by Chris Carter
Kennedy didn’t look angered or offended. In fact, he wasn’t really expecting Hunter to react in any other way, not after watching the footage recorded from the interrogation room. Hunter was being asked for help, on one side by the FBI, on the other by his old best friend.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Director Kennedy,’ Newman said, leaning forward on his seat. ‘But we still have the subject in our custody. If Detective Hunter is refusing to cooperate, sorry, but fuck him. Let him go back to LA.’ He looked at Hunter. ‘No offense, pal.’
He got absolutely zero reaction from Hunter.
‘We can still extract the information directly out of the subject,’ Newman continued. ‘Just give me a few more sessions with him.’
‘Of course we can,’ Kennedy said. ‘Because that has worked brilliantly so far, hasn’t it, Special Agent Newman?’
Newman was about to say something else but Kennedy lifted a finger, indicating that he’d heard enough. The look in his eyes was a clear indication that he was running through a few possibilities in his head.
‘OK, Robert,’ Kennedy said, after several silent seconds. ‘I’ll play nice if you play nice. You and Agent Taylor go check out this property in North Carolina. Agent Newman, I need you back in Washington . . . today. I’ve got something else I want you on.’
Newman looked like he’d been slapped across the face. His mouth half opened to say something but Kennedy cut him short again.
‘Today, Agent Newman. Is that understood?’
Newman took a deep breath. ‘Yes, sir.’
Kennedy addressed Hunter again. ‘Robert, no more games. You do know what this Lucien character was talking about in his riddle, right? You know the answers to those questions?’
Hunter nodded once.
‘OK.’ Kennedy consulted his watch. ‘We’re lucky. North Carolina is close enough that we can move fast. Agent Taylor, get everything organized. I want you and Robert there by tonight, at the latest. Let’s go seize this diary, or notebook, or whatever it is, and let’s start figuring this whole mess out. Call me with any news as soon as you get it, no matter the time. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Taylor replied as she peeked at Hunter.
Kennedy cut the connection.
Twenty-One
‘OK,’ Agent Taylor said, using a wireless keyboard to type a new command into a desktop computer.
Taylor and Hunter had gone back to the same conference room they were in earlier, the one with the large monitor showing a detailed map of the United States on the far wall. As she hit the ‘Enter’ key, the map changed to a county-detailed version of the entire state of North Carolina.
‘So what was this poster that Lucien Folter had on his wall?’ Taylor asked. ‘The one you liked. The one with the sunset.’
Hunter gave her a subtle shrug, stepped closer to the map, and allowed his eyes to carefully study it.
‘It was a poster of the mountains,’ he said. ‘The sun was just about to set over them. The sky had taken this striking reddish-purple color. And that was what I really liked about that poster – the sky color. And there was also a camp fire.’
‘A camp fire?’
‘That’s right,’ Hunter agreed.
‘Was that it?’ Taylor asked.
‘No, there was a lone figure sitting by the fire, watching the sunset.’
‘What figure?’
Hunter’s eyes had stopped searching the map.
‘An old man.’
Taylor frowned. ‘An old man?’ she said, joining Hunter by the map. ‘So what are we looking for here? Oldman County? Granddad County? Or did this old man have a name? Lucien Folter said that the county carried the same name as the figure in that poster.’
‘No name,’ Hunter clarified. ‘But that old man was a Native American. More precisely, a . . .’ He pointed to a county on the far left-hand side of the map. The county of Cherokee.
The state of North Carolina is divided into three regions – Eastern, Piedmont and Western. Cherokee County is the westernmost county in the Western Region. It borders both Georgia and Tennessee.
‘A Cherokee Indian,’ Taylor said with a different rhythm to her voice. ‘I’ll be damned.’
Hunter paused and looked at her. The expression on his face asked the question.
Taylor tilted her head to one side. ‘My ex-husband was half-Cherokee. We just got through a tough divorce. Strange coincidence, that’s all.’
Hunter nodded.
