Текст книги "An Evil Mind"

Автор книги: Chris (2) Carter

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‘I didn’t do it,’ Lucien said, his voice full of emotion again. ‘I didn’t do what they’re saying I did. You have to believe me, Robert. I’m not a monster. I didn’t do those things.’

Hunter stayed quiet.

‘But I know who did.’

Fifteen

Behind the large two-way mirror, inside the observation room next door, Special Agents Taylor and Newman were attentively watching every movement made and listening to every word spoken by Lucien Folter. Doctor Patrick Lambert, a forensic psychiatrist with the FBI Behavioral Science Unit was also present.

On a table by the east wall, two CCTV monitors were showing highly detailed images of Lucien taken from different angles. Doctor Lambert was patiently examining every facial movement, and scrutinizing every different voice inflection the prisoner produced, but that wasn’t all. Both monitors were also hooked up to a computer equipped with state-of-the-art facial analysis software, which was capable of reading and evaluating the most minuscule of facial or eye movements. Movements that could not be controlled by the interviewee, triggered subconsciously as his state of mind altered from calm to nervous, to anxious, to irritated, to angry, or to any other state. Inside that observation room, they were all sure that if Lucien Folter lied about anything at all, they would know.

Neither Doctor Lambert, nor Special Agents Taylor and Newman, needed the facial analysis program to pick up all the anxiety and nervousness in Lucien’s tone of voice, eye movement and facial expressions. That was something they were already expecting. After all, he was talking for the first time since he’d been arrested for a very brutal double homicide. Add to that the fact that he was now face to face with an old friend he hadn’t seen since his college days, and Lucien was bound to be nervous and anxious. It was a common psychological human reaction. As was the initial avoidance of the subject. Talking about something common to him and his old friend was an easy and secure way to calm his nerves, to steady his uneasiness. They all waited, knowing that Detective Hunter would soon start slowly steering Lucien toward talking, but Hunter didn’t even need to. Lucien went back to the subject of his own accord. But his last few words caught everyone by surprise.

‘They’ve got the wrong man, Robert.’

The tension inside the observation room went up a notch, and instinctively everyone craned their heads forward in the direction of the monitors, as if that would make them see or hear better.

‘I didn’t do it. I didn’t do what they’re saying I did. You have to believe me . . .’

‘Of course he didn’t,’ Newman said with a half-chuckle, looking over at Taylor. ‘They never do. Our prison system is full of innocent people, isn’t that right?’

Taylor said nothing. She was still carefully watching the screens, and so was Doctor Lambert.

‘But I know who did.’

Those last five words were something no one was expecting, because in truth, those words equated to an admission of complicity. Even if Lucien Folter hadn’t been the one who’d murdered and decapitated both of those women, by admitting that he knew who’d done it, not alerting the police, and being picked up transporting the women’s heads cross-state, made him an accessory to murder with at least a couple of aggravating circumstances. And in Wyoming, where he was arrested and the death penalty was still enforced, the District Attorney’s office would no doubt push for it.

Sixteen

Despite his surprise, Hunter did his best to appear calm and relaxed. He was certain that Lucien’s last five words had been enough to bring the tension inside the observation room next door up a few degrees, but now that Lucien’s nerves seemed to have settled down enough for him to start talking, Hunter knew he had to keep the conversation between them going as smoothly as possible. Simply steer it in the right direction and allow his old friend to talk.

Hunter pulled a chair and sat across the table from Lucien. ‘You know who did it?’ he asked, his tone as tranquil as someone asking for the time.

Interrogators usually hold a standing, more authoritative position, while the person being interrogated is kept in an inferior, sitting-down one. The theory behind it is that it works as an intimidation technique – the person asking the questions is at a higher level, talking down at the person who is answering them. It plays on, and appeals to, a childhood memory that most people will probably have of a parent reprimanding them when they’d been bad. But the last thing Hunter wanted right now was for Lucien to feel any more intimidated than he already was. Having a seat directly in front of him did away with the authoritative position, bringing Hunter level with Lucien. Psychologically, Hunter’s move would hopefully have an unthreatening effect, keeping the tension in the room down to a minimum.

‘Well,’ Lucien said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table, ‘I don’t really know “exactly” who did it, but it’s a logical conclusion. It has to be either the person who I was supposed to be delivering the car to, or the one who delivered the car to me. If they didn’t directly do it, they’ll know who did. They are the ones you have to go after.’ Lucien paused and let go of a deep, heartfelt breath. ‘You have to help me, Robert. I’m not the one the FBI wants. I didn’t do this. I’m just a delivery boy.’

