by Chris Carter
Everyone was silent for a long moment.
‘So you lost both of your partners in the same night,’ Lucien said. If Hunter didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn there was a pinch of sorrow in Lucien’s voice.
Hunter blinked once, pushing the memory as far away from his mind as he could. ‘Madeleine, Lucien, where is she?’
‘Wait a second, old friend, not so fast.’
‘What do you mean, not so fast?’ Hunter replied. His eyebrows curved into an angry look. ‘You’ve heard all there is to hear about what happened to Jessica. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?’
‘No, that was just part of it.’ Lucien lifted both of his hands in a truce gesture. ‘But since you told me what happened that night, I’ll give you something in return. It’s only fair. Are you listening?’
It took Lucien just two minutes to give them specific directions of how to get to the site by Lake Saltonstall in New Haven, where they’d find Karen Simpson’s remains, together with the four other victims he’d mentioned earlier.
Hunter and Taylor listened to everything very attentively and without interrupting, but they were sure that Adrian Kennedy would be taking notes from the holding cells’ control room, and within minutes he’d have an FBI team from the New Haven field office dispatched to the site.
‘Now,’ Lucien said when he was done, ‘if you want me to give you Madeleine, let’s go back to Jessica and what happened after she was murdered. Was the perpetrator ever caught?’
‘Perpetrators,’ Hunter corrected him. ‘Forensics found two sets of prints in the house, neither of which matched anything in the police archives.’
Lucien’s expression showed surprise. ‘Was it a sexual attack?’
‘No,’ Hunter replied, and his eyes glistened with relief, ‘she wasn’t sexually assaulted. It was a robbery. They took the few items of jewelry she had, including the engagement ring on her finger, her purse, and all the cash she had in the house.’
‘A robbery?’ Lucien found that strange.
So did Taylor.
‘So why kill her?’ Lucien asked.
Hunter paused. Looked away. Looked back at Lucien. ‘Because of me.’
Lucien waited but Hunter didn’t offer any more. ‘What do you mean, because of you? This was a revenge attack? Someone wanting to get back at you?’
‘No,’ Hunter said. ‘Jessica had several photographs of the two of us together scattered around the house. In many of them I was in uniform. Those picture frames had all been smashed. Some had the word “pig” written in blood on them. Some had the words “fuck the police”.’
As things became clearer, Lucien’s head moved sideways slowly. ‘So, once they found out that she was engaged to an LAPD officer, they decided to kill her just for fun.’
Hunter said nothing. He didn’t even blink.
‘I’m not trying to teach an old dog new tricks,’ Lucien said. ‘But have you looked at gang members? Gang members have a never-ending hatred for the police hardwired into their brains, especially in a city like Los Angeles. The only other people who hate police officers as much are ex-cons, but if the fingerprints weren’t on file, then those are clearly ruled out.’
Hunter knew that full well; he and the detectives assigned to the case had hammered every single gang contact they had for information. They got nothing, not even a whisper.
‘We’re wasting time here,’ Hunter said, irritation starting to come through in his voice. ‘There’s nothing more to say about Jessica or that night. She was murdered. The people who did it have never been caught. Tell us where Madeleine is, Lucien. Let us bring her in.’
Lucien still wasn’t ready. ‘So you blamed yourself for her death.’ Lucien didn’t ask. ‘Actually, you did it twice, didn’t you? First for being a cop, because you knew that was the reason why they killed her. And second because you didn’t make it to her house for dinner as you were supposed to.’
Hunter stayed quiet.
‘The human mind is a funny thing, isn’t it?’ Lucien spoke in a practiced, therapist’s voice – deep, calm and reasonable. ‘Even though you know full well that neither of the two reasons you’ve been blaming yourself for years are actually your fault, even though you understand the psychology behind the “why” you’ve been blaming yourself, you still can’t avert the guilt.’
