An Evil Mind (8 page)

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.’