by Chris Carter
Agent Fisher blinked. ‘As opposed to you, who so far has proven to be even dumber than you look.’
The man threw his head back and let go of a nervous laugh. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere; isn’t that how the saying goes?’
No reply from Agent Fisher.
‘OK, let’s forget about names for the time being; what do you say? Let’s talk timeframes, how about that? Would that be better?’ The man scooted forward on his chair and placed his elbows on the table. ‘Tell me, Special Agent Fisher, when did the Bureau start this investigation? How long ago since you found the first body? Three weeks . . . ? Four, maybe . . . ?’
Agent Fisher kept as still as a statue.
The man shrugged. ‘Maybe you don’t know this, but things have been happening for a lot longer than that.’
‘Really?’ she challenged, still in a serene tone. ‘Like what, for example? About two months, give or take?’ As Agent Fisher mentioned the timeframe she noticed a thoughtful sparkle in the man’s demeanor.
‘Give or take,’ he said, as if admitting to something, but the way in which he phrased his reply gave Agent Fisher the impression that the FBI wasn’t quite on the right track yet. She had to push for an answer.
‘Longer?’
The man stayed silent.
Agent Fisher felt fear shake her core, because if The Surgeon had been killing for longer than two months, it meant that there was at least another victim. Someone prior to Kristine Rivers. Someone they hadn’t found yet.
‘How many victims?’ she asked again.
The man said nothing.
‘How many have you killed so far?’
All of a sudden the door to the interrogation room swung open and Agent Williams stepped inside. ‘Agent Fisher, could I have a word, please?’
Agent Fisher turned to face her partner, finding the intrusion strange and completely unwelcome.
Agent Williams and Agent Fisher had worked together in countless investigations. As a team they had interrogated numerous suspects. Their act – good cop/bad cop – was one of the best in the Bureau, but she hadn’t used any of her trigger words to signal Agent Williams in the observation room that it was time for “bad cop” to join the party.
She looked back at him grimly.
‘Now, Agent Fisher.’
Agent Fisher frowned.
Something was definitely wrong.
Fifty-One
Fifteen minutes earlier
As soon as Agent Fisher left the observation room, Agent Williams moved a step closer to Hunter and Garcia.
‘I’d like to apologize for Agent Fisher’s behavior.’ He sounded sincere. ‘As I told Captain Suarez, it’s been a very long and surprising day for all of us and it all seems to have gotten the best of her, at least for today. She never usually acts this way. She’s a great agent. Very dedicated. Very in control. Very knowledgeable, but neither of us has ever worked on such a frustrating case.’
Hunter replied with a subtle nod. ‘It’s not a problem. I understand her frustration.’
‘Frustration is just a small part of it,’ Garcia said, sounding a lot less forgiving than Hunter.
Agent Williams looked back at him.
‘C’mon, we can stop pretending here,’ Garcia elaborated. ‘It’s more than obvious that what’s really eating her is the fact that she feels threatened by us.’
Through the two-way mirror they all saw Agent Fisher step into the interrogation room and close the door behind her.
No reaction from the man at the table.
‘The two of you were assigned as the lead agents in Director Kennedy’s niece’s homicide investigation,’ Garcia continued. ‘That’s a huge responsibility, bestowed upon you by the director himself, which means that he not only trusts you, but he probably also considers the pair of you to be his best agents. Of course you guys want to do well for him, but after over two months of no results and a few downfalls, things have gone a little pear-shaped, haven’t they? Tempers were probably already running high before Director Kennedy decided to invite us to join the investigation.’ He shrugged as he corrected himself. ‘And by us I mean Robert; I’m just a consequence. Anyway, Agent Fisher didn’t like that at all, because in her head all it meant was that all of a sudden, in Director Kennedy’s eyes, the FBI golden pair didn’t seem to be shining so bright anymore.’
Agent Williams found it hard to retort.
