The Cure (6 page)

Erin laughed. “I’m sure Derrick would hate that also.”

“I know what we can do,” continued Lisa. “If Derrick and I start getting really serious, you can put him in your MRI machine and scan his brain. Then we’d know for sure.”

“Haven’t you already told him what I study?”

Lisa frowned. “Yeah. You did come up. The mystery roommate. So you’re saying he’d probably figure out that’s what we were doing. That he might not appreciate it that his girlfriend thinks he might be a psycho.”

Erin opened her mouth to respond when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and read the caller ID. “Sorry, it’s my boss. I need to take this.”

The phone conversation lasted less than a minute, but all the sunshine that this discussion with Lisa had let into Erin’s life quickly vanished.

“Erin?” said Lisa worriedly, not having to be an expert in body language to know that something was very wrong.

“Sorry, but I have to go,” said Erin, shoving the last of her sandwich into her mouth and chasing it down with a long drink of water.

“What is it?”

“Seems the dean of my department wants to see me and my advisor in his office,” she replied. “Immediately. If not sooner.”

“What about?”

“I have no idea,” replied Erin. She frowned deeply and then added, “But, apparently, he isn’t a happy camper.”

4

ERIN AND HER
thesis advisor sat before the desk of Dean Richard Borland in two brown leather chairs that looked stately, well padded, and exceedingly comfortable, which only went to show that you couldn’t judge a chair by its appearance. Whoever had designed the chairs must have been the world’s leading expert on the human body to be able to design one this unsuited to the human posture.

Erin watched the dean’s glowering face and wondered if he had bought these chairs on purpose to unsettle his visitors. Not that he wasn’t fully capable of making visitors squirm and become miserably uncomfortable all by himself.

The dean handed her a section of the
Wall Street Journal
once she was fully locked into the torture chair, doing so with such contempt that he threw it on her lap more than handed it to her. She glanced down. It was one of the weekend sections of the paper that boasted the highest circulation of any in the country. The lead story, which took up the entire front page of the section, top and bottom, and continued onto the next page was entitled, “The Psychopaths Among Us.”

Erin handed the paper to Apgar beside her, having learned on her way here that he didn’t have any better idea than she did as to why the dean had demanded an audience, and why the man seemed so unhappy. Apgar scanned the title as well.

“Have you seen this?” demanded the dean.

Erin and her advisor both shook their heads no.

“Really?” said the dean to Erin pointedly. “I find that hard to believe.” He leaned toward her with a scowl. “Since you’re
quoted
in it.”

Erin blanched. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know. I don’t read this paper. And there has to be some mistake. If I had spoken with a reporter from the
Wall Street Journal
, believe me, I’d remember it.”

“Can you give us a few minutes to read this, Richard?” said Apgar.

Dean Borland fumed but nodded, handing Erin the same section from a second copy of the paper he had on his desk. She and Apgar read silently while the dean drummed his fingers on his desk impatiently.

The story spoke of the progress being made in the study of psychopathy, especially focusing on the differences in brain physiology that were continuing to be uncovered almost every year now. And then the story got to Erin, who was quoted on the second page. She was introduced as a graduate student at the University of Arizona, studying differences in the brains of psychopaths and normals, both with respect to their structure and the electrical patterns given off in response to certain stimuli. The article went on to say:

Ms. Palmer says that her ultimate objective is to perfect a diagnostic that can identify a psychopath from the electrical patterns of their brains—and do so remotely. “The technology isn’t quite there yet,” she explains. “But great progress is being made on two fronts. First, scientists are learning how to pick up electrical impulses from the brain to control artificial limbs, video games, and the like. If we can download movies wirelessly, we should be able to detect brain waves wirelessly—at least from a short distance. The trick is to find identifiable differences in electrical patterns between psychopaths and normals, which is one of the things I’m working on. My ultimate goal would be to develop a device you could have on your key ring that would vibrate, or alert you in some other way, when a psychopath is within fifty feet. An early warning system.”

The article continued, this time switching gears to another topic in the study of psychopathy. She and Apgar finished the article at about the same time, and she wasn’t mentioned further.

Erin glanced at her advisor and winced before turning to the dean. “This is from
years
ago,” she explained. “
Three
years ago to be exact. It’s from an interview I did with a tiny local paper.” Her features darkened. “Can a reporter
do
that?” she demanded. “I mean, a reporter can’t just take a quote I gave to another paper and use it three years later like it’s a fresh one,” she finished, her voice filled with outrage.

The dean shook his head in disgust. “Well, I’m guessing a reporter
can
do that,” he snapped. “Since this one
did
.” He eyed Apgar. “Why wasn’t I told about this interview three years ago then?”

“It was harmless,” replied Apgar. “I didn’t even know about it until the paper put it online. It was small-time. Even when it was posted online it hardly got any hits. And I made it very clear to Erin that she had stepped on a land mine and never to think about saying anything like that again. Who could have known it would go national three years later?”

The dean ignored Apgar and turned his focus back on Erin. “You’ve really stepped in it this time—whether it was this weekend or three years ago. Makes no difference. As if your research wasn’t controversial enough. I had reps from the ACLU calling me all morning, and any number of news stations and papers. You do realize we survive on grants here, right? We do solid research. Not flamboyant research. Or controversial research. And we don’t showboat.”

“What did the ACLU want?” said Apgar.

“
What do you think?
You know, or you wouldn’t have told Erin she hit a land mine three years ago. They were outraged! And I don’t blame them. Talk about infringing on civil liberties. What Erin says she’s trying to accomplish—in the name of the University of Arizona, for Christ’s sake—is a modern-day Scarlet Letter.”