For the first time, Hunter noticed a slight emotional trepidation in Lucien’s voice. He knew the car wasn’t registered in Lucien’s name. The FBI had told him that, but this was the first he’d heard of Lucien delivering the car to someone else.

‘You were taking that blue Ford Taurus to someone?’ Hunter asked.

Lucien’s eyes averted Hunter’s once again. When he finally spoke, his tone was back to being calm and controlled, but it carried a hint of anger this time.

‘The reality is, life doesn’t treat everyone equally, my friend. I’m sure you know that.’

Hunter was uncertain of what Lucien was really talking about, so he waited.

Lucien’s gaze quickly moved to the cameras on the ceiling, and then to the large two-way mirror just behind Hunter. He knew he was being recorded. He knew that nothing he said would be private to only Hunter and himself, and for the briefest of moments he looked embarrassed.

Hunter picked up on his friend’s sudden discomfiture, followed his stare, but there was nothing he could do about others listening in. This was the FBI’s show, not his. He gave Lucien a moment.

‘After I left Stanford, I made a few mistakes,’ Lucien said. Paused. Rethought his words. ‘Actually I made quite a few mistakes. Some of them very bad.’ He finally looked back at Hunter. ‘I guess I should start from the beginning.’

Seventeen

For some reason, Lucien’s words had an atmospheric chilling effect, as if all of a sudden someone had switched on an air-conditioner unit inside the interrogation room.

Hunter felt the awkward chill trickle down his neck and travel down his spine, but held steady.

Lucien had another sip of his water, and as he did so, the look in his eyes became melancholic.

‘I met a woman during my second year at Yale,’ he began. ‘Her name was Karen. She was British, from a place called Gravesend, in southeast England. Have you heard of it?’

Hunter nodded.

‘I hadn’t,’ Lucien said. ‘I had to look it up. Anyway, Karen was . . .’ He considered what to really say. ‘. . . different from what most people would expect a Yale PhD student to be like . . . or look like.’

‘Different?’ Hunter asked.

‘In every aspect. She was a free spirit, if you believe people can be such things. You remember the kind of girls I used to go for, right?’

Hunter nodded again, but said nothing, allowing his old friend to carry on uninterrupted.

‘Karen was nothing like any of them.’ A timid smile parted his lips. ‘When we met, she was forty-two. I was twenty-five.’

Hunter had started taking mental notes.

‘She was five-foot-one. A whole twelve inches shorter than me . . . and curvy.’

Hunter remembered that Lucien used to be attracted only to tall, slim women – five-foot-ten or over, with a lithe, dancer’s body.

‘She also had quite a few tattoos,’ Lucien continued. ‘A lip piercing, a nose piercing, her left ear was stretched to a full centimeter, and she had this Bettie Page-style fringe.’

This time it was hard for Hunter not to show surprise.

‘I thought you didn’t like tattoos.’

‘I don’t. And I don’t much care for facial piercings either. But there was just something about Karen. Something I can’t really explain. Something that grabbed hold of me and didn’t let go.’ Another sip of his water. ‘We started dating just a few months after we met. It’s funny how life is always full of surprises, isn’t it? Karen looked nothing like any of the girls I used to go for, she didn’t act like them either, but nevertheless, she was the one I fell head over heels for.’ Lucien paused and looked away. ‘I guess I can say that I was truly in love.’

Hunter saw a muscle flex on his friend’s jaw.

‘She was a very sweet woman,’ Lucien said. ‘And we got along fantastically well. We did everything together. Went everywhere together. Spent every second together. She became my haven, my heaven, my heart. I was living a dream, but there was one problem.’

Hunter waited.

‘Karen had gotten involved with some very bad people.’

‘What kind of bad?’ Hunter asked.

‘Drugs bad,’ Lucien said. ‘The kind of bad you don’t mess with, unless you’ve grown tired of this life and feel like exiting it in a very violent way.’ He finished the rest of his water in three large gulps before crushing the paper cup in his right hand.

Hunter took note of his friend’s silent angry outburst, stood up, poured him a new cup of water, and placed it back on the table.

‘Thank you.’ He stared at the cup. ‘I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t strong enough, Robert,’ Lucien continued. ‘I’m not sure if it was because I was too much in love, or if I was just swallowed up by the moment, but instead of talking her out of it, I ended up joining her, and trying some of the stuff she was using.’