‘I’m not sure what she thinks is going to happen,’ Garcia proceeded. ‘But we’re not here to discredit anyone or to tread on anyone’s toes. We’re not here to compete against you and we sure as hell aren’t here trying to impress Director Kennedy or anyone else. We just want to catch this psycho as much as you do.’
The multidirectional microphone on the ceiling above the metal table inside the interrogation room picked up Agent Fisher’s voice loud and clear, sending everyone inside the observation room into a deep silence. Through the speakers they all heard her introduce herself, then tell the man that she was the senior agent in charge of the entire investigation and that this would be his only opportunity to talk to her.
Hunter kept his arms folded in front of his chest and his full attention on the man sitting at the table. He would rather be inside the interrogation room, but even from the other side of the two-way mirror, he had a clear enough view of the man to be able to search his facial expressions and body movements for any telltale signs. He saw the man’s stare intensify, as if he were weighing up what Agent Fisher had just told him. When she asked him for a name and upon his silence suggested that she come up with one for him, Hunter saw the subtle shrug the man had given her in reply.
When Fisher mentioned the word ‘artist’, there was a slight twitch to his left eye, which intrigued Hunter.
‘Did you see that?’ Agent Williams asked.
Both Hunter and Garcia nodded.
Inside the interrogation room, Agent Fisher countered the man’s silence with a threat, but that also failed to produce any effect. She then began attacking his ego, but again the man’s only reaction was an uneasy blink of the eyes. When she mentioned Mr. Davis’s neighbor, the man’s eyebrows moved down slightly. Not exactly a frown, but definitely a sign of curiosity. That intrigued Hunter, setting off the first alarm bell inside his head.
‘Do we know if anyone has talked to Mr. Davis’s neighbor?’ he asked.
Garcia and Agent Williams turned to face him.
‘The one who made the 911 call. Do we know if anyone has talked to him?’
‘No idea,’ Agent Williams replied. ‘But we can find out. Why?’
‘No reason, but I would just like to check,’ Hunter answered. ‘With the suspect being arrested on the spot and Tucson PD having orders not to initiate an investigation, that sort of detail could’ve easily been overlooked.’
Inside the interrogation room, Agent Fisher carried on with her attack on the man’s ego, but his curiosity seemed to fade way too fast, substituted by a faint, cynical smile.
A second alarm bell started ringing inside Hunter’s head.
The man seemed to be pushing Agent Fisher just as much as she was pushing him. The only difference was that he was doing it in silence.
Agent Fisher got to her feet and began making her way to the door. There was no doubt that she was going through the interrogation-trick book one step at a time. As she got to the door, the man finally spoke.
‘So . . . Special Agent Fisher, how many bodies have you found so far?’
In the observation room, everybody’s attention heightened exponentially as they watched Agent Fisher slowly walk back and retake her seat at the table, but it was the way in which the man threw the numbers at her that concerned Hunter.
Suddenly, the man surprised everyone when he practically admitted that there could be more than four victims.
‘Sonofabitch,’ Agent Williams said, making no effort to disguise the excitement in his voice. ‘It’s him. It’s the fucking Surgeon. We’ve got him.’ He reached
for his phone, ready to call Director Kennedy, but Hunter stopped him by lightly placing a hand on his shoulder.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Let this interview play out first.’
‘Why? It’s him. He’s admitting to it.’
‘Not exactly,’ Hunter replied.
‘What do you mean – “not exactly”?’
Back in the interrogation room Agent Fisher and the suspect began talking about the timeframe. The man shrugged before dropping the bomb: ‘Things have been happening for a lot longer than that.’
More alarm bells, but they only seemed to be ringing inside Hunter’s head.
‘It’s him,’ Agent Williams said again. ‘We’ve got him.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Hunter said, shaking his head. ‘This is wrong. This is all wrong.’
‘Wrong?’ Agent Williams queried. ‘What do you mean, “wrong”? What’s wrong?’
