does Xavier know the kid's in custody?"

"Nah, we haven't even filed him yet," he answered. "You want I should ring upstairs?"

Logan shook his head, and checked his watch. "Get outta here, it's almost lunch time. We can handle the booking," Logan said, glancing around. The hallway outside the interrogation room was deserted. "Go on, I'll sign for him, don't worry, your ass is covered."

The uniform went. Scott asked, "are we going to actually book him?"

Logan opened the door, and sent a quelling glare at Scott. Scott followed him in, but leaned against the closed door rather than approach the kid. Logan obviously had something he wanted accomplished here, since he made sure they were alone with the kid, and made sure there was no official record of his visit. "Remy LeBeau, right?" Logan said, sitting down.

The kid sighed. "Oui."

"You know why we're here?" Logan asked him. He lit a cigar, and the kid looked at it longingly.

"Probably t' ask me some questions," Remy answered. He didn't look either of them in the eye, but Scott got the feeling he wasn't overly nervous.

"Ya know who Warren Worthington is?" Reluctantly, Remy nodded. "And Bobby Drake?" Nodded again. "Kurt Wagner?" Barely inclined his head. "What about John Allerdyce?"

Remy closed his eyes, and tilted his head slightly. "Oui."

"What about Erik Lensherr?"

Remy's spine stiffened, and even from Scott's vantage point by the door he could see what little color in Remy's face bled out. His cheeks were impossibly pale, and he started threading his fingers through his hair. "He owned a paper, non?"

"Have you met him personally?" Logan asked. Scott watched both Remy's face, as well as Logan's. Logan didn't seem in any hurry to get to a point, in fact his voice was damned near gentle, coaxing. Scott had only heard that tone once before, when he was talking to Betsy's agent, Pryde.

"Personally?" Remy asked.

"Have you ever spoken ta him in person?" Logan asked.

"Oui," Remy answered quietly. "He was a friend of Emma Frost's."

"Right," Logan said, and sat for a moment, thinking. Scott was thinking hard as well. There was something not quite right about this interview, as if both Remy and Logan already knew the script, and they were playing out well-rehearsed lines. "Look, kid," Logan finally said, "a gal I know saw you the night Erik was killed. Saw you all night, and so you ain't a suspect. Okay?"

Remy looked at him. "Then why'm I here?"

"Because," Logan said quietly, "you were at the scene of every murder so far, and if you ain't the one doing it – and you ain't – someone else is either using you, following you, or knows you, that is."

"An' if I don't know them?"

"Not sayin' ya do," Logan said. He puffed his cigar quietly. "But I think you know something, since we've been looking all over the city for you for a week and had no luck, so no one's followin' you while you work." He peered at Remy. "How do you know who's next?"

Remy closed his eyes, pressing the heel of both palms against his eyeballs. "I get a call," he said, muffled, "an' then I have to go somewhere, an' then someone ends up dead." He looked at Logan. "After, Bobby, I threw m' mobile phone out, got a new one."

"But they still found you?"

"I don' know who's callin' me, homme!" Remy shot back, suddenly angry. "It ain' Emma, an' it ain' anyone familiar."

"But yer going," Logan said. It wasn't a question. "So they gotta be either tailin' ya, or picking the meeting spots themselves."

"Look, I knew Bobby an' Warren well enough," Remy said, "and they weren't stupid men. And Erik, he," and Remy broke off, swallowing. "I jus' ducked upstairs t' check on him." He glared at Scott. "I liked him well enough." He looked at the table. "But he was already dead."

Logan said, "Okay, okay, kid," and puffed on his cigar.

Scott frowned, thinking rapidly. Logan thought that the kid didn't have anything to do with it, except he thought that someone was using him to get to his clients. Except he didn't know who was using him, or how he knew where he'd met the men beforehand. "Bobby Drake," Scott asked suddenly. "Did he often meet you at the church?"

Both Logan and Remy's heads whipped around, almost as if they'd forgotten Scott was in the room. Remy glanced at Logan before answering. "Not specific'lly there. But other places like it, sure." He shrugged. "Didn't wan' anyone t' see him, yeah?"

"There were condoms found," Scott said, "with the bodies." Remy sighed, nodding. "Are they gonna point to you?"

Remy's eyes, without the sunglasses, darted nervously around. They flicked up to Logan, then back down to his shoes. "I don' know, probably."

Logan leaned forward. He asked him, "If we do a DNA test, are you gonna be a match?"

The kid was nervous now, definitely, nervous and uncomfortable. "DNA ain' conclusive," he answered.

Scott couldn't help it. He leaned forward and said, "a confession is." He studied Remy. Impulsively, Scott said, "Maybe we'll help you give one."

"Non, I!" Remy's eyes once again darted to Logan's face, imploringly. His hands twisted, under the table.

"Hmm," Logan said, but it was obvious he wasn't going to back Scott up. Somehow, instead of Scott and Logan interrogating the kid, it was Remy LeBeau and Logan against Scott. "I think the condoms are in evidence lock-up," Logan commented to himself. "Be easy enough to req them." Scott stared at him. "Listen," Logan said, "you'd better get out of here."

