God's Spy (27 page)

December 1999
Transcript of Interview Number 115 between Patient Number 3643 and Doctor Canice Conroy

Dr Conroy: I see you’ve brought a book with you. Enigmas and Curiosities. Any tricky ones?
No. 6: They’re very easy.
Dr Conroy: All right, then. Tell me one.
No. 6: They’re too simple, really. I don’t think you’ll like them.
Dr Conroy: But I like riddles.
No. 6: OK. If a man digs a hole in one hour and two men dig two holes in two hours, how long will it take a man to dig half a hole?
Dr Conroy: That’s easy. Half an hour.
No. 6: [Laughs.]
Dr Conroy: What are you laughing at? It’s half an hour. One hour, one hole. Half an hour, half a hole.
No. 6: Doctor, there’s no such things as half a hole. A hole is always a hole. [Laughs again.]
Dr Conroy: Are you trying to tell me something, Victor?
No. 6: Of course, doctor. Of course.
Dr Conroy: You’re not a hole, Victor. You aren’t irredeemably condemned to being the way you are.
No. 6: But I am, Doctor Conroy. And I have you to thank for showing me the way.
Dr Conroy: What way?
No. 6: I’ve fought for so long to resist being who I am, trying to be something I’m not. But thanks to you, I’ve become who I really am. Isn’t that what you wanted?
Dr Conroy: It’s not possible. I couldn’t have gone so wrong with you.
No. 6: Doctor, you weren’t wrong. You made me see the light. You made me understand that to open a heavy door, you need a strong hand.
Dr Conroy: Is that you? The strong hand?
No. 6: [More laughter.] No, doctor. I’m the key.

Saturday, 9 April 2005, 11.46 p.m.

For a long time the door to her room was shut. Paola was inside, completely distraught. Her mother was away, visiting friends in Ostia for the weekend, a small piece of luck about which Paola was greatly relieved. She was at her lowest, and wouldn’t be able to hide it from her mother. If she saw the condition her daughter was in, Signora Dicanti would try to cheer her up, which would only make matters worse. Paola needed to be alone, to plunge into the failure and desperation she felt inside.

She lay down on the bed, not bothering to remove her clothes. Noise from the street below and the faint light of an April afternoon filtered into her room as she endlessly relived her conversation with Troi and the events of the last few days. Finally, she drifted off to sleep. Nearly nine hours after she had collapsed with exhaustion on to her bed, the unique aroma of fresh coffee invaded her dream, forcing her to open her eyes.

‘Mamma, you’re back early . . .’
‘You’re right, I did come back quickly.’ The voice was firm, polite, speaking a tuneful but slightly hesitant Italian: the voice of Anthony Fowler.
Paola’s eyes shot open and, without realising what she was doing, she threw both her arms around his neck.
‘Careful, careful. You’ll spill the coffee.’
Paola unwillingly let go of him. Fowler was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at her with a mischievous smile. In one hand he held a cup he had taken from the kitchen.
‘How did you get in? And how did you manage to escape from the police? They were putting you on a plane to Washington . . .’
‘Calm down. One question at a time,’ Fowler laughed. ‘As to how I managed to slip out of the hands of two fat, poorly trained public servants, I simply ask you not to insult my intelligence. As to how I got into your apartment, the answer is easy: I picked the lock.’
‘I see. CIA basic training – right?’
‘More or less. Sorry for the intrusion, but I knocked several times and nobody answered. I thought you might be in danger. When I saw you sleeping so peacefully, I decided to make good on my promise about the coffee.’
Paola stood up, lifting the cup out of Fowler’s hand. The only light in the bedroom came from the lamps on the street, which threw long shadows across the high ceiling. Fowler looked around the room. On one wall hung Paola’s diplomas: school, university, the FBI Academy; swimming medals, too, and even a few oil paintings that must have been done at least thirteen years ago. Once more Fowler felt just how vulnerable this intelligent, energetic woman was – a woman who moved into the future burdened by her past; a woman who, in large part, had never abandoned her earliest childhood. Fowler glanced over the walls around the bed, trying to ascertain the line of sight of the person who slept there. At the end of the imaginary line he drew from the pillow to the wall was a framed photograph of Paola sitting on a hospital bed with her father.
‘It’s good coffee. My mother’s coffee is terrible.’
‘Just a question of an even flame, dottoressa.’
‘So why did you come back?’
‘Various reasons. Because I didn’t want to leave you stranded. To stop that lunatic from going about his business. And because I suspect that there’s much more to this case than meets the eye. I feel like we’ve been used by everybody, you and I. What’s more, I suspect you have very personal reasons for wanting to see it through.’
Paola frowned. ‘You’re right. Pontiero was a friend and a colleague. Right now, what I really want is to bring his killer to justice, but I really don’t think we can. Without my badge and everything that comes with it, we’re like two tiny clouds. The slightest breeze and we’ll be blown away. And besides, they’re probably looking for you.’
‘Quite possible. I gave the two officers the slip in Fiumicino. But I doubt Troi would go so far as to issue an order for my capture and arrest. With all the hullabaloo going on in the city right now, it wouldn’t do him any good, and how could he justify it? My guess is he’s going let it go.’
‘And your bosses, padre?’
‘Officially, I’m in Langley. Unofficially, they haven’t objected to me sticking around here for a while longer.’
‘At last some good news.’
‘What’s going to be difficult for us now is getting into the Vatican, because Cirin will be on the lookout.’
‘I don’t see how we can protect the cardinals if they’re on the inside and we’re not.’
‘I think we ought to start at the beginning. Go back over the whole chain of events from the outset, because it’s clear that something has sailed right over our heads.’
‘How are we going to do that? I don’t have the necessary information. The Karosky file is sitting in the UACV.’
Fowler’s lips curled into a roguish smile. ‘God sometimes grants us small miracles.’
His hand pointed in the direction of Paola’s desk, at the other end of the room. Paola turned on the small lamp, which cast its glow over the unwieldy pile of Manilla envelopes that made up the Karosky dossier.
‘Let me propose a joint venture. You concentrate on what you do best: a psychological profile of the killer – a definitive one, with all the facts we now have at our disposal. I, meanwhile, will ensure the supply of fresh coffee.’
Paola finished the first cup. She wanted to take a closer look at the priest’s face, but he was sitting outside the cone of light cast by the lamp. Suddenly, she was struck by the niggling feeling that had overcome her in the hallway at Saint Martha’s, a premonition she’d ignored, putting it off until a later date. Now, after the long list of events that had followed the death of Cardoso, she was more than ever convinced that her intuition had been correct. She turned her computer on, picked up a blank profile from among the papers on her desk and started to fill it out, consulting the dossier from time to time.
‘Let´s have another pot of coffee, padre. I want to see if a theory of mine holds up.’