There was a pain-stricken, embarrassed pause.

Hunter carried on observing his friend.

‘The problem is,’ Lucien moved on, ‘and I’m sure you know this, some of this shit is hard to only try.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘So I got hooked.’

‘What kind of drugs are we talking about here?’

Lucien shrugged. ‘The heavy kind. Instant hook stuff . . . and alcohol. I started drinking a lot.’

Hunter had seen so many strong people fall victim to those kind of drugs, he’d lost count.

‘From then on everything went downhill, and in a hurry. All the money I had went into supplying Karen’s habit and mine. It ate away at my finances faster than you could imagine. My entire life started suffering. I dropped out of Yale in my third year, and would do anything to get my daily fix. I ran up debts everywhere, and with the wrong kind of people. The people Karen had introduced me to. The really bad kind.’

‘You didn’t have anyone you could turn to for help?’ Hunter asked. ‘I’m not talking about financial help. Someone who could help you kick the habit, bring you back.’

Lucien’s gaze met Hunter’s and he chuckled derisively. ‘You know me, Robert. I never had that many close friends. The few I had, I had broken contact with.’

Hunter read the hint. ‘You could’ve still looked me up, Lucien. You knew where I was. We were best friends. I would’ve helped you.’ Hunter paused and his stare went hard as he realized his mistake. ‘Shit, you were already hooked when you flew down for my PhD graduation, weren’t you? That’s why you only stayed in LA less than twenty-four hours. But I was so consumed by the moment that I didn’t even notice. That was you asking for my help.’

Lucien looked away.

Hunter felt a stab of guilt cut through his flesh. ‘You should’ve said something. I would’ve helped you. You know I would’ve. I’m sorry I didn’t notice it.’

‘Maybe I should have. Maybe that’s just another one of my bad mistakes. But I’m not going to cry about things long gone, Robert. Things that can’t be changed. Everything that happened to me was my own doing, my own fault, nobody else’s. I know it, and I accept that. And yes, I know that everyone needs a little help every once in a while. I just didn’t know how to ask for it.’

It was Hunter’s turn to have a sip of his water. ‘Were you still with Karen when you went to LA?’ he asked.

Lucien nodded. ‘She also quit Yale, and did some very . . . very stupid things to get hold of cash.’ He hesitated, took a deep breath, and his eyes saddened. ‘We stayed together for three years. All the way until she overdosed.’ A long pause. ‘She died in my arms.’

Lucien looked away as his toughness began showing cracks. Tears came into his eyes, but he held steady.

Silence took over the room for a long moment.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Hunter finally said.

Lucien nodded and rubbed his face with his shackled hands.

‘What happened then?’ Hunter asked.

‘Then I really went to hell, and I did it a step at a time. I lost my way, big time. I hit depression hard and at full speed. Instead of learning from what happened to Karen and kicking the habit, I got deeper into it.’ Lucien stole a peek at the two-way mirror once again. ‘I should’ve been dead by now, and in many ways I really wish I were. The fight-back was very long, very slow, and very painful. It took me many years to manage to get my addiction under control. A few more to finally kick it. All the while I just got myself into more and more debt, and involved with the worst kind of characters society has to offer.’

Blood tests run by the FBI had shown that Lucien Folter was clean. Hunter knew that.

‘So when did you finally kick it?’ he asked.

‘Several years ago,’ Lucien said, being deliberately vague. ‘By then, I had lost all hope of a career in psychology or in anything decent, really. I went through a series of odd jobs, most of them awful, some of them not quite legit. In the end, I hated what I had become. Even though I was clean, I just wasn’t the person I once was anymore. I wasn’t Lucien Folter. I had become someone completely different. A lost soul. Someone I didn’t recognize. Someone no one recognized. Someone I really didn’t like.’

Hunter could guess what was coming next.

‘So you decided to change identities,’ he said.

Lucien looked straight at Hunter and nodded.

‘That’s right,’ he agreed. ‘You know, being a junkie, living life as “scum” for as long as I did, puts you in contact with some very colorful folks. People who are able to get you anything you want . . . for a price, obviously. Getting hold of a new identity was as easy as buying a newspaper.’

Hunter knew Lucien wasn’t lying because he understood the reality of the world they lived in. All one needs to obtain whatever documents one likes in a different name is to know the right people, or wrong people, depending which way you look at it. And these people aren’t even that hard to find.