"What?" Scott said. Remy was already standing up, putting his sunglasses and jacket on. "Logan, what?"

"Shut up, Slim," Logan said. "How many people know yer a mutant?" Logan asked Remy, so quietly Scott barely heard.

"Anyone I work with, homme," Remy answered, and pointed to his eyes – now safely away behind the sunglasses. "It ain' hard t' miss."

"Anyone in here see you?" Remy shook his head. "Good. Let's get outta here." Scott made to follow the two of them, but Logan held a hand out, put it to Scott's chest. "Stay here. Wait for my call." Logan frowned. "And if Bets comes in, don't let her out of your sight."

"Is she in on this too?" Scott asked, wearily. He felt like everyone knew their lines and the solution to the puzzle, the answer to the riddle, except him. Even their suspects knew more about Logan than he did, knew what to say and what not to say. It wasn't an investigation anymore, it was a game.

"Slim?" Logan asked.

"I stay here," Scott repeated, dully. "I wait for Bets."

Logan glanced at Remy, who was staring down either hallway. "Do I hafta tell you ta keep this quiet?" Scott shook his head. "Okay, good. When I get back I'll fill ya in, okay? How's that?"

"Everything?"

Logan paused. "Okay. Everything." Scott knew he was being fed another line, but if it could give him one more clue, it might be the key to breaking through all the secrecy. He held the door open for Logan and Remy to leave, then went upstairs to type up everything from the interview with Remy. Scott had no idea who might end up reading it, but just to have something solid, concrete, to do would help his mood.

Upstairs, there was still no sign of Betsy. Her agent, Kitty Pryde, was still sitting at her desk. Scott stopped, and smiled at the girl. "Oh, hello, Agent Summers," she said.

"Hey, Pryde." He thought for a second. "How's the assignment?"

She shrugged, and put on a face he could have sworn he'd seen on Betsy. "It's going."

"What's your next step?" Scott asked. He was really stalling for time, hoping to figure out what exactly he wanted to know from her. Something was niggling his mind, some piece of information that she could maybe provide. Scott was beginning to think that there were as many secrets between him and Logan as there were between Creed and Logan.

Kitty closed whatever she was working on. Scott noticed there was no tag. "I'm supposed to be trying to get close to Emma, and figure out what clients are a danger to the people she works with."

Scott nodded. He had a strong suspicion that everyone had a 'supposed to' that they weren't doing. "I'll leave you to it," he told her, and sat down. He started typing up the interview between Logan and Remy, and couldn't concentrate. Logan had recognised Remy, Scott realized. They'd met before.

~

When Logan got back to the stationhouse, there was no sign of the kid. Scott opened his mouth to ask, but closed it again immediately. He didn't even need the warning glance from Logan to know that they couldn't discuss it here. "We'll get some lunch soon," Logan said, "okay? I got some leads I don't wanna use yet, but they might be our only option."

Scott said okay.

A uniform came up to Logan. "Creed gave us the slip," he said, ducking his head. "Outside his house yesterday, round noon. We caught him getting into a car and driving off, but we tailed the car and when it stopped outside of town there was no one but a driver in it. He was nowhere."

Logan was already moving towards his desk, muttering under his breath. Scott said, "did you pick up the driver?"

"He's in holding," the uniform said, "but there's a problem, since he seems to be mute--"

"Scott!" Logan's tone was demanding, as if he were ordering a servant around and not his partner. "Come on."

"Keep him locked up," Scott hissed, and jogged up to Logan's desk. "It's time we started using those leads you didn't want to," he said to Logan. "He's probably going to go after someone tonight."

"He disappeared in broad daylight," Logan said, flipping through a map-book.

"Do you know where he's going to go?" Scott asked. Logan shook his head. "Can you find out?"

"That Remy kid," Logan muttered, "He might know. We'll call him later." He flipped pages in the book frantically, finally pulling a twenty out of the top drawer of his desk and handing it to Scott absently. "Go and buy me a map of the city," he said, "and some markers, and wait at that coffee shop down the street."

Scott took the money. "I'll bring the case files," Logan said, "and meet you there. Make sure no one sees you," he added, looking up and around the office. Scott followed his gaze and saw a lot of uniforms standing around drinking coffee, joking, doing nothing at all. He didn't see Betsy.

"How long will you be?" Scott said.

"I just gotta find something," Logan murmured, "and I'll be there. Get out of here."

Scott went.

~

Kitty's phone rang, startling her out of a daydream. She'd been staring at the wall for over a minute. "Agent Pryde," she said.

"Kitty," Betsy said, "what are you doing? No, nevermind," Betsy said immediately, "are Logan and Scott still in the office?"

"They both left not five minutes ago," Kitty told her. "Lunch, I think."

"I should be able to catch them, then," Betsy muttered. Someone asked a muffled question. "No, it'll be fine, no where conspicuous. Kitty darling," Betsy said, "would you do me a favor?"

"Of course, Agent Braddock," Kitty said.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to come in to work today," Betsy told her. It was casual, easy going, but there was definite tension in Betsy's voice. "Could you answer my phone and keep my messages for me?"