Psychological Profile of a Serial Killer

Patient:
KAROSKY, Victor
Profile created by Doctor Paola Dicanti.
Current location of patient:
In absentia
Date of entry:
0 April 00
Age:
Height:
6 feet
Weight:
87 lbs
Description:
Brown hair, grey eyes, healthy complexion, highly intelligent (IQ of )

Family history:
Victor Karosky was born into a lower-middle-class family of immigrants ruled over by a domineering mother who had profound problems relating to reality, owing to the influence of religion. The family emigrated from Poland, and from early on this lack of stability is evident in all family members. The father presents a typical portrait of irregular work history, alcoholism and bad behaviour, to which can be added repeated, periodic sexual abuse (intended as punishment) of his son when the subject reaches adolescence. The mother seems to have been aware of the abuse and incest committed by her husband, while acting as if she wasn’t. An older brother ran away from the family household on account of the sexual abuse. A younger brother was left to die, after a long illness brought on by meningitis. The subject was locked into a closet, incommunicado, for long periods of time, after the ‘discovery’ by his mother of the father’s sexual abuse. By the time he was freed, the father had abandoned the household, and it was the mother who imposed her personality, in this case impressing upon the subject a Catholic fear of damnation, the inevitable result of his ‘sexual excess’, as defined by the mother. She dressed him in her clothes and even went so far as to threaten him with castration. This produced a grave distortion of reality in the subject, as well as a serious disorder in terms of an unintegrated sexuality. The first signs of rage and antisocial behaviour began to appear. He attacked a schoolmate, and was sent to a reformatory. Upon leaving, his record was wiped clean, and at nineteen years old he decided to enter a seminary. They did no checks on his psychological profile, and accepted his application.

Adult history:
Indications of unintegrated sexual disorder are confirmed at nineteen years old, shortly after the death of his mother, when the subject engages a minor in heavy petting, an act which gradually becomes more frequent and extended. The ecclesiastical authorities in the seminary make no punitive response to his sexual aggression, which becomes even more problematic when the subject is responsible for his own congregation. According to his file, there are at least 89 documented cases of sexual aggression against minors, 9 of which consist of sodomy with full penetration, and the remainder, petting or forcing masturbation and/or fellatio. The compendium of interviews with the subject allows us to deduce that, however strange it may seem, he was fully convinced of his vocation in the ministry. In cases of pederasty among priests, it is often possible to identify their sexual drive as the motive for their entrance into the ministry, somewhat like a fox entering the hen house. But in Karosky’s case, the motives behind his vows are very different. His mother pushed him in this direction, even going so far as to use force. After an incident in which he attacked a parishioner, the Karosky scandal could no longer be kept under wraps and the subject was at last admitted to the Saint Matthew Institute, a rehabilitation centre for Catholic priests. There we find Karosky closely identifying with the Bible, especially the Old Testament. An episode of sudden violence against an employee of the institute takes place just a few days after his arrival. From this incident we are able to deduce an overwhelming cognitive dissonance between the subject’s sexual compulsion and his religious convictions. When the two collide, they produce a violent crisis, as in the case of the attack on the laboratory technician.

Recent history:
The subject presents a portrait of rage, reflected in his displaced aggression. He has committed various crimes, in which elevated levels of sexual sadism are manifest, including ritual symbols and insertional necrophilia.