‘Once I became Liam Shaw,’ Lucien said, ‘I then concentrated on getting healthy again. It took me quite a while to manage to put weight back on . . . to regain focus. With all the drugs, I had the body of an anorexic. My stomach had shrunk. My mouth was full of ulcers. My health had deteriorated to a hair away from death. I had to keep on forcing myself to eat.’ He paused and looked at his arms and torso. ‘I look OK on the outside now, but my insides are royally fucked up, Robert. I’ve caused a lot of damage to my body. Much of it irreversible. Most of my internal organs are so damaged, I’m not even sure how they’re still working.’

Despite his words, Hunter picked up no self-pity in Lucien’s tone of voice or in the look in his eyes. He had simply accepted what he had done to himself. He had acknowledged his mistakes, and he seemed OK with paying the price.

‘Tell me about this car delivery thing,’ Hunter said.

Eighteen

Lucien’s eyebrows bobbed up and down once, as he looked back at his old friend.

‘The problem with getting involved with the kind of people I got involved with, is that they get their claws very deep into you right at the beginning. And once they do that, they never really let go. They own you for life. I’m sure you understand that these people can be very persuasive when they want to be.’

Hunter said nothing.

‘It started about a year and a half ago.’ Lucien moved on. ‘The way it happens is, I get a call on my cellphone telling me where to pick up the car from. They give me a delivery address and a time-frame. No names. When I get there, there’s always someone waiting to collect the car. I hand the car over, he gives me enough money for a ticket back . . . maybe a little extra, and that’s all. Until the next phone call.’

‘I’m guessing you don’t always deliver the cars to the same place,’ Hunter said.

‘Not so far,’ Lucien agreed. ‘A different pick-up and delivery address every time.’ He paused and looked at Hunter. ‘But I’ve always delivered to the same person.’

That came as a surprise.

‘Can you describe him?’ Hunter asked.

Lucien pulled a face. ‘About six-foot tall, well built, but deliveries were always made at night, in some dark field. The person receiving the car was always wearing a long coat with its collar up, a baseball cap, and dark glasses.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s as good a description as I can give.’

‘So how do you know it was the same person?’

‘Same voice, same posture, same mannerisms.’ Lucien sat back on his chair. ‘It wasn’t hard to tell, Robert. I’m telling you, it was the same person every time.’

Hunter saw no reason to doubt Lucien. ‘How about the person who delivered the car to you?’ he asked.

‘As I’ve said, the instructions came over the phone. Car was left in a car park. Keys, car park ticket and delivery address were left inside an envelope in a safe place for me to collect. No human contact.’

‘And you had no idea what you were delivering?’ Hunter asked. ‘I mean – you didn’t know what was in the trunk?’

Lucien shook his head. ‘It was always part of the instructions – don’t ever look in the trunk.’

Hunter pondered over that for a second or two, but Lucien anticipated his next question, and offered an answer before Hunter could even ask it.

‘Yes, I was curious about it. Yes, I thought about taking a quick peek many times, but like I said, these are the kind of people you simply don’t fuck with. If I’d opened that trunk, I’m sure they would’ve had a way of knowing it. Curious or not, that was one stupid mistake that I wasn’t prepared to make.’

Hunter had a quick sip of his water.

‘You said that this all started about a year and a half ago?’

Lucien nodded.

‘How many deliveries were there?’

‘This was supposed to be my fifth car delivery.’

Hunter held steady, but alarm bells started ringing everywhere inside his head. Five deliveries. If Lucien was telling the truth, and he was delivering the same or very similar cargo every time, then this whole thing had just escalated into a serial-murderer investigation. And judging by what he’d seen, a very brutal and sadistic one.

Lucien paused and looked at Hunter differently, like a rookie poker player who’d just gotten a great hand and was unable to disguise it. ‘My trump is – I know who the person over the phone was.’

Hunter’s eyebrows arched.

Lucien took a moment before speaking again. ‘For now, I’ll keep that information to myself, together with all the previous pick-up and delivery locations.’

That answer caught Hunter completely by surprise and he frowned.

‘I know you’re not running this show, Robert,’ Lucien explained. ‘The FBI is pulling all the strings here. The only reason you’re here is because I asked for you. I know they’ve probably told you that you’re only here as a guest . . . a listener. You have no authority over anything. You can’t guarantee me anything because here you have no bargaining powers. My only bargaining power, on the other hand, is information.’

‘I understand that,’ Hunter agreed. ‘But I don’t see how withholding it can help you, Lucien. If you are innocent, you have to help the FBI prove that, not play games with them.’