Taylor’s attention returned to the map as she considered the county’s position in relation to their location. ‘Damn,’ she said, returning to the computer. ‘That will be a hell of a long drive.’
‘At least eight hours there, and eight hours back,’ Hunter agreed.
Taylor typed a new command in, and on the map a route was immediately traced between the FBI Academy in Quantico and the eastern border of Cherokee county. On the left-hand side, a detailed, step-by-step breakdown of the entire itinerary was displayed. According to it, and with zero stops, the 535-mile journey would take them approximately eight hours and twenty-five minutes.
Hunter checked his watch – 12:52 p.m. He sure as hell wasn’t in the mood for a seventeen-hour drive there and back.
‘Can we fly there?’ he asked.
Taylor pulled a face. ‘I don’t have the kind of clearance necessary to authorize a plane,’ she said.
‘But Adrian does,’ Hunter added.
Taylor nodded. ‘Director Kennedy can authorize anything he likes.’
‘So let’s get him to authorize one,’ Hunter said. ‘Just minutes ago he was ready to authorize a jet to take me on vacation to Hawaii, and I’m not even with the FBI.’
Taylor had no argument against that.
‘OK, I’ll call him. So where are we going?’
Hunter looked at her.
‘The second part of the riddle,’ she clarified. ‘The name of the city? Who was this Professor “Hot Sauce”? Susan’s dare? Halloween night?’
Hunter wasn’t ready to show all his cards yet, at least not while they were still at the FBI academy. He checked his watch. ‘One step at a time, Agent Taylor. Let’s get going first. I’ll tell you when we’re airborne.’
Taylor studied him for an instant. ‘What difference does it make?’
‘My point exactly. If it makes no difference, then I can either tell you now or later. I’ll do it later. We need to get going.’
Taylor lifted both hands, giving up. ‘Fine, we’ll play it your way. I’ll call Director Kennedy.’
Twenty-Two
Taylor’s telephone conversation with Director Adrian Kennedy lasted less than three minutes. He didn’t need much convincing.
Lucien Folter had been arrested six days ago. The FBI had two decapitated and mutilated female heads in their hands – no bodies – no identities. The questions were piling up like dirty dishes, and so far they had nothing. Kennedy wanted answers, and he wanted them pronto, whatever it took.
Within ninety minutes, everything was arranged and a Phenom 100 light jet was waiting for Hunter and Taylor at the Turner Field landing strip. This plane was about half the size of the one they took from Los Angeles to Quantico, but just as luxurious inside.
The cabin lights dimmed momentarily, and the plane took off swiftly. Hunter sat nursing a large cup of strong black coffee, while his brain tried to carefully revisit every word that was said that morning inside the interrogation room.
Taylor was sitting in the black-leather swivel chair directly in front of Hunter. Her laptop computer was resting on her lap; its screen displayed a detailed map of Cherokee County with all its cities and towns. ‘OK, we’re airborne, so where exactly are we heading? Who’s Professor “Hot Sauce”?’
Hunter smiled as he remembered it.
‘Lucien, Susan and I went to a Halloween party in an Irish bar in Los Altos. There we bumped into our neuropsychology professor. Nice guy, great professor, and he loved to drink. That night we’d all had a few, b
ut then, out of the blue, he decided to challenge us to a shot-drinking competition. Lucien and I declined, but to our surprise, Susan took him up on the offer.’
‘Why were you surprised?’
‘Susan wasn’t that good a drinker,’ Hunter said, with a slight shake of the head. ‘Four, five shots, and Susan was gone. What we didn’t know was that she had a trick up her sleeve.’
Interest bathed Taylor’s face. ‘What trick?’
‘Susan’s grandparents were Latvian, and because of that, she knew a few Latvian words, including the word for water – “ūdens”. The deal was, each one took turns downing a shot of their favorite drink. Susan knew the barman, who was actually Latvian. The professor was drinking Tequila, and Susan kept on ordering a shot of “ūdens” from the barman. Fourteen shots later, the professor threw in the towel. His forfeit penalty was to drink an entire two-ounce bottle of Hot Sauce, which he did. He didn’t turn up for class for the next three days. From that day on, the three of us only referred to him as Professor Hot Sauce.’