Lucien chuckled and got back on his feet. ‘Just because one understands psychology, Robert, doesn’t mean one is immune to psychological traumas and pressures. Just because one is a doctor, doesn’t mean one doesn’t get sick.’
Was that what Lucien was doing? Hunter asked himself in thought. Using Jessica’s murder as an example to defend his own sordid actions? Just because Lucien knew that killing people was wrong, just because as a psychologist he probably understood his urges and where they were coming from, it didn’t mean that he could control them.
‘And that’s the reason why, since then, you’ve always been a loner, isn’t it, Robert?’ Lucien said. ‘Because you blame yourself for what happened. She was killed because she was close to you. I bet you promised yourself you’d never let that happen again.’
Hunter wasn’t in the mood to be psychoanalyzed. He needed to end this. And he needed to do it now. Any answer would do. ‘Yes, that’s the reason. Now tell us where Madeleine is.’
‘In a moment. You haven’t satisfied the psychologist in me yet, Robert. What I really want to know about is what happened inside your head after Jessica was murdered. The earthquake of feelings that I know you went through. You tell me that, and I’ll give you Madeleine.’
After twenty years, Hunter had learned how to live with those feelings.
‘What is there to know?’ he asked evenly.
‘I want to know about the anger inside you, Robert. The rage. I want to know if you were angry enough to kill. Did you go after them?’ Lucien asked. ‘The perpetrators? Jessica’s killers?’
‘An investigation was launched,’ Hunter said.
‘That’s not what I asked,’ Lucien shot back with a shake of the head. ‘I want to know if you launched your own crusade to find her killers, Robert.’
Hunter was about to reply when Lucien interrupted him.
‘Don’t lie to me now, Robert. Madeleine’s life depends on it.’
Hunter could feel Taylor’s eyes on him.
‘Yes. I have never stopped searching for them.’
Hunter’s answer seemed to excite Lucien.
‘So here’s the million-dollar question, Robert,’ he said. ‘If you found them, would you take them in, or would you impose your own justice on them . . . your own revenge.’
In silence Hunter scratched the back of his hand.
‘You would kill them yourself, wouldn’t you?’ Lucien’s smile was confident. ‘I can see it in your eyes, Robert. I saw it while you were reliving that night. I bet Agent Taylor saw it too. The anger. The rage. The hurt. Fuck being a detective. Fuck the law that you swore to uphold. This would take priority over everything. Over your own life. If you came face to face with the people who took Jessica from you, you’d murder them without an ounce of hesitation. I know you would. I know you’ve thought about it hundreds, maybe thousands of times.’
Hunter breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth.
‘Hell, you might even torture them a while just to see them suffering for what they did. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?’
Lucien saw a muscle flex on Hunter’s jaw.
‘As I’ve said before,’ he continued, ‘under the right circumstances, anyone can become a killer. Even those who are supposed “to protect and to serve”.’ His dead stare could’ve melted ice. ‘Remember, Robert, a murder is a murder. The reasons behind it have no relevance, be it justified revenge or a sadistic urge.’ He brought his face to less than an inch from the Plexiglas. ‘So one day, you still might become the same as me.’
Lucien was indeed using Jessica’s murder to, in a sick way, give reason to the things he’d done,’ Hu
nter thought. First appealing to psychological reason, now the emotional ones. Hunter was sure that Lucien had read the police reports. Knowing Hunter as well as he had all those years ago, he would’ve figured out that Hunter had never stopped searching for Jessica’s killers. He had pushed for Hunter to tell the story purposefully, so that he could degrade it and use it as an example and rationale for his own twisted acts.
Despite Hunter’s anger, he still had only one priority in his mind. He’d figured that in his head, Lucien had achieved what he wanted. There was nothing else to say.
‘Tell us where Madeleine is, Lucien.’
Lucien chuckled. ‘OK. But I can’t just tell you the location, Robert. I have to take you there.’
Seventy-Five
It took Taylor a moment to register what Lucien had said. She scowled at him.
‘Come again?’
Lucien stepped away from the Plexiglas. His expression showed no concern at all.