‘And I will do that, Robert, but I’m scared. Even a child can see that the evidence against me is overwhelming. I know that I’m facing death row here, and I’m petrified. Yes, I’ll admit that paranoia has set in in here.’ Lucien lifted his shackled fists and hit them three times against his forehead before looking straight into Hunter’s eyes. ‘I didn’t tell them anything so far because I didn’t think they’d believe me.’

It was easy to see how paranoia and fear could’ve easily distorted Lucien’s vision of reality. Hunter had to reassure him. ‘It doesn’t quite work like that, Lucien. Why wouldn’t the FBI believe you? They’re not out to send you, or just anyone to prison. They want to find the person who’s responsible for those murders, and if you can help them, of course they’ll listen to you. Of course they’ll follow up on what you tell them.’

‘OK, maybe they would, but I panicked.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Then I thought of you. I have no family left, Robert, everyone’s gone. There’s no one on this earth who even cares if I live or die. I met a lot of people in my life, but you’re the only real friend I’ve ever had. The only one who knew the real me, and you were also a cop. So I just thought that maybe . . .’ Lucien’s voice was filled with emotion one more time. His toughness cracked again. ‘I didn’t do this, Robert. You have to believe me.’

Back in college, Hunter could usually tell when Lucien was lying because he had a very subtle tell. Hunter had identified it in their second semester at Stanford. As he was telling a lie, Lucien’s stare would harden, become more determined, as if somehow the tough look in his eyes could hypnotized you into believing him. Consequently, for just a fraction of a second, his lower left eyelid would tighten, producing not exactly a twitch, but a very delicate movement. He couldn’t help it because he didn’t even know he was doing it. It’s been over twenty years, but Hunter hoped he could still identify it because he knew what to look for. But there had been no hardening of the stare. No movement of the lower left eyelid whatsoever, no matter how subtle.

‘Remember when I told you that I didn’t know how to ask for help, your help?’ Lucien paused for breath. ‘Well, I’m doing it now. Please help me, Robert.’

Hunter felt the stab of guilt slash through him for the second time.

‘How can I help you, Lucien?’ he asked. ‘You said so yourself just a moment ago. I’m here as a listener. I have no authority over anything. I’m not even an FBI agent. I’m a detective with the LAPD.’

Lucien locked eyes with Hunter for a long moment, and then, all of a sudden, his gaze softened.

‘If I’m brutally honest, Robert, I don’t think I really care if I live or die anymore. I messed up a long time ago. I made way too many mistakes, and since then, I’ve done nothing but live a sub-life. I lost everything, including my dignity and the only person I truly loved. I guess I can say that I’m ashamed of most of my life, but I’m not a murderer. I know that this might sound silly, but I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, except you, Robert. Regardless of what happens to me, I want you to know that I’m not a monster.’

Hunter was about to say something, but Lucien interrupted him.

‘Please don’t say that you already know that, or that you don’t believe I am one, because I don’t want your pity, Robert. I want you to know. Really know. That’s why I’m going to tell you what I’m going to tell you, because I know that you will check on everything I say, with or without the FBI.’

Still no telltale signs from Lucien.

Hunter knew Lucien was right. There was no way he would walk away from that interrogation room and forget about everything Lucien was about to tell him, no matter what sort of pressure the FBI tried to put him under.

‘So what is it that you want to tell me?’ he asked. ‘What is it that you want me to go check out?’

Lucien looked down at his hands before meeting Hunter’s stare . . . and then he started speaking again.

Nineteen

Special Agents Taylor and Newman, together with Doctor Lambert, stepped into the interrogation room thirty seconds after Lucien was taken back to his cell. Hunter was leaning against the metal table, facing a blank wall, a pensive look on his face.

‘Detective Hunter,’ Taylor said, grabbing his attention. ‘This is Doctor Patrick Lambert. He’s a forensic psychiatrist with the BSU. He also watched the entire interview from the observations room.’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective Hunter,’ Doctor Lambert said, shaking Hunter’s hand. ‘Impressive work.’

Hunter gave him a subtle frown.

‘Your paper. Impressive work. And to think that you wrote that when you were so young.’

Hunter accepted the compliment with a simple head gesture.

‘For someone who had said only seven words in five days, you sure got him talking,’ Taylor said.

Hunter looked at her, but said nothing back.

‘We didn’t pick up anything relevant,’ Newman announced, pouring himself a cup of water from the cooler.