Hunter quickly studied the map on Taylor’s screen. It took him just a second to find what he was looking for.
‘So who was your neuropsychology professor?’ Taylor asked.
Hunter pointed at the screen. ‘His name was Steward Murphy.’
The city of Murphy was the largest city in Cherokee county, situated at the confluence of the Hiwassee and Valley Rivers.
‘It doesn’t look like there’s an airport in Murphy,’ Taylor said, analyzing the map, before typing in a new command. A second later she had an answer. ‘OK, the closest airport to Murphy is Western Carolina Regional Airport. About thirteen and a half miles away.’
‘That will do,’ Hunter said. ‘You can tell the pilot that that’s where we’re heading.’
Taylor used the intercom phone on the wall to her right to give the pilot his instructions.
‘We should be there in about an hour and ten minutes, give or take a few,’ she told Hunter.
‘Much better than eight and a half of driving,’ he commented.
‘Do you mind if I ask you something, Detective Hunter?’ Taylor said after they’d been airborne for a few minutes.
Hunter peeled his eyes from the blue sky outside his window and looked at her.
‘I do if you’re going to carry on calling me Detective Hunter. Please call me Robert.’
Taylor seemed to hesitate for a moment. ‘OK, Robert, as long as you call me Courtney.’
‘Deal. So what would you like to ask me, Courtney?’
‘You felt guilty, didn’t you?’ She waited a couple of seconds and decided to clarify. ‘When Lucien told you about his drug problem and how he got involved with it all.’
Hunter stayed quiet.
‘While everyone in the observation room had all their attention focused on Lucien, I was observing you. You felt guilty. You felt like it’d been your fault.’
‘Not like it’d been my fault,’ Hunter finally said. ‘But I know I could’ve helped him. I should’ve noticed he was hooked when he came to see me in LA for the last time. I don’t even know how I missed that.’
Taylor bit her bottom lip and looked away, clearly debating if she should say what she was thinking. She decided that there was no point in being coy. ‘I know he was your friend, and I’m sorry to say this, but junkies don’t get a lot of sympathy from me. I’ve worked on too many cases where someone, high on some cheap fix, or trying to get some cash to buy some cheap fix, committed the most atrocious murder, or murders.’ She paused for breath. ‘He could be lying, you know? He could still be hooked on something, and he could’ve killed those two women while under the influence.’
Hunter picked up on something different underlying Taylor’s tone. Hidden anger, maybe.
‘Your lab tests showed that he was clean,’ he said.
‘Certain drugs exit your system in a matter of hours, you know that,’ Taylor came back. ‘Plus, those heads had been preserved in ice containers for who knows how long. Those two women could’ve been murdered months ago.’
‘That’s true.’ Hunter couldn’t counter-argue her point. ‘And certain drugs do exit your system in a matter of hours, but you’ve seen junkies before, right? They just can’t stay away from drugs for too long, and they all show typical psychological and physical signs of dependency – skin, eyes, hair, lips . . . paranoia, anxiety . . . you know what to look for. Lucien showed none of it.’ Hunter shook his head. ‘He isn’t hooked anymore.’
This time it was Taylor who couldn’t debate Hunter’s argument. Lucien really showed no physical or psychological signs of dependency anymore. But she wasn’t ready to let it rest quite yet.
‘OK, I agree, he does appear to be clean, but he still gets no sympathy. According to what he told you, nobody forced him to take any drugs. He decided to do so of his own free will. He could’ve just as easily walked away from it. People all over, and of all ages, are offered drugs every day. You know this better than most, Robert. Some go for it, some don’t. It’s a choice. In his case, it was his choice, no one else’s. No one but Lucien should feel guilty about him becoming a junkie.’