‘What he’s saying,’ Hunter replied. ‘He’s not telling her anything; she is telling him.’
‘What?’ Agent Williams’ entire forehead creased like an old piece of paper. ‘I’m not following you, Detective Hunter.’
‘He’s cold-reading her.’
Fifty-Two
Agent Fisher closed the interrogation-room door behind her and pinned Agent Williams down with a stare that could’ve cut through steel.
‘What the hell is going on, Larry?’ she asked, half-confused, half-angry. ‘I know that this isn’t “bad cop” time because I didn’t use any of our trigger words.’
‘Could you give us a minute, please.’ Agent Williams addressed the Tucson police officer who was guarding the interrogation-room door.
The officer nodded and walked over to the other end of the corridor.
‘That’s not him, Erica,’ Agent Williams said, once the officer was out of earshot, pointing to the interrogation room. ‘That’s not The Surgeon in there.’
Agent Fisher’s eyes widened at her partner. ‘What? Have you been listening to the same interrogation?’ She began numbering the events, using the fingers on her right hand to emphasize her points. ‘His demeanor completely changed when I mentioned the word “artist”. He practically told us that there are more than four victims and that he’s been killing for longer than two months. All you need to do is read between the lines, Larry. Have you been asleep?’
‘No I haven’t, Erica, and you’re not reading him. He’s reading you.’
‘What?’ She chuckled nervously. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘It’s called “cold-reading”, Erica,’ Agent Williams tried to explain. ‘It’s a technique used by many—’
‘I know what cold-reading is, Larry.’ Agent Fisher’s voice acquired an even angrier tone.
‘Good, because that’s what he’s been doing in there,’ Agent Williams replied. ‘Very professionally, I might add.’ He lifted both hands in a “please wait” gesture. ‘Just try to think back to the moment you set foot in that room and the exact words you have used.’ He gave her a second before recapping with her. ‘You first introduced yourself, then asked him for a name. He stayed silent. You offered to come up with one just for the sake of conversation. His “go ahead” sign was a shrug. Not because he didn’t care, but because he wanted to hear what you would come up with. Why? Because he knows that during an ongoing investigation, especially one involving a probable serial killer, law-enforcement agencies, including us, the FBI, tend to use some sort of moniker to refer to the perp. A moniker that is usually self-describing – The Tourniquet Killer, The Yorkshire Ripper, The Trailside Strangler, The Vampire of Sacramento, The Surgeon, The Artist. He wanted to know what we were calling the perp, Erica, because he was betting on the chance that the name alone would give him an idea of what this killer has been doing, how he’s been taking out his victims. And his gamble paid off because you gave him two. You even asked him if The Surgeon appealed to his “skills”.’
Agent Fisher’s angry attitude lost a considerable amount of strength as her memory took her back to just moments earlier.
‘If you had given him any other moniker,’ Agent Williams carried on, ‘The Blood Dancer, The Liver Cannibal, it doesn’t matter – his reaction would’ve still been the same because he would’ve believed that that was what we were calling the killer. Why else would you have used a moniker?’
‘And if I had just called him John, or Frank, or whatever?’ Agent Fisher contested. ‘For the sake of conversation.’
‘Then his gamble wouldn’t have paid off and he would’ve probably replied with another shrug as if saying “Suit yourself. Call me whatever you like.” He had nothing to lose.’
Agent Fisher chewed on that thought for an instant.
‘He finally let go of the silent game when you threatened to leave the room,’ Agent Williams continued. ‘But he didn’t really give you anything. What he did was throw you a question about the number of victims. You gave him back some of his own medicine and stayed quiet. So what did he do to counter your silence? He used a simple cold-reading technique, Erica. He fed you possible answers to his own question – “three, four” – while at the same time paying close attention to your reactions. You might’ve not realized this, but you were absolutely still until he got to four. That was when you finally breathed out and sat back on your chair. He read your movement, stopped counting and smiled. You immediately countered with a double question, which simply confirmed the number on which he had stopped – “Why? Are there more?”