‘What do you mean?’ Hunter asked.

Newman told Hunter about the facial analysis software they were using inside the observation room.

‘There were a few nervy eye, head and hand movements,’ Doctor Lambert said. ‘A few emotional qualities here and there in his tone of voice, but nothing that would flag as too anxious or too nervous. Bottom line is – we have no clear indication that he was lying about anything.’ He paused for effect. ‘But we also have no clear indication that he was telling the truth about anything.’

So much for your expensive facial analysis software, Hunter thought.

‘And that includes everything he told you in the last few minutes of your interview,’ Doctor Lambert added.

Lucien had tried keeping his voice quiet; quieter than throughout the entire session, but the powerful multi-directional microphone on the ceiling directly above the metal table had picked up every word he had said to Hunter.

‘I’m sending a riddle your way, Robert. A riddle that only you will know the answer to.’ Lucien had placed both elbows on the table, leaned forward, and looked over Hunter’s shoulder at the two-way mirror behind him. ‘I don’t trust those fuckers.’

His voice had become almost a whisper.

‘For the past several years, I’ve been living – or hiding, if you prefer – in North Carolina. The house is rented, and I pay cash in advance directly to this old couple, so the place can’t be traced back to me.’ A pause, followed by a sip of water. ‘In our dorm room back in Stanford, I used to have several posters on the wall by my bed. But there was a particular one. The largest of them all. The one that you also liked . . . with the sunset. If you think about it, you will remember it. The county in North Carolina carries the same name as the figure in that poster.’

Hunter’s expression had turned thoughtful.

‘I’m sure you’ll also remember Professor “Hot Sauce”.’ The right edge of Lucien’s mouth had lifted in a semi-devious smile. ‘Susan’s dare? Halloween night?’ He’d waited just a second before seeing recognition dance across Hunter’s face. ‘By sheer coincidence, the city I’ve been living in shares his name.’

Hunter had said nothing.

‘After I got the first phone call asking me to make the first car delivery, something inside my head told me that this would probably end very badly. So, out of precaution, I started keeping a diary, so to speak. Actually, it was more like a notebook, and I noted down everything I could – date, time and duration of calls, conversation details, pickup times and locations, car type and license plate numbers, stops I did on the way, the name of the person at the other end of the line . . . everything. I keep the notebook in the house, down in the basement.’

Hunter had caught a new glint in his old friend’s eyes. Something that wasn’t there before.

‘The house is right at the end of the wood’s edge. The keys are in my jacket pocket, which I believe was seized by the FBI. You have my authorization to use it and get into the house, Robert. You’ll find a lot in there. Things that can help you clear this mess up.’

That was all Lucien had said.

‘So,’ Newman said to Hunter. ‘Do you know the answers to all that crap he threw at you at the end?’

Hunter said nothing, but Newman seemed to read his demeanor as a positive answer.

‘Great. So if you give us the name of the county and the town in North Carolina where his house is at, your job here is all done.’ He finished drinking his water. ‘I understand that you were on your way to Hawaii for a long-overdue vacation.’ For no reason at all, Newman checked his watch. ‘You’ve only missed a day. You could be there by tomorrow morning.’

Hunter’s gaze lingered on Newman for a few seconds, before moving to Taylor, and then back to Newman.

‘That’s exactly why Lucien made the location of his house into a riddle that only I could figure out,’ he said, standing up straight and adjusting the collar on his leather jacket. ‘Because the only way any of you are getting there, is if I take you there.’

Twenty

Neither Newman nor Taylor had the authority to make that sort of decision. All they knew was that the man in their custody had refused to talk, saying he would only speak to Detective Robert Hunter of the LAPD. Hunter had been brought in, but as far as everyone was concerned, he was there simply as a listener. His job was to get Lucien Folter to talk. He wasn’t supposed to be involved in the investigation, and he certainly wasn’t part of the team. This was not a joint venture between the LAPD and the FBI.

‘I thought that you couldn’t wait to go on vacation, Robert,’ Adrian Kennedy said, staring straight into the web camera.

Hunter, Taylor and Newman had gone back up to the BSU floor and were now sitting inside an ample office, facing a very large flat-screen monitor mounted onto the west wall. The dot-sized green light at the top of the monitor indicated that the in-built camera was on.

Despite being less than an hour away, Director Adrian Kennedy’s overbooked schedule prevented him from making the trip back to Quantico. He was speaking to everyone via a video link from his office in Washington, DC.