“Look, I know why it was wrong,” said Apgar. “But Erin’s heart was in the right place, even though her head was in the wrong one. And I bet most of the people who read this article would love to see a project like this succeed. Psychopaths destroy lives, even the ones who aren’t violent criminals. In a perfect world, it would be extremely useful to know who fell into this category.”

“I’m sure it would be,” said Borland. “So you could discriminate against them. Even if they were never arrested or convicted of any crime or wrongdoing. A device that would turn every citizen into their own private thought police, convicting other citizens to a lifetime of being shunned on the basis of their brain-wave patterns alone. And if this isn’t bad enough when the test is accurate, what about false positives? If even one in a hundred was a mistake—can you imagine? Wives leaving their husbands. ‘Wow, he was a loving husband and father, but my key ring vibrated—so he must be a psychopath. Who knew?’”

The dean shook his head angrily. “I’ve seen the research proposals for every student in the department. And this was never mentioned. Were you both trying to hide it from me? Is this some kind of stealth project?”

“
No,
” said Apgar emphatically. “Because it
isn’t
a project. Erin was just speculating. Three years ago, she did hope to initiate a second phase of research, geared toward wireless detection of psychopaths. But she hadn’t yet written up the proposal or discussed it with me. When I read about it online, I told her the same thing you’ve just told her; that a project like this would be fraught with controversy and unintended consequences. She understood what I was saying and agreed with me. Yes, she’s still trying to identify differences in electrical patterns between psychopaths and normals. But not for the purpose of creating a remote diagnostic. I promise you.”

“That may be so,” said the dean, “but that doesn’t change the fact that no one will believe it. You think they’re going to believe me that this misguided project—a gleam in the eye of a raw young grad student—was aborted before it started three years ago? When the goddamned
Wall Street Journal
has her quoted,
yesterday,
as saying this is a research goal of hers? A research goal, by extension, supported by the
University of Arizona
?”

Erin knew the vast majority of people would be thrilled to have the device she had so carelessly described. Ironically, only a short while ago her roommate had been clamoring for a way to conclusively test for psychopathy. And there was no doubt that even if mistakes were made, lives would be saved on balance. But she had come to agree with the dean. She had developed her thinking on this subject far beyond that of either the dean or her advisor, of that she was sure, and she was paying a terrible price, emotionally, for this evolution.

Apgar had, indeed, gotten her to think deeply on this subject three years earlier, and she had been doing so ever since, which had led her to a deep study of philosophy and ethics and to a seismic shift in her thinking. She had ultimately come to concede the validity of his—and now the dean’s—point of view on this subject. And it couldn’t be very fun for the dean to get outraged calls from the ACLU and others, especially since he had the responsibility of protecting the university and the department from controversy.

Erin took a deep breath. “We can demand a correction,” she said. “I’m pretty sure they can’t do what they did here.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” said Dean Borland dismissively, as though she had just fallen off the turnip truck. And in this case, maybe she
was
out of her league. The media had considerable power, and the last thing she needed was more controversy—or more of a spotlight on this topic.

“Ever since Jason completed
his
work,” continued the dean, “I’ve had to deal with conservative groups, worried that if we proved the brains of psychopaths were truly structurally aberrant, these monsters might use this information as a defense at trial. Insisting they had no control of their actions. And now I have liberal groups worried about discrimination
against
psychopaths, for Christ’s sake. That’s my dream, to be a punching bag for both ends of the political spectrum. Just shoot me now.”

“Look,” said Apgar. “I know you feel like we’ve kicked a hornet’s nest. And we have. But this will blow over before you know it. I’m sure it will.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it will also. Because I’m pulling Erin from her project.”

Erin’s eyes widened. “What!” she said. “You can’t do that.”

But even as she said this, like half of a schizophrenic personality, a weary voice whispered to her to let it go. That this would be for the best. She was so tired. Tired of deception. Tired of guilt. Tired of wrestling with issues of ethics and morals so thorny the densest rosebush seemed like a downy pillow by comparison. How easy it would be to cave, to use this as an excuse to stop what she was doing and bring the one foot she had hanging over the abyss back to firm ground. But something in her wouldn’t let her. Not after she had come this far. Despite the severe price it was extracting, she couldn’t leave matters unfinished.

“Look … Erin,” said the dean. “I’m doing you a favor here. You have more than enough data to get your Ph.D. and move on. Write up what you have and then find a nice university—one not named the University of Arizona—to do a postdoc. Jason should have forced you to begin writing up your thesis six months ago anyway.”

“But I’m at the most important part of the research,” said Erin, fighting to keep her voice calm.

“This isn’t a discussion,” said the dean.

Erin’s mind raced. Ideally she could use two or three months of further study. To confirm, and polish, and refine, and measure. To get her scientific arms fully around the phenomenon. But she could get to a quick and dirty confirmation fairly quickly. It wouldn’t be ideal, but it would have to do.

Erin blew out a long breath. “Okay,” she whispered. “You’re right.” She paused for a few seconds to make sure the dean digested the fact that she was surrendering without a protracted battle. “Just give me two weeks to wrap up what I’m doing,” she added casually, as though this was a request that was
beyond
reasonable. “And then I’ll pull the plug.”

“No. You’re off the project. Effective immediately. When this meeting ends, I have to return dozens of calls. And you can bet your ass I’ll be telling them you were removed from this project the instant I became fully aware of it. This will be just the beginning of damage control. God knows how I’ll explain why I wasn’t aware of it earlier.”

Dean Borland shook his head. “Consider yourself lucky that I let you go on
this
long,” he added. “You were a hair away from being removed from the project a year ago. I don’t know if you’re bad luck or what. But as good and dedicated a student as you are, trouble follows you. There are a number of groups around the world visiting prisons and studying psychopaths. So how is it that all of them combined have had one test subject die during their studies, and you’ve had
three
?
In the past two years
. This project was damned from the beginning.”