06x10 - Tithonus

[bunniefuu]

Just a routine background check.

Now, to the best of your knowledge, has Mr Wisnowski ever used any illegal dr*gs?

Which illegal dr*gs?

Yeah. In the time that you worked with Ms Ermentrout, did you find her to be a trustworthy person?

Punctual, huh? Punctual... is good.

No. No, ma'am. This is just a routine background check.

Mr Garber is not in any legal trouble whatsoever.

Yeah. OK. Thanks for your time.

Maybe if we get lucky, next time they'll let us clean toilet bowls.

Are you ready to quit? No.

That would make way too many people way too happy.

Scully.

I'm on my way.

Called into Kersh's office. Just me.

Just you?

Don't forget your toilet brush!

No. No, ma'am, not you.

Agent. Sir.

Dana Scully, this is Agent Peyton Ritter with the Bureau's New York office.

Agent Ritter. Hi.

Show her what you have.

Our office is currently updating its case filing system.

While I was involved in this project, scanning old crime-scene photographs into the computer, I came across this.

Margareta Stoller. Age: 57.

Cause of death: an overdose of nitraz...

Take a look at when they found her.

A neighbour called the police at 11:14 p.m.

Right. 80, what's wrong with that picture?

The clock says that it's 45 minutes earlier. A clock can be wrong.

They certainly can. So I checked the Post from the following day.

These are straight from their photo files.

Hmm. Almost an hour and a half later.

Two different negatives, same photographer.

The guy's name is Alfred Fellig.

He's rattled around Manhattan for years, apparently a stringer for the wire services and an on-call guy for NYPD.

And you suspect this man Fellig? You think that Mrs Stoller wasn't a su1c1de?

This guy's into takin' pictures, right?

So I'm thinkin': what if he poisons this woman, then snaps a few of her dead body, then winds up back in the same apartment an hour later after Midtown North calls him over to do the job?

That's quite a theory.

Yeah. The thing is he might have done it on more than one occasion.

I've sifted through probably 2,000 of his police photos.

These three have measurable solar shadows.

Since we know each location... You know the time of day by the shadows.

Right. And with it, these three are looking every bit as hinky.

You have another su1c1de, a heart att*ck and an obvious m*rder for which another man was convicted.

There's no consistent MO.

There's no consistent anything.

I could sure use your help.

Agent, could you step outside, please?

Sure.

I'd say he has a promising career ahead of him.

So did you... at one time.

With your expertise in forensic pathology, you'd be an asset to this investigation.

It would be more challenging than running background checks.

Agent Mulder and I will begin immediately.

Agent Mulder's a lost cause. I'm taking the chance you're not.

It's you and Ritter.

Do not let me down.

Mulder? Hmm?

What are you doing? Bein' nosy.

Eatin' my heart out. You're going on an X-File.

It's not an X-File. That's not what I read.

m*rder by telekinesis? Maybe a shamanistic "death touch"?

The Muslim superstition that to photograph someone is to steal their soul?

Thank you. All very helpful.

So they're splitting us up, huh?

No. This is a one-time thing.

Who told you that? If you do a good job, they won't stick you back here.

Right?

Agent Scully, we're all set.

Peyton Ritter, this is Fox Mulder.

It's a pleasure to meet you, Fox. Pleasure to meet you, Peyton.

We should get going. Off to New York.

Alfred Fellig. What can you tell us about him?

What's to tell? He's one of 10,000 people here who have a license to piss people off.

He doubles as a crime-scene photographer for your precinct.

Yeah, he comes in, snaps the picture.

Keeps to himself.

There's not much personal information there.

There's not supposed to be. It's just a yearly renewal form.

Would you happen to know when the original background check was done?

Here he is again. Yearly renewal dating back to January 1970, but still no original.

I think I've got it.

1964.

Old-timer.

Anything interesting? Maybe.

What are you doing? Take a look at this.

1996...

'87... '85... '73...

The guy's a regular d*ck Clark.

I don't know what to say.

Other than the fact that he's always been a geezer, this looks like a dead end.

Help! Help! Somebody call the police!

What do you want? Are you crazy?

Please help me! Lady, please! Help me!

