An Evil Mind (20 page)

‘My mother worked as a cleaner for minimum wage. My father worked nights as a security guard, and to complement the little money he earned, during the day he would take any odd job he could get. The end of each and every month was always a struggle in our house, even when they were both healthy. We had no savings because there was never anything left to save. My father’s small health insurance wouldn’t cover the costs. We couldn’t afford the hospital bills. Back home was the only place she could be.’

A long, dragged silence.

‘Wow, that’s
one
sad story, Robert,’ Lucien finally said coldly. ‘I can practically hear the violins. Tell me, were you at home when your mother died?’

Hunter shook his head. ‘No.’

Lucien returned to a regular seating position and nodded calmly before standing up. ‘I told you that if you lied to me, Robert, I’d know. And that was a lie. This interview is over.’

Taylor’s surprised gaze waltzed between Hunter and Lucien.

‘Fuck Susan’s remains,’ Lucien said. ‘You will never find those. Good luck explaining that to her family.’

Forty-Three

Lucien turned and slowly walked over to the washbasin.

Taylor tensed on her seat, but the awkward moment lasted just a few seconds before Hunter lifted both of his hands in a surrender gesture. ‘OK, Lucien, I’m sorry.’

Lucien ran a hand through his hair, but kept his back to Hunter and Taylor. He took his time, as if he was considering Hunter’s apology.

‘Well, I guess I can’t really blame you, can I, Robert?’ he said at last. ‘You needed to give it a shot to see if I could really tell if you were lying or not. It’s only logical. Why would you trust me now? I could never tell with you before, could I? You never really had any telltale signs. You were always the one who could keep a straight face through any situation.’ He finally turned to face his interrogators again. ‘Well, old friend, I guess you’re getting old, or perhaps it’s because I’ve gotten much, much better at reading people.’

Hunter didn’t doubt that for a second. Many serial killers become experts in observing people and reading their body language and hidden signs. It helps them choose the right victim and pick the precise moment to strike.

‘So,’ Lucien continued. ‘For old times’ sake, I’m going to let this one slide, but don’t lie to me again, Robert.’ He sat back down. ‘Maybe you would like to rephrase your answer?’

A short pause.

‘Yes, I was home when my mother died,’ Hunter began again. ‘As I’d said, my father worked nights as a security guard, and my mother passed away during the night.’

‘So you were alone with your mother?’

Hunter nodded.

Lucien waited, but Hunter offered nothing more. ‘Don’t stop now, Robert. Did her screams scare you at night?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you didn’t go hide in your room, did you?’

‘No.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because I was more scared of not being there for her if my mother needed me.’

‘And did she? On that last night? Did she need you?’

Hunter held his breath.

‘Did she need you, Robert?’

Hunter saw something in Lucien’s eyes that he hadn’t noticed before – total certainty, as if he already knew all the answers, and if Hunter deviated from the truth even a little bit, Lucien would know.

‘Yes,’ Hunter finally replied.

‘How did she need you?’ Lucien asked. ‘And remember, don’t lie to me.’

‘Pills,’ Hunter said.

‘What about them?’

‘My mother used to take them. They made the pain go away, at least for a little while. But as the cancer grew stronger inside her, the effect of the pills grew weaker.’

‘So she needed more,’ Lucien said.

Hunter nodded.

A pensive look came over Lucien’s face; a moment later, his lips stretched into a wicked smile.

‘But they were prescription painkillers, right?’ he said. ‘Probably very strong, probably schedule two, probably opioids, which means that exceeding the dosage was a big no-no. Those pills weren’t by her bedside, were they, Robert? They couldn’t have been. The risk of accidental overdose would’ve been too great. So where were they? In the bathroom? In the kitchen? Where?’

Silence.

‘The pills, Robert, where were they kept?’ Lucien insisted.

Hunter could hear the threat in his voice.

‘My father kept them in the cupboard, in the kitchen.’

‘But your mother asked you for them that night.’

‘Yes.’

Lucien scratched the scar on his left cheek.

‘She couldn’t handle the pain anymore, could she?’ he pushed. ‘She’d rather be dead. In fact, she begged for death, and you were the messenger, because you brought them to her, didn’t you? How many pills did you bring her, Robert?’ Then it dawned on him and he lifted a hand at the same time as his eyes widened a touch. ‘No, wait. You brought her the whole bottle, didn’t you?’

