Robert Hunter 06 - An Evil Mind

by Chris Carter

  ‘That could be,’ Hunter replied. ‘But Madeleine is still alive.’

  ‘So I’ll repeat Doctor Lambert’s question,’ Kennedy took over. ‘How can you be so sure, Robert?’

  ‘Because Madeleine Reed is Lucien’s trump card,’ Hunter said. ‘He’s been holding on to it from day one. When did you first bring him here to the BSU?’

  ‘Seven days ago,’ Kennedy answered. ‘You know that.’

  ‘And yet he hasn’t mentioned her until now,’ Hunter reminded them. ‘As Doctor Lambert said, Lucien’s got a lot of experience. He’s been playing this game for a very long time. Even though he was caught by chance, every move he makes is calculated to the last detail. And an experienced player knows one major rule about trump cards.’

  ‘Never play them too soon,’ Taylor said. ‘You hold on to them until the best possible moment.’

  Hunter nodded. ‘Or until it’s imperative that you do. You’ve all mentioned how impressive Lucien’s internal clock and calculations are, right? He knows exactly how much food and water he’s left Madeleine. He’s already said that she’d learned how to ration everything almost to perfection. He’s calculated the threshold. He’s known it from day one, and I’m sure he’s got a very accurate idea of where the point of no return is. And yet he saw no reason in playing his trump card until now. And that reason is – he wants to make this a race against time, because that puts us under tremendous pressure. A hell of a lot more pressure than just finding victims’ remains.’

  Everyone breathed in Hunter’s words for a second.

  ‘And that’s also why he waited until now to reveal that he was your fiancée’s killer,’ Doctor Lambert said, ‘because that not only puts you under extreme pressure, but it also affects your state of mind. It destabilizes you. It makes you emotional, and therefore more vulnerable, more prone to mistakes. Lucien knew that fully well.’

  Goose bumps ran up and down Taylor’s skin.

  ‘But that also makes Robert more volatile,’ she said. ‘If Lucien weren’t behind that Plexiglas wall, he’d probably be dead now.’ Her gaze moved to Hunter, who returned her stare with 100 percent conviction.

  ‘And maybe that’s exactly what he wants,’ Doctor Lambert said. ‘Not to try to escape while he’s outside with you both, but suicide by cop.’

  Kennedy and Taylor frowned at him, but that was exactly what Hunter had been thinking about while staring out the window.

  ‘Why would he be looking for suicide by cop?’ Taylor asked.

  ‘Because whatever happens, Lucien wants to be remembered,’ Hunter said. ‘He wants the notoriety.’ He drew air quotations with his fingers. ‘The “prestige” that comes with being a famous serial killer. He wants his legacy to be studied in criminology and criminal behavior classes. That’s one of the reasons he’s been writing this encyclopedia of his, if that really is what he’s been doing.’

  ‘I understand that,’ Taylor said, ‘but that will probably happen no matter what. He doesn’t have to be killed to achieve it.’

  ‘True,’ Hunter agreed, ‘but he also understands that his reputation would get an exponential boost if he doesn’t end his days behind bars, or executed by the state. I’m sure that in his mind that would not be a suitable conclusion to his lifelong project. On the other hand, if he’s shot dead by the FBI while they’re trying to rescue his last victim . . .’ Hunter shrugged and let the significance of what he’d said intoxicate the air.

  ‘He becomes a legend,’ Doctor Lambert agreed.

  ‘So, if you think Madeleine Reed is still alive,’ Kennedy said, addressing Hunter, ‘and assuming that Lucien’s got his calculations right, how long would you say we have, Robert?’

  Hunter pulled a dubious face. ‘My best guess is that from the time he told us about Madeleine, we would’ve had around twenty hours to find her. After that, I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.’

  Kennedy checked his watch. ‘So we’ve got to act fast,’ he said. ‘We can’t waste any more time here, Robert.’

  Madeleine’s photograph was still on the desk. It looked like she was staring straight at Hunter.

  ‘Is the plane ready?’ he said.