Man, what do you want from me, man?! Oh, man, no!

The prints are Alfred Fellig's.

Positive match - right off his 1964 background check.

I slipped them into the SAFIS database.

First thing this morning - boom - up they came.

You're thinking this is Fellig's work?

The wound measurements match with the Kn*fe.

He got pretty sloppy in his old age. What's this?

A whole lot of blood. Yeah. I got that.

It's pretty clear he took a second victim. Where's the second body?

They found Fellig. Where?

Home, watchin' TV. They're bringin' him in now.

Check, check...

January 4th,11:36 a.m.

15th Precinct, Manhattan.

Agents present: Daria Scully and Peyton Ritter.

Initial interview with...

..Alfred Fellig.

Hello.

You're a photographer.

I've seen some of your work. You specialize in some pretty dark subject matter.

You're around death a lot. It must fascinate you.

Am I boring you, Mr Fellig?

Ask me a question already.

All right.

Why are you always Johnny-on-the-spot every time somebody dies?

You're always there to take the picture. How?

I have a... a nose for news.

Mr Fellig, your fingerprints were found on a m*rder w*apon at a crime scene.

Could you give us a full accounting of your activities last night?

The Bronx. I was on a job.

I saw some jibone stealin' a kid's tennis shoes.

He chased me. Ran off.

He ran off?

Some unidentified m*rder*r?

I guess I could identify him.

Your fingerprints were found on the Kn*fe.

How did they get there?

He left the Kn*fe behind. I guess I touched it... briefly.

Why would you do that?

Were you injured, Mr Fellig?

You seem to be in pain.

Were you att*cked?

We found other blood at the crime scene. and, when we have it tested.

I'm wondering if we're gonna learn that it's yours.

I got cut some. May we see?

May I help you?

Hey.

Hey. Take Mr Fellig to get his blood drawn.

And photograph his back, too.

Hey, I'm confused. I thought we were tryin' to bust him, not look for reasons to let him go.

I thought we were looking for the truth.

Scully. Hi. My name is Fox Mulder.

We used to sit next to each other at the FBI.

How's your X-File comin'?

Mulder, it's not...

We haven't made much headway.

We arrested Alfred Fellig, and we just released him.

What about the stabbing? How do you know about that?

I told ya, I'm nosy. Why are you Iettin' him go?

We pulled another set of prints off of the Kn*fe.

They belong to a convicted m*rder*r named Malcolm Wiggins.

And the fact that Fellig's blood was found at the crime scene tells me his story checks out.

At least, that particular story, anyway.

But you still think Fellig's a m*rder*r?

I don't know what to think.

He's, uh... unusual.

As in, he plugs up like a cork when you s*ab him?

Where are you getting this stuff?

Ritter's been sending progress reports to Kersh.

My computer inadvertently intercepted a few.

He's got nice things to say about you, though... mostly.

Why don't you let me do a background check on Fellig?

Mulder... It's what I do now. I'm gettin' good at it.

I'm parked around the block.

Fellig's asleep. I haven't seen him move in over four hours.

Have a lovely evening.

Mr Fellig, open up, please.

Explain this.

What?

You took that photo an hour before police arrived.

You then covered up that fact by photographing the scene again.

I don't think I remember that one.

You have a long and uncanny history of being the first person at the scene of a death.

You also have a history of covering up that fact. Why?

Am I under arrest... again?

Are you a m*rder*r?

Then explain yourself, sir.

Because I promise, until you do, you will not get a moment's peace.

You want to take a ride with me?

You come with me. I'll show you.

It's been an hour.

Are we gonna drive around all night? Yeah. This is it.

This is what I do.

Lookin' for the sh*t.

What sh*t? The sh*t.

Her.

She's about to die.

What are you talking about?

Could happen in the next minute, in the next hour, but it'll happen, just as plain as day.

Look, Mr...

Fellig, I don't know what you're planning, but nobody here's gonna die.

I'm not planning anything.

I'm just here to tell you what's gonna happen.

That that woman there is gonna be m*rder*d?

I didn't say "m*rder*d".

She's a smoker. She might die of lung cancer.

The "how" is always a surprise.

I just always know when.