"The switchboard usually does that sort of thing," Kitty answered slowly.

"I'm sorry, of course, I shouldn't have asked," Betsy said immediately. "I didn't mean to imply you were some sort of answering service." She sighed, and then said much quieter, "the truth is I trust you, Kitty."

"I don't mind, Agent Braddock," Kitty said. "Is it," and Kitty looked around the office. It seemed emptier than usual. "Does it have to do with Logan?"

"Good girl," Betsy answered. "Don't mention this at work," she added. "I have to go. I'll call you on your mobile to get my messages later. I doubt there'll be anything important," Betsy said, sounding more like her usual self, "but just in case."

"Of course," Kitty said again. "Should I, what should I tell people here?"

The tension was back, and sharper. "Best not mention it, if you don't mind?"

Kitty said, "of course."

Betsy sighed, relieved. "Thank you, Kitty. I have to run." Kitty hung up the phone, and frowned. She had the switchboard run all of Agent Braddock's calls to her own desk, but the only time it rang again until she went home that wasn't a routine call of her own was once. Someone called, and as soon as she answered they hung up. Kitty tried to backtrace the phone number, but it was blocked. If it was important, she had nothing to show for it. Maybe Betsy would know what it meant.

She kept her mobile on all night, even, but Betsy never called.

~

"Where are we going?"

Logan pointed, and Scott made another sharp right turn. "Into the city. I gotta meet someone tonight, check something." Scott had thought, at first, to keep track of where Logan was telling him to drive, but eventually gave up. They were going in circles, ever-tightening circles that were leading into the middle of New York. "You'll take the car, go home."

Scott asked, "how did you know that Remy was picked up?" Logan shrugged. "And why isn't he a suspect?"

"Kitty was watchin' him that whole night," Logan replied. "I got the info last night, too late to call you." Sure, Scott thought. Logan added, "it's reliable. Remy was no where near the upstairs. Besides, we know who did the killing already. Remy's bein' played."

Scott said, "like everyone else." Logan didn't answer. "Who are you meeting?" Scott asked. Logan said nothing. "Betsy?" Logan still said nothing. "Does she know where Remy LeBeau will be?"

Logan muttered, "knew you were smart, Slim," and pointed again. "Go down that alley."

Scott obliged. "Do you think that between LeBeau, Betsy and yourself, you'll be able to catch Creed before he makes his mark?" Scott made a right turn out of the alley, onto a fairly busy street. He hunched over unconsciously while he drove. "Because surely they know that LeBeau's talked to us, they won't use him again."

Logan said, "Remy's with Bets now." He checked his watch. "Damn, someone had better call in sick for us." He reached for his mobile phone, Scott assumed to call the stationhouse, but instead turned it off. "Don't answer your phone," he instructed Scott, "if the call display ain't someone you recognise."

"Why shouldn't--" and then Logan held a hand up, and Scott stopped asking. It was apparent that these instructions were going to continue, without explanation. Scott said, "So you and Betsy will go with LeBeau to try and find Creed tonight." He braked for a red light. "Isn't that risky?"

"Ain't looking for Creed anymore," Logan said. "Believe me, if we find him, we'll take care of him, but he ain't the problem."

"Who is?"

Logan lit a cigar, started puffing on it thoughtfully, but didn't roll down the window. He had never smoked in the car before, didn't want to smell up the inside of a police vehicle. "Whoever's running him."

"Running him?" Scott braked again, this time for a crosswalk. "How the hell is it all connected?" Logan shook his head. "Okay then, who's controlling Creed?"

Logan sighed. "I dunno."

"You don't know."

He continued to smoke, tipping the ash onto the floor of their vehicle. "I was being fed names," he said. "Just like Remy."

Scott was startled. "Names?"

"Worthington," Logan said, "Drake. Allerdyce. Wagner--"

"And Lensherr," Scott finished quietly.

Logan stared out the front window, as Scott carefully stayed below the speed limit. Logan said, "Guess we'll head up fifty-second street." Scott turned. Logan rolled his window down, tossed the cigar out. "Yeah, and Lensherr."

"So who gave you the names?" Scott asked. They drove farther into Manhattan.

"If I tell you this," Logan said, "yah can't tell anyone. I'm serious." Scott nodded, carefully stopping at the stop sign before he pulled into an alley behind a 24-hour deli. "Came through Betsy."

"Where'd she get them?" Scott asked.

Logan hesitated. "Doesn't matter," he finally said. It couldn't have been Remy giving her the names then, Scott decided, or Logan would have told him. Scott already knew nearly everything relevant about Remy LeBeau. Perhaps Remy got them from the same anonymous person as Betsy, someone pulling strings that Scott couldn't even imagine, let alone see yet.

Logan got out of the car, and then peered into the open window. "I'll call you," he added, "when I need you. Just stay under the radar. If we're right, we're gonna have to be careful for a few days."

Logan then nodded curtly, and took off around the block. Scott just barely saw him disappear down a flight of steps to the subway.

Scott wandered the city for maybe four hours, and made a right turn every so often. Never left turns, he thought, left meant sinister. Each time he stopped at a red light, he double checked that his cell phone was still on.

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