  ‘It will be by the time you get to the runway,’ Kennedy replied, ‘but the two of you need to get ready first.’

  ‘Be prepared,’ Doctor Lambert said as everyone began moving, ‘because I think you’re right, Detective Hunter. Lucien will try to push both of you to the limit, and he knows that as things stand right now, he won’t even need to push that hard. I think that once he gets out there again, he will do whatever it takes not to end up back here. Even if it costs his life.’

  Hunter zipped up his jacket. ‘And I’m fine with that.’ He looked at Taylor. ‘As long as I’m the one who takes the shot.’

  Eighty-One

  Before heading down to the SUV that was already waiting for them by one of the security exits at the back of the building, Hunter and Taylor were both asked to hand in their shirts so that two state-of-the-art, wireless surveillance microphones could be fitted onto them. The microphones were disguised as regular buttons, but so that a single button didn’t differ from the other ones, every button on both shirts had to be replaced. The one just above their belly button was the microphone. It connected via a small cable to a very powerful but inconspicuous satellite transmitter that resembled a stick of gum, strapped to the small of their backs. The microphone also worked as a GPS locator. Director Adrian Kennedy and his team would know their exact location at all times. But as soon as he got his shirt back, Hunter opposed the idea.

  ‘The fake buttons aren’t the same exact color as the original ones,’ he told Adrian Kennedy.

  ‘They’re close enough,’ Kennedy replied.

  ‘Maybe to most people,’ Hunter said. ‘But not for Lucien.’

  ‘Are you telling me that you think he’s noticed the color of the buttons on yours and Agent Taylor’s shirts?’

  ‘Trust me. Lucien has noticed everything, Adrian. He’s like a sponge.’

  ‘Well, this is the best we can do given our timeframe,’ Kennedy said back. ‘I need ears with you at all times, so we’re going to have to roll with this.’

  This could be a costly mistake, Hunter thought.

  Everything was already in place by the time Lucien was escorted out of the security exit by two US Marines, ten minutes later. He was wearing the same orange prisoner jumpsuit he’d been wearing throughout the interviews. His hands and ankles were shackled by metal chains that looped around his waist, restricting his movements – his arms would not come up past his chest, and his step would never go beyond one foot, making it impossible for him to run.

  ‘Something is missing from this equation,’ Lucien said to Taylor, as she opened the back door of the SUV to allow him to climb in.

  ‘Detective Hunter will meet us in the plane,’ Taylor said, knowing exactly what Lucien was referring to.

  Lucien laughed. ‘But of course. He needs time to find himself and maybe check his emotions before this whole thing turns into a total fiasco, isn’t that so, Agent Taylor?’

  Taylor didn’t reply. If she were to allow her emotions to take over, she would probably punch him in the face right there and then, and shoot both of his kneecaps off. Instead, she simply held the door open while both Marines helped him onto the backseat, locked his chains to the metal loop on the car’s floor, and handed the keys to Taylor.

  ‘I love your sunglasses, Agent Taylor,’ Lucien said, as Taylor took the passenger’s seat. ‘They’re very . . . FBI. Do you think I could get a pair, just for the sake of this trip?’

  Taylor said nothing.

  ‘I guess that will be a “no” then.’

  Lucien looked at his cuffed hands for a short instant; when he spoke again his voice was controlled and measured – no excitement, no anger, just a robotic flat tone. ‘How do you think this is going to end up, Agent Taylor?’

  The driver, an African American Marine who looked like he could pro
bably bench-press that entire SUV got the car in motion.

  Taylor kept her eyes on the road.

  ‘C’mon, Agent Taylor,’ Lucien insisted. ‘It’s a fair question. I’m very interested in knowing what your expectations are. You’ve done great so far. You’ve managed to obtain information that has led the FBI to retrieve the lost remains of three victims.’ His eyebrows popped up and down once. ‘Assuming that your team is competent enough to follow instructions, you should also find the remains of the five victims I left in New Haven. And you have also managed to acquire information that might lead you to a live victim, which, if you succeed in saving her, will make you into a hero, Agent Taylor. That’s not bad going at all for just two days of interviews. So I think my question is quite fair. How do you think this whole thing is going to end up? Do you think you and Robert will become heroes, or will this turn into your worst nightmare?’