You want me to believe that?

What are you doin' out here, huh?

It's so cold out, huh?

All right? Get out of my face! Get off me!

I don't want your money!

You creep! Get off of me! Let go of me!

FBI! Don't move!

Where'd you come from? Shut up!

Get down! Back up!

You're not such a big man now!

That g*n ain't mine, Red.

You all right? I'm outta here.

Dana, what the hell is goin' on?

as*ault and possession of an unregistered handgun.

Why didn't you call me sooner? I apologize.

You blew off the surveillance?

The surveillance was blown before I got there.

You blew off the surveillance and took a little joyride with him?

I questioned Fellig about his involvement in the deaths that he photographed.

Is that OK? What did he say?

He said that he can tell when people are about to die.

If New York passes a Good Samaritan law, we might nail him.

Other than that, we won't get him for m*rder.

Wrong. Let me show you something.

They picked up Mr Wiggins last night. He says Fellig k*lled that kid, not him.

He said he just happened along. A convicted m*rder*r half Fellig's age.

He would've come in, but he was afraid we wouldn't have believed him.

He's right.

Tell me, did he have any help concocting that story?

Look. Fellig is a m*rder*r.

Whether he did this one, I don't care.

Not if it buys me a few days in the box with him.

No judge will issue a warrant based on this. I know the judge. We'll have it by noon.

You know, Kersh warned me about you. He did?

You and your partner - his reputation precedes him, so I should've seen it comin'.

You muck up my case, and Kersh'll hear about it. Are we clear, Dana?

Scully.

And we're done with this conversation.

Yeah. Hey, Scully.

How's that X-File? And before you tell me it's not an X-File...

It is. What happened?

Alfred Fellig seems to know an awful lot about death.

Yeah? Well, that's not surprising given that he's reached the ripe old age of 149.

Excuse me? I did a low-tech background check on him.

This stuff is so old, they don't keep it on computer.

But Alfred Fellig doesn't exist before 1964, but one Henry Strand does.

He applied for a press pass from the Jersey City Police in 1939 at age 53.

His prints match Fellig's.

But there must be some kind of a mistake.

You think? Because this Henry Strand does not exist before 1939.

However, one LH Rice is on record as having sat for the New York State Civil Service Exam.

The records don't show whether he passed.

But his thumb print? Fellig's.

Want to know what LH Rice's birthday is?

April 4th, 1849.

I'm not good at math, but that's a whole lot of candles on the cake.

I have spent time with this man, and he can't be more than 65 years old.

I think that's what he wants you to think.

He's a guy for whom the phrase "life in prison" carries some weighty connotations.

You should get to him before he vanishes and becomes someone else.

You are going to be arrested, Mr Fellig, in two hours.

Charged with m*rder.

And this time you won't be able to just change your name.

I showed you what I do last night. Just take the pictures.

What you showed me was a contemptible lack of compassion for another human being.

You showed me that you profit off of people's deaths.

Now, why shouldn't you go to prison?

You want me to cry for them?

You want me to make like I feel sorry for them?

I don't.

Lucky bastards.

Every one of 'em. Lucky?

I'm just there to get the sh*t.

I don't take those people. He does.

Who's "he"?

That's him.

He's the one who takes them.

You're saying this is a photograph of death itself?

It's a glimpse. Just a glimpse.

But it's closer than I've gotten in...

I can't even count the years.

And this is the sh*t that you spoke of. This is... what you try and get. Mm-hm.

Mr Fellig, I know... that you know more about photography than I do.

But this is just a lens flare.

You're right. I do know more about photography than you do.

OK. I, um...

For the sake of argument, why bother?

I mean, why take a picture of death?

So I can look into his face.

So I can die.

Pills don't work.

Razors, gas, bridges...

I can't tell ya how many bridges I've jumped off of. All I get is wet.

I got left behind.

I don't want to be here any more.

I can't even remember a time when I did.

This is...

This is all I know... to do.

You know I don't believe you.

Yes, you do.

It's why you're here.

How is it you know when people are about to die?

Oh...

You chase it long enough, you pick it up.

Excuse me.

Mulder.

Mulder, it's me. Hi.