‘I can’t just give you instructions to where she is, Agent Taylor. That won’t work. I have to take you there myself.’
Hunter didn’t seem surprised. In fact, he was expecting it. It was only logical. Because Madeleine’s life depended on them getting to her fast, it was too risky to rely on simple verbal or written instructions. What if when they got to the vicinity of where she was supposed to have been held captive, the instructions suddenly became unclear because the surroundings had changed? What if they took a wrong turn? What if there was a mistake in the instructions, deliberate or not? They would’ve lost valuable time trying to get Lucien to re-explain everything over a phone line, or video link.
No, Lucien had to go with them. He had to personally guide them there.
Taylor’s eyes sought Hunter. He gave her a subtle nod.
Lucien smiled. ‘There’s one more thing,’ he said, winking at her. ‘There will be only the three of us on this trip. No other FBI agents. No one following us either, by land or air. You, Robert, and I will go, not a person more, not a person less. That’s the deal. No negotiation. You break the deal, or I suspect that we’re being followed in any way, I guide you nowhere. Madeleine dies alone, forgotten and forsaken, and I’ll make sure the press finds out why. I can live with that. Can you?’
Taylor knew she was in a no win situation. Nothing had changed since they’d discovered that Lucien was the only one who could guide them to his victims’ remains. He still held all the cards, even more so now that there was supposedly a live victim. He could call the shots any way he saw fit, and at the moment, there was nothing either Hunter or Taylor could do about it.
‘As long as you understand that you’ll be hand-and ankle-cuffed, and we’ll be armed. You try anything, and I swear we’ll gun you down.’
‘I would’ve expected nothing less,’ Lucien replied.
‘We’ll be ready to leave in fifteen minutes.’ She stood up. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I’ll tell you when we’re on our way,’ Lucien replied.
‘I need to know if we need a plane or a car.’
Lucien nodded his agreement. ‘A plane first. Then a car.’
‘I need to know how much fuel we’ll need.’
‘Enough to get us to Illinois.’
As Hunter and Taylor took their first steps back toward the door at the end of the corridor, Lucien halted them.
‘I guess that day is closer than you think, Robert,’ he said.
Hunter and Taylor both paused and turned around to face Lucien again.
‘What day is that?’ Hunter asked.
‘The day that you might become the same as me.’ If Lucien’s voice had sounded cold and emotionless before, this time it sounded like it could’ve come from some ancient devil . . . completely heartless. ‘Because for the past two days, my friend, you’ve been sitting before the man you’ve been seeking for twenty years.’
Hunter felt his stomach curl into a ball.
‘I was the one who took Jessica from you.’
Seventy-Six
Hunter didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. It was like his whole body went into lockdown.
‘What was that?’ Taylor was the one who asked the question.
Lucien’s gaze was cemented on Hunter, but other than the initial frown of confusion at his statement, he got nothing else from the LAPD detective.
‘You think I’m saying this just to get under your skin, don’t you, Robert?’
Despite the awkward feeling starting to gain momentum deep inside of him, Hunter still looked calm.
‘Which you obviously are,’ Taylor cut in. There was no disguising the irritation in her voice. ‘You ran out of tricks and now you’re just stalling. You know what? I wouldn’t be surprised if there is no Madeleine Reed held captive anywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d just made her up because you ran out of acts for this little performance of yours. I think your chamber is empty. You’re panicking, and now you’re firing blanks because you know the game is really up.’
Lucien faced Taylor, a smirk stretching his lips. ‘Is that really your argument, Agent Taylor? I’m firing blanks because I know the game is up? Is that the best you can come up with?’ He coughed a laugh before his stare turned to ice once more. ‘Wow, I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and shit a better argument than that.’ Lucien jerked his chin at the CCTV camera just outside his cell. ‘Why don’t you go ask your people who have been listening in on us? Go ask them if Madeleine Reed is real or not. I’m sure they’ve been busy running a few checks.’