  Taylor saw the driver’s questioning eyes flick toward her for a fraction of a second.

  What she really wanted to do was to turn around and tell Lucien that they were going to find Madeleine Reed and finally put an end to her torture. Then they would bring him back to the BSU so that he could tell them where to find the remains of all his other victims. After that, he would either rot in prison or be executed by the state. Either way, it made no difference to her because she would never have to look at his face again. But she kept her composure and didn’t say a word. She didn’t even look at him.

  Lucien wasn’t deterred.

  ‘Do you think he will do it?’ he asked in the same robotic tone. ‘Do you think Robert will avenge Jessica’s death? Do you think he’ll forget everything he’s upheld for most of his life and let his anger take over?’

  No reply.

  ‘Do you think he’ll shoot me or will he use his hands – beat me up until I stop breathing?’

  Taylor didn’t look, but she could tell that Lucien had that sickening smile on his face again.

  They exited the FBI Academy compound heading north toward Turner Field landing strip.

  ‘How would you do it, Agent Taylor? If I had violently taken the person who you were so desperately in love with away from you, and left you with nothing but doubts and a lot of blood, how would you take your revenge on me?’

  Taylor felt her blood warming inside her veins, but still, she swallowed every word that threatened to come out of her mouth.

  Lucien swopped tactics.

  ‘How about you, Muscle-Munch?’ he addressed the driver. ‘If I’d broken into your home and savagely murdered your wife, and you’d been searching for me for twenty years, what sort of revenge would you take when you finally came face to face with me? You look like you could crush my whole skull with one squeeze of those banana-like fingers you have. I bet you and your wife have great fun with those.’

  The driver frowned angrily and his eye sought Lucien through the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Don’t even think about answering the prisoner, Private,’ Taylor said, looking at him. ‘You will completely disregard whatever he says, no matter how offensive. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ The reply came in a deep bass voice.

  Lucien laughed out loud.

  ‘Let me tell you what I think, Agent Taylor. I think he will do it. I think Robert will break, and he will finally get his revenge. And I think that the only way you will be able to stop him, is if you shoot him. The big question is – will you?’

  Eighty-Two

  Hunter and two US Marines were waiting by the small, custom-made, five-seater Lear Jet when the black SUV with Taylor and Lucien pulled up next to the plane.

  In the sky, heavy clouds were starting to gather, making it feel like the whole day was changing moods – bright was being substituted by dark, blue by gray.

  Taylor stepped out of the car and handed one of the Marines the keys to Lucien’s restraints. They took charge of unlocking him from the backseat and taking him onboard. As they walked past Hunter and took the few steps that led up into the plane, Lucien turned and looked into Hunter’s eyes. He saw nothing but hurt and anger, and he had to fight an internal battle not to smile.

  Only when Lucien’s chains had been securely locked to the special metal loops built onto the floor of the plane by one of its seats, did Hunter and Taylor board the aircraft.

  Lucien’s seat was at the rear of the cabin, enclosed by a metal cage equipped with a military-grade, assault-proof electronic lock that could only be activated through a button by the pilot’s cockpit.

  Taylor placed her jacket on the seat just ahead and to the right of Lucien’s cage, but didn’t sit down. Hunter took the seat across the aisle from her. The pilot was patiently waiting in his cockpit.

  ‘So, where in Illinois are we going?’ Taylor asked Lucien.

  ‘We’re not,’ he replied matter-of-factly.

  Taylor hesitated a beat. ‘What do you mean? You said we were going to Illinois.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I said we needed enough fuel to cover the distance from here to Illinois. If we have enough fuel to get to Illinois, that means that we also have enough fuel to get to New Hampshire. That’s where we’re going.’