Those other two names that you said that Fellig went by - Strand and Rice?

Yeah. Henry Strand and LH Rice.

What about Louis Brady?

Uh... no. But there's a big gap before 1939.

Will you check it out for me?

I'm sticking here to make sure he doesn't bolt.

Louis Brady, Mulder.

Tell me what you find out.

Mr Fellig?

Oops. Excuse me. I have a film out. Hold on a second.

Ritter. It's Agent Mulder.

Is Agent Scully there with you? No. Nor do I seem to be able to find her.

DC Cellular says her phone is turned off.

What can I do for you? You can find her for me.

Listen, Agent Mulder, I'm on my way to arrest Alfred Fellig.

That's where I think she is.

And you were right. Fellig is a m*rder*r - under the name Louis Brady.

He suffocated two patients in a hospital. He says he meant to catch up with death.

After one year in prison, he walked off a work detail.

The manhunt never officially ceased.

When was this? 1929.

Whoa-whoa-whoa. When?

Look, Ritter, don't sweat the math. It's him.

Just get there and find Agent Scully. All right, I'm on it.

You know, most people want to live for ever.

Most people are idiots.

Which is one of the reasons I don't.

I think you're wrong.

How can you have too much life?

There's too much to learn, to experience.

75 years... is enough.

Take my word for it.

You live for ever, you start to think about the big thing you're missing and that everybody else gets to find out about but you.

What about love?

What, does that last for ever?

40 years ago, I drove down to the city hall, down to the hall of records.

Record archives, or whatever they call it. I wanted to... look up my wife.

It... bothered me I couldn't remember her name.

Love lasts... 75 years, if you're lucky.

You don't want to be around when it's gone.

Count your blessings.

Why are you this way?

I mean, if this is true, give me something in the way of proof.

Help me find some science that I can hang this on.

It has nothing to do with science.

Someone took my place. Took your place?

I don't know her name.

I don't think I ever knew it.

I had yellow fever, way the hell back then when it k*lled half of New York.

Washington Square Park was a common grave, they had so many bodies.

They'd bury them shallow.

They wrapped them in yellow sheets, and the yellow sheets would stick up through the mud.

I was in a city-run contagion ward.

I was out of my head with fever, out of my mind. Then I saw him.

Saw Death.

I wish I'd had a camera then.

At first, I... I just saw him out of the corner of my eye.

Then he got bolder and he started flitting around the room, and he'd take this person, then he'd take that person.

And I never saw his face. I didn't want to see his face.

I figured if I saw it, he'd take me too.

But he didn't. No.

There was a nurse.

She did the best she could.

Back then... medical science was...

They couldn't find their ass with both hands.

But she did the best she could. She sat with me and held my hand and...

I was on my deathbed.

Then he came for me. I didn't look at him.

Closed my eyes and turned my head.

I didn't tell her not to look at him. I wanted her to look at him.

I wanted her to look at him, instead of me.

And then I came to, and the fever broke.

They were carrying her out, wrapped up in a yellow sheet.

Since that time, I realized you gotta be careful what you wish for.

I missed my chance.

You're very lucky, you know that?

What do you mean?

Wait a minute.

Say what's on your mind. You mean "ich" like the others?

You want me to believe I'm about to die?

I just want to take the picture.

You took my picture last night.

Is this why? That was different.

I'm not gonna die!

Turn that off.

No. Turn it off right now! Put it down!

There's nothing to be done for it.

You took my phone. Why? Please. Just give me a chance.

What don't you want me to know? He's coming.

And you should just make your peace. Shut up!

He's here.

Agent?

Oh God. No, no, no.

No. No. No. No. No, No.

Come on. Come on, dammit.

I'll get help. We need some help in here!

Do you see him?

Do you see him?

Don't look.

Close your eyes.

You're a lucky man.

The coroner's report came back on Fellig. It says he d*ed of a single g*nsh*t wound.

That's all it said.

I... talked to your doctor and he says you're doin' great.

You're makin' the fastest recovery he's ever seen.

You know, Mulder, I don't even know how I entertained the thought.

People don't live for ever.

No, no. I think he would have.

I just think that death only looks for you... once you seek its opposite.

I made this!