Chris Carter: An Evil Mind

‘I thought that we could have a quick chat in the conference room before we take you to see. .’ Newman paused and looked at Taylor. ‘. . your old friend, as I understand.’

Hunter simply nodded and followed Newman and Taylor to the opposite end of the hallway.

The conference room was large and air-conditioned to a very pleasant temperature. The center of the room was taken by a long, polished mahogany table. A very large monitor showing a detailed map of the United States glowed at the far wall.

Newman took a seat at the head of the table and nodded for Hunter to take the seat next to him.

‘I know you’ve been made completely aware of the delicate situation we have here,’ Newman began, once Hunter took his seat.

Hunter agreed with a head gesture.

Newman flipped open the folder on the table in front of him. ‘According to what you told Director Kennedy and Agent Taylor, the real name of the man we have in our custody is Lucien Folter, and not Liam Shaw, as it was stated in his driver’s license.’

‘That’s the name I knew him by,’ Hunter confirmed.

Newman nodded his understanding. ‘So you think that Lucien Folter could also be a made-up name?’

‘That’s not what I said,’ Hunter replied calmly.

Newman waited.

‘I see no reason why he would use a false name back in college,’ Hunter said, trying to clear things up. ‘You also have to remember that we’re talking about Stanford University here, and someone who was just nineteen at the time.’

Newman gave Hunter a very subtle frown, not quite following the detective’s line of thought.

Hunter read it and explained. ‘That means that this nineteen-year-old kid would’ve had to have expertly falsified several records to be accepted into a very prestigious university, in an era when personal computers did not exist.’ He shook his head. ‘Not an easy task.’

‘Not easy,’ Newman agreed. ‘But it was doable.’

Hunter said nothing.

‘The only reason I ask is because of the hidden meaning in his name,’ Newman said.

‘Hidden meaning?’ Hunter looked at the agent curiously.

Newman nodded. ‘Did you know that the word Folter means torture in German?’

Hunter agreed with a head gesture. ‘Yes, Lucien told me.’

Newman carried on staring at him.

Hunter didn’t look too impressed. ‘Is that what you mean by hidden meaning?’ He glanced at Taylor, then back at Newman. ‘Did you also know that the name Lucien comes from the French language and it means “light, illumination”? It’s also a village in Poland, and the name of a Christian saint. Most names have a history behind them, Special Agent Newman. My family name means “he who hunts”; nevertheless, my father was never a hunter in any shape or form. A great number of American family names will, by coincidence, mean something in a different language. That doesn’t actually constitute a hidden meaning.’

Newman said nothing back.

Hunter took a moment, and then allowed his gaze to move to the folder on the table.

Newman got the hint and began reading. ‘OK. Lucien Folter, born October 25, 1966, in Monte Vista, Colorado. His parents — Charles Folter and Mary-Ann Folter, are both deceased. He graduated from Monte Vista High School in 1985, with very good grades. No youth record whatsoever. Never got into any trouble with the police. After graduating from high school, he was quickly accepted into Stanford University.’ Newman paused and looked up at Hunter. ‘I guess you know everything that happened during the next few years.’

Hunter remained silent.

‘After obtaining his psychology degree from Stanford,’ Newman continued, ‘Lucien Folter applied to Yale University in Connecticut for a PhD in Criminal Psychology. He was accepted, did three years of his degree, and then simply disappeared. He never completed his PhD.’

Hunter kept his eyes on Newman. He didn’t know that his old friend hadn’t completed his doctorate.

‘And when I say disappeared,’ Newman said. ‘I mean disappeared . There’s nothing else out there on a Lucien Folter after his third year at Yale. No job records, no passport, no credit cards, no listed address, no bills. . no anything. It’s like Lucien Folter ceased to exist.’ Newman closed the folder. ‘That’s all we have on him.’

‘Maybe that was when he decided to take up a new identity,’ Taylor offered. She was sitting across the table from Hunter. ‘Maybe that was when he got tired of being Lucien Folter and became someone else. Maybe Liam Shaw, or maybe even someone completely different that we don’t know about.’

Silence took over the room for the next few seconds, before Newman broke it again.

‘The truth is that whoever this guy really is, he’s a living, breathing, walking mystery. Somebody who might’ve lied to everyone throughout his whole life.’

Hunter chewed on that thought for a moment.

‘I wanted you to understand this before you go talk to him,’ Newman added, ‘because I know that things can get a little emotional when we’re dealing with people from our past. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’ve read your file, and I’ve read your thesis on “An Advanced Psychological Study in Criminal Conduct”. Everybody in BSU has, it’s mandatory reading, and so I know that you know what you’re doing better than most. But you’re still human, and as such you have emotions. No matter how clued-up a person is, emotions can and will cloud best judgments and opinions. Keep that in mind when you walk in there.’

Hunter stayed quiet.

Newman then proceeded to explain to Hunter how unconventional and mysterious Lucien Folter had appeared to be since he had arrived in Quantico — the extreme silence, the up-to-the-second biological internal timekeeping, the long exercise sessions, the wall staring, the extraordinary mental strength, everything.

From what he knew of his old friend, Hunter wasn’t too surprised Lucien could be that mentally focused.

‘He’s waiting,’ Newman said at last. ‘I guess we better get going.’

Newman and Taylor guided Hunter out of the conference room, back down the hallway, and into the elevator, which descended another two floors to sublevel five. This level was nothing like the Behavioral Science Unit’s floor. There was no shiny hallway, no fancy fixtures on the walls, no pleasant feel to the place whatsoever.

The elevator opened onto a small concrete-floored anteroom. On the right, behind a large safety-glass window, Hunter could see what had to be a control room, with wall-mounted monitors and a guard sitting at a large console desk.

‘Welcome to the BSU holding cells floor,’ Taylor said.

‘Why is he being held here?’ Hunter asked.

‘A couple of reasons, really,’ Taylor replied. ‘First, as was mentioned before, the sheriff’s department in Wheatland had no idea how to deal with a case of this magnitude, and second, because everything indicates that this is probably a cross-state double-homicide case. So until we’re able to establish where your old friend should be rightly held, we’ll keep him here.’

‘Also because your friend’s potential psychopathy has triggered several bells within the behavioral unit,’ Newman added. ‘Especially his incredible mental strength, and the way he’s able to hold firm under pressure. No one in the unit has ever come across anyone quite like him. If he really is a killer, judging by the level of brutality that was used on the two victims’ heads found, then we might have stumbled upon a Pandora’s box.’

Taylor signaled the guard inside the control room and he buzzed open the door directly across the room from them. The US Marine standing by the door took a step to the side to allow them through.