‘After that, he didn’t effectively tell you that there were more than four victims, like you thought he had. All he did was give you a very generic reply – “there might be” – a reply that, one: doesn’t really implicate him in anything, and two: would trick you into believing that he was giving you the answer you wanted. How did he know that you would fall for it? Because that’s one of the foundations cold-reading is built upon. It’s pure psychology. When people are keen, when people want to believe, all you need to do is give them an ambiguous response and their brains will do the rest. It will make that ambiguous response sound exactly how they want it to sound because that’s what they want to hear. So while he replied “there might be”, your brain interpreted that as “yes, there are”. How do I know that? Because my brain did the exact same thing back in the interrogation room.’
From the look in Agent Fisher’s eyes, Agent Williams could tell that her memory was paging through the interrogation as quickly as it possibly could.
‘He used the exact same trick when he asked you about the timeframe,’ Agent Williams added. ‘He fed you possibilities while studying your reaction – “Three weeks . . . ? Four maybe . . . ?” The problem he had was that he couldn’t just carry on. He had no idea how far he would have to go before you picked up on his bullshit. Too risky, so he fed you another generic answer – “Things have been happening for a lot longer than that.” ’ Agent Williams shrugged. ‘Things? What things? Murder? Corruption? Hate? Bigotry? Global warming? Pollution? The ozone layer? My back problem? All of those things have been happening for a lot longer than four weeks. But your brain interpreted his answer the way you wanted it to sound and you gave him the timeframe. He never gave it to you.’
Agent Williams reminded his partner of the words she had used.
‘ “Like what, for example? About two months, give or take?” ’
Agent Fisher began to look a little lost.
‘All he did,’ Agent Williams said, ‘was repeat the three last words you used – “give or take” – and once again, your brain took that as – “yes, longer than two months”.’
There was a long, awkward pause. Agent Fisher avoided her partner’s eyes by looking past him, down the corridor. The Tucson police officer was leaning against the wall. It looked like he was struggling to stay awake.
‘Pure psychology?’ she finally said. ‘Did Detective Hunter fill your head with all this crap?’
Agent Williams ran a hand through his short dark hair.
>
‘He was the one who called my attention to it, yes.’
Agent Fisher looked angry again.
‘For Christ’s sake, Larry. What the—’
‘Erica, stop it.’ The authority in Agent Williams’ voice matched the anger in Agent Fisher’s. She looked back at him, surprised. Agent Williams never lost his cool.
‘This is not a competition,’ he carried on. ‘This isn’t us against them. It isn’t the FBI against the LAPD. This is all of us against The Surgeon. And we are losing.’
‘If he’s not The Surgeon,’ she asked, ‘then who the hell is he? And why would he allow himself to be wrongly arrested for multiple homicides without saying a single word in his defense?’
Agent Williams cleared his throat. ‘The speculation, given that the only thing he had with him was a camera, is that he’s a reporter, who somehow managed to find out about this investigation. He probably figured that by using a combination of silence and cold-reading, he would be able to extract enough information from the police . . . the FBI . . . whoever . . . to put together a news piece.’
Agent Fisher took a deep breath while her brain tried to come up with a reply, but before it was able to comply, Agent Williams challenged her.
‘It’s not him, Erica. If you think we’re wrong, go back in there, give him something bogus about The Surgeon and see how he reacts.’
Agent Fisher allowed that thought to play in her head for several seconds. Had she been that stupid? Had she really not seen through the man’s bullshit?
Anger threatened to choke her.
‘All right,’ she finally said, about to breathe out fire. ‘Let’s go test this sonofabitch.’
Fifty-Three
Agent Fisher reentered interrogation room one, but this time she closed the door behind her smoothly, as if she was walking into a library room.
The man at the metal table had gone back to focusing his attention on his lap.
Agent Fisher readjusted her ponytail and slowly made her way back to the table.