‘Even if there is someone named Madeleine Reed from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania,’ Taylor shot back, still keeping her composure, ‘who has been reported as missing sometime after April 9, it doesn’t mean you’ve got her, or that you even know where she is. A list of names can be easily obtained over the Internet from every missing-persons bureau in the country. You are well prepared. You proved that. I’m sure that even someone as arrogant as you must have entertained the possibility that one day you might be caught. It’s reasonable to think that you’d have a few tricks already prepared for that eventuality. But even if you were the one who had kidnapped Madeleine, you can give us no proof that she’s still alive. You could’ve killed her months ago, and you know that there’s no way we can know for sure. So now you just picked her name out of the many that you’ve tortured and murdered, and are using her to give you a last chance outside.’
Taylor took a breath, looked at Hunter, and then back at Lucien.
‘I wasn’t joking when I said that we’ll gun you down if you try anything,’ Taylor continued. ‘If you think this trip will give you a chance at escaping and we’re not going to take decisive action because we think you might have information that’ll lead us to a live victim, you’ve got another think coming.’
‘Now that’s a much better argument than the firing blanks one, Agent Taylor,’ Lucien said, clapping his hands three times. ‘But as you’ve just pointed out, there’s no way you can know for sure. So when you find out that there really is a Madeleine Reed, who was reported missing in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, after April 9, can you really afford to call my bluff?’ He gave her a couple of seconds to think about it before adding, ‘Because if you do and I’m not bluffing, the amount of shit that will rain on you and on the FBI will last a lifetime.’
Hunter was barely listening. Lucien’s words were still bouncing around in his head – ‘because for the past two days, my friend, you’ve been sitting before the man you’ve been seeking for twenty years. I was the one who took Jessica from you.’
Every atom in his body wanted to believe that Lucien was just bluffing, but Hunter had seen something in Lucien’s eyes – a disquieting defiance that he knew usually only came with certainty.
‘I can see your eyes wild, Robert,’ Lucien said, taking his attention away from Taylor. ‘You’re trying to decide if I’m telling the truth or not. Maybe I can help you with that.’ He ran his tongue over his top lip. ‘Yellow-fronted house, number 5067 on the corne
r of Lemon Grove Avenue and North Oxford, in East Hollywood.’
Hunter felt his throat constrict. That had been Jessica’s address. But if Lucien had read the police reports, that information would’ve been very easy to obtain.
Lucien read his mind.
‘I know, I know,’ he conceded. ‘That proves nothing. An address is easy to acquire. But how about this. Out of the photographs you mentioned Jessica had scattered around the house, the largest of them all was in a silver frame on a small table by the dark brown leather sofa in the living room. The picture was of the two of you at some sort of LAPD dinner party or award ceremony. You were in uniform and proudly displaying an award. She was wearing a purple dress with a matching purse. Her hair was loose, but thrown to one side, over her left shoulder.’
Still with his gaze firmly set on Hunter, Lucien paused, giving his old friend’s brain a chance to try to match his words to the images locked away in Hunter’s memory.
And then he delivered a final blow.
‘But you know the real difference between that and all the other photographs that were vandalized in the house, don’t you, Robert? That was the only one on which the word “PIG” was written vertically, instead of horizontally.’
Seventy-Seven
Hunter felt his heart stall, his blood freeze in his veins, and the pit in his stomach turn into a black hole that threatened to swallow his soul into oblivion. He wanted to speak, but his voice seemed to have gotten stuck in his throat.
His eyes were focused on Lucien, but not his mind. All of his thoughts had traveled back to the night that part of him had died with Jessica. He didn’t need to search long. Every detail of what he’d seen that night had been locked away somewhere in his brain. Accessing those memories was painful, but simple. He could practically see the photograph Lucien was talking about, right in front of him – the smashed glass, the silver frame, and the word ‘PIG’ written in large blood letters – vertically. As Lucien had said, that had been the only photograph on which a word had been written that way.