Profile of notable characteristics manifest in his actions:
Agreeable personality, medium-to-high intelligence Frequent lies
Total absence of guilt or feelings towards his victims Complete egocentricity
Personal, affective disconnect
An impersonal and impulsive sexuality, harnessed to the satisfaction of egocentric needs

Antisocial
High levels of obedience

incoherencies!!!!!
Irrational thought integrated into his actions Multiple neuroses
Criminal behaviour understood as a means not an end Suicidal tendencies
Mission oriented

Sunday, 10 April 2005, 1.45 a.m.
Fowler finished reading the report Dicanti had handed to him. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but the report seems incomplete. You’ve simply written a résumé of everything we already knew. In all sincerity, this isn’t going to get us very far.’

Dicanti stood up.
‘You’re couldn’t be more wrong. Karosky presents a very complex clinical portrait, from which we can deduce that the increase in his aggression turned a sexual predator who’d been clinically castrated into a multiple killer.’
‘Which is the basis of our theory.’
‘And it’s as worthless as a voting booth in Florida. Look closely at the characteristics in the profile, and the end of the report. The first eight would define a serial killer.’
Fowler went down the list, nodding his head.
‘There are two types of serial killers: disorganised and organised. It’s not a perfect classification, but it works. The first type corresponds to killers who commit spontaneous, impulsive crimes, with a high probability that they will leave evidence at the scene. They often know their victims, and tend to live in the same geographical area. They use whatever weapons happen to be convenient: a chair, a belt – whatever they can get their hands on. Sexual sadism appears postmortem.’
Fowler rubbed his eyes. He was very tired and had only a few hours sleep. ‘Sorry. Go on.’
‘The other kind, the organised, is someone who has great freedom of movement and who captures his victims before using force. The victim is a usually a stranger who corresponds to a specific criterion. The weapons and restraints employed match a preconceived plan, and the killer never leaves them behind. The body is abandoned in a neutral spot, in exactly the manner the killer intends. OK, so to which of the two groups does Karosky belong?’
‘The second, obviously.’
‘That is what any observer could deduce. But we can go further. We have the dossier. We know who he is, where he comes from, what he’s thinking. Forget everything that’s happened in the last few days and concentrate on the Karosky who entered the Institute.’
‘An impulsive character, who, in certain situations, exploded like a keg of dynamite.’
‘And after five years of therapy?’
‘A different creature entirely.’
‘Would you say that this change occurred gradually, or all at once?’
‘It was pretty sudden. I would pinpoint the change to the moment when Conroy forced him to listen to the tapes of his regression therapy.’
Paola took a deep breath before she went on. ‘Padre, I don’t mean to offend you, but after reading dozens of the interviews between Karosky, Conroy and yourself, I think you could be wrong. And that mistake has sent us off in the wrong direction.’
Fowler leaned forward. ‘No offence taken. I have a degree in psychology, as you know, but I was only at the institute as a kind of punishment. My real expertise lies elsewhere. You’re the expert criminologist and I’m lucky to have your insight. But I don’t understand where you’re taking this.’
‘Take a second look at the profile,’ Paola said, pointing towards it. ‘Under the heading, “Incoherencies” I have noted five characteristics which make it impossible for us to conclude that our subject is an organised serial killer. Criminology textbook in hand, any expert would say that Karosky is an organised anomaly, evolving from a trauma – in this case the confrontation with his past. Are you familiar with the term cognitive dissonance?’
‘It’s the state of mind in which the actions and intimate beliefs of a person are at extreme odds with each other. Karosky suffered from extreme cognitive dissonance: he believed himself to be an exemplary priest, while his eighty-nine victims would have asserted that he was a pederast.’
‘Exactly. So then, according to you, the subject – a committed Catholic, neurotic, impervious to all intrusion from the outside world – is, in the space of a few months, transformed into a serial killer, cold and calculating, without a trace of neurosis. And all of this after listening to a few tapes in which he comprehends for the first time that he was mistreated as a child?’
‘Looking at it from that perspective . . . It does seem a bit farfetched.’ Fowler was hesitant.
‘Or impossible. There’s no doubt that Conroy’s irresponsible action did harm Karosky, but it couldn’t have provoked such a disproportionate change. The fanatical priest who covers his ears, infuriated when you read the names of his victims to him out loud, could not transform himself into an organised serial killer in the space of a few months. And let’s remember that his first two ritual crimes took place at the institute itself: the mutilation of one priest and the murder of another.’
‘But dottoressa, the cardinals died at Karosky’s hands. He himself confessed; his fingerprints were found at all three of the crime scenes.’
‘That is true. I don’t dispute that Karosky murdered those men. It’s more than certain that he did. What I’m trying to say is that the motive that made him commit those crimes isn’t what we thought it was. The most important detail in his profile – the thing that led him to become a priest in spite of his tortured soul – is the same thing as has conditioned him to commit these terrible acts.’
Fowler finally understood. Overcome by shock, he had to sit down on Paola’s bed to keep from losing his balance. ‘Obedience.’
‘Correct. Karosky isn’t a serial killer at all. He’s a hired assassin.’