John Verdon - Let the Devil Sleep

“I can’t believe you said that. I really can’t. It’s so insulting. Look, I’m about to hang up on you. I’ll give you one chance to explain yourself before I do. Speak to me. Quickly.”

“Rebecca, we all fool ourselves from time to time. God knows I do. There’s no insult intended in my observation about this. When you look at the Good Shepherd case, you see a simple story of a brilliant psycho whose buried rage has found tragic expression in his attacks on symbols of wealth and power. When I look at the same case, I’m not sure what I see-maybe a case that people shouldn’t be as sure about as they seem to be. That’s all. I just think too many conclusions have been reached-and embraced-too quickly.”

“And where does that take you?”

“I don’t know where it takes me. But it does make me curious.”

“Curious like Max Clinter?”

“Is that a real question?”

“Oh, definitely a real question.”

“At least Max understands that the case isn’t nearly as sewn up as you and your FBI buddies think it is. At least he understands that there could be another connection among the victims beyond the fact of Mercedes ownership.”

“David, what do you have against the FBI?”

“Sometimes they get carried away by their way of doing things, their way of making decisions, their obsession with control, their process .”

“The simple reality is, they’re excellent at what they do. They’re smart, objective, disciplined, receptive to good ideas.”

“Does that mean they pay your consultancy fees on time without complaining?”

“Is that supposed to be just another observation with no insult intended?”

“It’s an observation that we tend to see the good in people who see the good in us.”

“You know, David, you’re so full of shit you ought to be a lawyer.”

He laughed. “That’s funny. I like that. But I’ll tell you something. If I were a lawyer, I’d like to have the Good Shepherd as a client. Because I have a feeling that the FBI concept of the case is about as solid as smoke in the wind. In fact, I’m getting kind of itchy to prove it.”

“I see. Lots of luck with that.”

The connection was broken.

Gurney slipped his phone back into his pocket, his unusually aggressive tone echoing in his head. Slowly his gaze moved to the far landscape. All that was left of the sunset was a purplish smudge across the gray sky, like a darkening bruise above the line of hills.

“Who was that?” The voice was Kim’s.

He turned around. She, Madeleine, and Kyle were still sitting at the table, their eyes on him. They all looked concerned, Kim more than the others.

“A forensic psychologist who’s written a lot about the Good Shepherd case and consulted with the FBI on other serial-killer issues.”

“What are you… what are you doing?” There was a pressure in her lowered voice, as though she were furious and trying not to show it.

“I want to know everything there is to know about the case.”

“What was all that stuff about everybody’s understanding of it being wrong?”

“Not wrong necessarily, just poorly supported by the facts.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I already told you Rudy Getz is going ahead with my documentary, with the set of test interviews I did. Rudy wants to use the raw footage I shot with my own camera. He says it enhances the reality. I told you this-that he’s going ahead with the program-nationally, on the RAM News Network. Now you’re telling me it’s all wrong, or it might all be wrong? I don’t get where you’re going with this. This isn’t what I asked you to do. You’re turning everything upside down. Why are you doing this?”

“Nothing has been turned upside down. I’m just trying to get a grip on what’s going on. Some disturbing things have happened, to you and to me, and I don’t want-”

“That’s no reason to go charging headfirst into the project, ripping it up, trying to prove it’s all wrong!”

“The only place I went headfirst was down your stairs. I don’t want either of us to get blindsided like that again.”

“Then just keep an eye on my idiot boyfriend!” She corrected herself. “My idiot ex-boyfriend.”

“Suppose it wasn’t him. Suppose-”

“Don’t be silly! Who else could it be?”

“Someone who knows about the project and doesn’t want you to complete it.”

“Who? Why?”

“Two excellent questions. Let’s start with the first. How many people know what you’re working on?”

“Know about the documentary? Maybe a million?”

“What?”

“A million, at least. Maybe a lot more. The RAM website, Internet news releases, e-mail blasts that go out to all the local stations and local newspapers, RAM Facebook pages, my own Facebook page, Connie’s Facebook page, my Twitter account-God, there’s so much-all the prospective participants, all their contacts…”

“So just about anyone could have access to the information.”

“Of course. Maximum exposure. That’s the goal.”

“Okay. That means we need to come at it from a different direction.”

Kim stared at him with a pained expression. “We don’t need to ‘come at it’ at all-not the way you’re talking about it. God, Dave…” Tears were coming to her eyes. “This is a critical moment. Don’t you see that? I can’t believe this. My first episode is set to run in a couple of days, and you’re on the phone telling people that the whole Good Shepherd case is… is… what? I can’t even follow what you’re telling them.” She shook her head, pressing the tears away from her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t… Shit! Excuse me.”

She hurried out of the room, and a few seconds later Gurney heard the bathroom door slam shut.

He looked at Kyle, who had pushed his chair a foot or so back from the table and seemed to be studying a spot on the floor. He looked at Madeleine, who was gazing at him with a concern that he found unsettling.

He turned up his palms in a questioning gesture. “What did I do?”

“Think about it,” she said. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Kyle?”

The young man looked up, gave a small shrug. “I think you scared the shit out of her.”

Gurney frowned. “By suggesting to someone on the phone that the FBI concept of the case might be flawed?”

When Kyle didn’t answer, Madeleine said softly, “You did more than that.”

“Like what?”

She ignored the question and began moving some of the dinner dishes from the table to the sink.

Gurney persisted, addressing his question to a midpoint in the space between her and Kyle. “What did I do that’s so awful?”

This time Kyle answered. “You didn’t do anything awful , not intentionally, but… I think Kim got the impression that you were bringing her project to a screeching halt.”

“You didn’t just say there might be a little flaw somewhere,” added Madeleine. “You implied that the whole thing was completely wrong, and not only that, you were going the prove it. In other words, you planned to tear the whole case apart.”

Gurney took a deep breath. “There was a reason for that.”

“A reason?” Madeleine looked amused. “Of course. You always have a reason.”

He closed his eyes for a moment as if patience were more easily found in darkness. “I wanted to upset Holdenfield enough that she’d get in touch with the FBI agent in charge, a cold fish by the name of Trout, and upset him enough that he’d want to get in touch with me .”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“To find out if I really know something about the case that might embarrass him. And that would give me an opportunity to find out if he knows things about the case that haven’t been made public.”