Hunter said nothing for a long instant. The plane hit a spot of turbulence and he waited until it was all clear before speaking again.
‘It’s not quite that simple, Courtney.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No.’ Hunter sat back in his seat.
‘I was offered drugs many times,’ Taylor said. ‘In school, in college, on the streets, around the neighborhood, at parties, on vacation, everywhere really, and I still managed to stay away from them.’
‘And that’s great, but I bet that you also know people who weren’t as strong as you, right? People who didn’t manage to stay away from them. People who got hooked?’
Something seemed to change inside Taylor’s eyes. ‘I do, yes.’ Hunter could tell that she was struggling to keep her voice calm. ‘But I don’t feel guilty because of it.’
For some reason that sounded like a lie.
‘We’re all different, Courtney, and that’s why we all react differently to any given event,’ Hunter said. ‘Our reactions directly depend on the circumstances surrounding that event, and on our psychological mood at that particular time.’
Taylor did know that. She’d seen it before – someone who’s feeling happy – things are going great at home and at the workplace – gets offered a highly addictive drug at a party or somewhere else. That person says ‘no’ because he/she sees no need for it. At that particular time, that person’s feeling naturally happy, naturally high. That same person, just a day later, gets laid off, or has a bad argument at home, or something that bumps his/her mood down a notch – gets offered the same highly addictive drug. This time the person says ‘yes’ because his/her mood has changed, the circumstances have changed, and right at that particular moment that person is psychologically, and maybe even physically, very vulnerable. Drug pushers have some sort of sixth sense when it comes to picking those people out of a crowd, and they really know how to sweet-talk a person into believing that if he/she takes whatever drug they are being offered, all their problems will be gone in a flash. Paradise awaits.
Taylor began chewing on her bottom lip.
‘You know that there are many drugs out there that all it takes is a single hit, don’t you?’ Hunter continued. ‘Like Lucien said: “instant hook stuff”. Even very strong people can’t be very strong all the time, Courtney. It’s a fact of life. All you need is to be approached when, for one reason or another, you’re not so mentally strong, you’re feeling lonely, or depressed, or neglected or something, and they’ve got you. We don’t know all the facts. And we also don’t know how many times Lucien walked away from it before he finally failed.’
‘I’ll admit,’ Taylor said. ‘You fight a good argument on behalf of junkies.’
‘I’m not trying to defend junkies, Courtney,’ Hunter said calmly. ‘I’m just saying that a very large number of addicts
out there know that they’ve made a mistake, and all they want is to find the strength to kick the habit. Most of them can’t seem to find that strength on their own, they need help . . . help that most of the time isn’t very forthcoming. Probably because so many out there share the same thoughts as you do.’
Taylor’s blue eyes honed in on Hunter intensely before darting away.
‘So how do you think you could’ve helped him?’ she asked. ‘What would you have done?’
‘Everything I could,’ Hunter replied without missing a beat. ‘I would’ve done everything I could. He was my friend.’
Twenty-Three
An hour and eight minutes after taking off, the Phenom 100 jet touched down at Western Carolina Regional Airport. The weather outside had started to change. Several large clouds were now lurking around in the sky, keeping the sun from properly shining through, and bringing the temperature down a few degrees. In spite of the lack of sunshine, Taylor put on her sunglasses as soon as they stepped out of the plane. It was basic FBI training – once in public, always hide your eyes.
Outside the airport, Hunter and Taylor met a representative from a local car-rental company she had spoken to on the phone. He delivered them a top-of-the-range, black Lincoln MKZ sedan.
‘OK,’ Taylor said, flipping open her laptop as she and Hunter got into the car. She took the driver’s seat. The car looked and smelled brand new, as if it had been purchased that morning just to accommodate them. ‘Let’s figure out where we need to go from here.’
Taylor used the laptop’s touchpad and quickly called up a satellite-view application. In a fraction of a second, she had a photographic bird’s-eye-view map of the city of Murphy on her screen.