  Lucien’s seat was stationary, but all the others in the plane cabin could swerve a full 360 degrees. Hunter didn’t swing his seat around to look at Lucien, he kept it facing forward, but he wasn’t surprised that Lucien was still playing games.

  ‘New Hampshire,’ Taylor said.

  ‘That’s correct, Agent Taylor, “Live free or die”.’

  ‘OK, so where in New Hampshire are we going?’

  ‘You can tell the pilot to just head for New Hampshire. I’ll give him more details when we enter their airspace.’

  Taylor passed the instructions to the pilot and returned to her seat. Like Hunter, she preferred not to face the prisoner.

  A minute later, the plane had taxied to the end of the runway, and the pilot announced that they were clear for takeoff. The jet engines came to life, and within twenty seconds they were airborne. As the plane veered right, the few rays of sunlight that managed to break through the dark clouds reflected sharply off the aircraft’s fuselage.

  Hunter fixed his eyes out the window as the ground below him slipped away. To him, the plane’s bottled air felt denser than ever, as if it had somehow been polluted by Lucien’s presence.

  Taylor sat still, eyes forward, clearly trying to organize the multitude of thoughts exploding inside her head. She had a bottle of still water with her, from which she took a tiny sip every minute or two. It wasn’t because she was thirsty, it was just a nervous reflex, something her body practically forced her to do almost unconsciously in order to try to calm herself down.

  Hunter was also struggling with his thoughts, but this time he had twenty years of anger and frustration that were dying to break free to deal with.

  They’d been flying for over half an hour when they heard Lucien’s voice again.

  ‘Do you believe that someone can be born “evil”, Agent Taylor?’ he asked.

  Taylor sipped her water again while her gaze moved across the aisle to Hunter. It looked like he hadn’t even heard the question. His full attention seemed to be in the world outside his window, not inside.

  In Taylor’s silence, Lucien moved on.

  ‘You do know that there are a great number of criminologists, criminal psychologists and psychiatrists who believe that a person can be born “evil”, don’t you? Some sort of evil gene.’

  Nothing from Taylor.

  ‘If they believe in an evil gene, that means they also believe that being evil, or overwhelmingly violent, can be a genetic condition. Do you think that’s true, Agent Taylor? Do you think a newborn can actually inherit being evil, being a killer, just like one can inherit hemophilia or color blindness?’

  Another silent sip of her water.

  ‘C’mon, humor me, Agent Taylor,’ Lucien said. ‘In your opinion, can being evil and a senseless killer like me be a product of genetic inherit
ance?’

  The thought making headlines in Taylor’s head right then was, Why didn’t they equipped this plane with a sound-proof, Plexiglas cage instead of a metal bar one?

  ‘Twenty-seven,’ Lucien said, resting his head against the chair’s backrest.

  Reflexively, Taylor’s eyes peeked at Hunter again. He was still looking out the window, but she was sure he’d heard Lucien. Had he just completely changed subjects and was now giving them coordinates? She spun her chair around.

  ‘Twenty-seven?’

  ‘Twenty-seven,’ Lucien confirmed with a single nod.

  ‘Twenty-seven what?’

  ‘States,’ Lucien said.

  A thin mask of confusion covered Taylor’s face.

  ‘I’ve visited sperm banks in twenty-seven different states,’ Lucien explained. ‘All under a different name, and with a life résumé that would impress the Queen of England. It’s all part of a very long, ongoing experiment.’

  Taylor felt the acidic taste of bile rise up in her throat.

  ‘So, if you believe that being a killer can be a product of genetic inheritance, Agent Taylor,’ Lucien said, ‘then, in a few years’ time, we might all have some surprises.’

  Just being in the same enclosed space and breathing the same air as Lucien was making Taylor feel queasy.

  ‘You’re not only sick,’ she said with a disgusted look on her face, ‘you’re completely deranged.’

  The cabin speakers crackled once before the pilot’s voice came through.

  ‘We’re approaching the border between Massachusetts and New Hampshire. Do I have any new instructions?’

  Lucien’s face seemed to come alive.