Hunter said nothing, but his memory took him back to that night.

Nights were always worse. Her screams sounded louder, her groans deeper and heavier with pain. They always made him shiver. Not like when he felt cold, but an intense shiver that came from deep within. Her illness had brought her so much pain, and he wished there was something he could do to help.

Seven-year-old Robert Hunter had heard his mother’s painful screams and had cautiously opened the door to her room. He felt like crying. Since she’d gotten ill, he felt a lot like crying, but his father had told him he mustn’t.

Her illness had made her look so different. She was so thin he could see her bones poking at her sagging skin. Her striking long blonde hair was now fine and frizzled. Her once-sparkling eyes had lost all the life in them and had sunk deep into their sockets.

Shaking, he paused by the door. His mother was curled up into a ball on the bed. Her knees pushed up against her chest. Her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her face contorted in pain. She screwed up her eyes and tried to focus on the tiny figure standing at the door.

‘Please, baby,’ she whispered as she recognized her son. ‘Can you help me? I can’t take the pain anymore.’

It took all his strength to keep his tears locked in his throat. ‘What can I do, Mom?’ His voice was as weak as hers. ‘Do you want me to call Dad?’

She managed only a delicate shake of the head. ‘Dad can’t help, honey, but you can. Could you come here . . . please. Can you help me?’

His mother looked like a different person now. Her eyes had the darkest bags under them. Her lips were cracked and crusted.

‘I can heat up some milk for you, Mom. You like hot milk.’

He would do anything he could to see his mother smile again. As he stepped closer, she winced as a new surge of pain took over her body.

‘Please, baby. Help me.’ Her breath was coming in short gasps.

Despite what his father had told him, he simply couldn’t hold his tears anymore. They started rolling down his face.

His mother could now see he was scared and shaking. ‘It’s OK, honey. Everything will be fine,’ she said in a trembling voice.

He stepped closer still and placed his hand in hers.

‘I love you, Mom.’

His words brought tears to her eyes. ‘I love you too, honey.’ She gave his hand a subtle squeeze. It was all she could muster with the little strength she had left in her. ‘I need your help, honey . . . please.’

‘What can I do, Mom?’

‘Can you get my pills for me, honey. You know where they are, don’t you?’

He ran the back of his right hand against his running nose. He looked scared. ‘They’re very high up,’ he said, hiding his eyes from her.

‘Can’t you reach them for me, baby? Please, the pain has been going on for so long. You don’t know how much it hurts.’

His eyes were so full of tears everything appeared distorted. His heart felt empty, and he felt as if all his strength had left him. Without saying a word, he slowly turned around and opened the door.

His mother tried calling after him, but her voice was so weak, it didn’t travel more than just a few yards.

He came back a few minutes later carrying a tray with a glass of water, two cream biscuits and the bottle of medicine. She stared at it, hardly believing her eyes. Very slowly, and through unimaginable pain, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. He stepped closer, placed the tray on the bedside table and handed her the glass of water.

She wanted to hug him so much, but she barely had the strength to move; instead, she gave him the most honest smile he’d ever seen. She tried, but her fingers were way too weak to twist the bottle cap open. She looked at him, and her eyes begged for help.

He took it from her trembling hands, pressed down on the cap and twisted it counterclockwise, before pouring two of the pills onto her hand. She placed them in her mouth and swallowed them down without even sipping the water. Her eyes pleaded for more.

‘I read the label, Mom. It says you shouldn’t have more than eight a day. The two you just had make it ten today.’

‘You’re so intelligent, my darling.’ She smiled again. ‘You’re very special. I love you so much and I’m so sorry I won’t see you grow up.’

His eyes filled with tears once again as she wrapped her bony fingers around the medicine bottle.

He held on to it tightly.

‘It’s OK,’ she whispered. ‘It’ll all be OK now.’

Hesitantly, he let go. ‘Dad will be angry with me.’

‘No, he won’t be, baby. I promise you.’ She placed two more pills in her mouth.

‘I brought you these biscuits.’ He pointed to the tray. ‘They’re your favorite, Mom. Please have one. You didn’t eat much today.’

‘I will, honey, in a while.’ She had a few more pills. ‘When Daddy comes home in the morning, tell him I love him, and that I always will. Can you do that for me?’

The boy nodded. His eyes locked on the now almost empty medicine bottle.

‘Why don’t you go read one of your books, darling? I know you love reading.’

‘I can read in here, Mom, so you’re not alone. I can sit in the corner if you like. I won’t make a noise, I promise.’

She extended her hand and touched his hair. ‘I’ll be OK now, honey. The pain’s starting to go away.’ Her eyelids looked heavy.

‘I’ll guard the room then. I’ll sit just outside the door.’

She smiled a pain-stricken smile. ‘Why do you wanna guard the room, honey?’

‘You told me that sometimes God comes and takes ill people to heaven. I don’t want him to take you, Mom. I’ll sit by the door and if he comes I’ll tell him to go away. I’ll tell him that you’re getting better and not to take you.’

‘You’ll tell God to go away?’

He nodded vigorously.

She started crying again. ‘I’m going to miss you so much, Robert.’

Taylor looked at Hunter and felt her heart shrivel inside her chest.

A cold smile began to crack on Lucien’s lips, like ice over a dark, frozen lake. ‘So you left the room,’ he said.

Hunter nodded.

‘And that was when the nightmares started,’ Lucien said in conclusion, like a psychologist who had finally broken through a patient’s barrier.

A disconcerting silence took over the entire basement corridor, but not for long. With his gaze fixed on Lucien, Hunter finally let go of the memory.

‘Susan, Lucien,’ he said. The sadness had vanished from his voice. ‘You have what you wanted, now tell us what happened after you drugged her in the car?’

Forty-Four

La Honda, 18 miles from Palo Alto, California.

Twenty-five years earlier.

Susan Richards was jolted awake by the loud sound of a heavy door slamming shut. Despite the sudden noise, her eyes opened slowly, blinking constantly, as if grains of sand had been blown into them and were now scratching at her cornea. Her eyelids felt heavy and tired, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get her eyes to focus on anything. Everything around her came as nothing but a big blur.

The first thing she realized was how dizzy she felt, as if she were stuck in a hazy dream with no way of waking up. Her mouth was bone dry and her tongue felt like sandpaper. Then she noticed the smell – dirty, damp, moldy, old and sickening. She had no idea where she was, but it smelt as if the place had been neglected for years. In spite of the horrible stench, Susan’s lungs demanded that she took in a full breath of air, and as she did, she could almost taste the rancid quality of the room. One deep breath and it made her gag.

All of a sudden, between desperate coughs, sharp and excruciating pain came to her. It took her exhausted body a few seconds to finally home in on it. It was coming from her right arm.

Susan realized then that she was sitting down on some sort of hard and terribly uncomfortable chair. Her wrists were tied together behind the chair’s backrest, her ankles to the chair’s legs. She was soaking wet, drenched with sweat. She tried lifting her head, which was awkwardly slumped forward, and the movement sent waves of nausea rippling through her stomach.

She couldn’t identify the light source inside the room, maybe a corner lamp or an old light bulb hanging overhead, but whatever it was, it bathed the room in a weak yellowish glow. Her eyes finally moved right and tried to focus on her arm and the source of the pain. She still felt groggy, so it took a moment for her vision to steady itself and for the blurriness to dissipate. When it did, her heart was filled with terror.

‘Oh, my God.’ The words dribbled out of her lips.

An enormous chunk of skin was missing from her arm – from her shoulder all the way down to her elbow. In its place she saw raw, blood-soaked flesh. For an instant, it looked as if the wound were alive. Blood was cascading down her arm, over her hands, through her fingers, and onto the concrete floor, forming a large crimson pool at the feet of the chair.

Instantly, Susan jerked her head away and vomited all over her lap. The effort made her feel even weaker, even dizzier.

‘Sorry about that, Susan,’ she heard a familiar voice say. ‘You could never really stand the sight of blood, could you?’ Susan coughed a few more times and tried to spit the awful vomit taste from her mouth. Her eyes moved forward, finally focusing on the figure standing in front of her.