Chris Carter - An Evil Mind

‘What figure?’

Hunter’s eyes had stopped searching the map.

‘An old man.’

Taylor frowned. ‘An old man?’ she said, joining Hunter by the map. ‘So what are we looking for here? Oldman County? Granddad County? Or did this old man have a name? Lucien Folter said that the county carried the same name as the figure in that poster.’

‘No name,’ Hunter clarified. ‘But that old man was a Native American. More precisely, a. .’ He pointed to a county on the far left-hand side of the map. The county of Cherokee.

The state of North Carolina is divided into three regions — Eastern, Piedmont and Western. Cherokee County is the westernmost county in the Western Region. It borders both Georgia and Tennessee.

‘A Cherokee Indian,’ Taylor said with a different rhythm to her voice. ‘I’ll be damned.’

Hunter paused and looked at her. The expression on his face asked the question.

Taylor tilted her head to one side. ‘My ex-husband was half-Cherokee. We just got through a tough divorce. Strange coincidence, that’s all.’

Hunter nodded.

Taylor’s attention returned to the map as she considered the county’s position in relation to their location. ‘Damn,’ she said, returning to the computer. ‘That will be a hell of a long drive.’

‘At least eight hours there, and eight hours back,’ Hunter agreed.

Taylor typed a new command in, and on the map a route was immediately traced between the FBI Academy in Quantico and the eastern border of Cherokee county. On the left-hand side, a detailed, step-by-step breakdown of the entire itinerary was displayed. According to it, and with zero stops, the 535-mile journey would take them approximately eight hours and twenty-five minutes.

Hunter checked his watch — 12:52 p.m. He sure as hell wasn’t in the mood for a seventeen-hour drive there and back.

‘Can we fly there?’ he asked.

Taylor pulled a face. ‘I don’t have the kind of clearance necessary to authorize a plane,’ she said.

‘But Adrian does,’ Hunter added.

Taylor nodded. ‘Director Kennedy can authorize anything he likes.’

‘So let’s get him to authorize one,’ Hunter said. ‘Just minutes ago he was ready to authorize a jet to take me on vacation to Hawaii, and I’m not even with the FBI.’

Taylor had no argument against that.

‘OK, I’ll call him. So where are we going?’

Hunter looked at her.

‘The second part of the riddle,’ she clarified. ‘The name of the city? Who was this Professor “Hot Sauce”? Susan’s dare? Halloween night?’

Hunter wasn’t ready to show all his cards yet, at least not while they were still at the FBI academy. He checked his watch. ‘One step at a time, Agent Taylor. Let’s get going first. I’ll tell you when we’re airborne.’

Taylor studied him for an instant. ‘What difference does it make?’

‘My point exactly. If it makes no difference, then I can either tell you now or later. I’ll do it later. We need to get going.’

Taylor lifted both hands, giving up. ‘Fine, we’ll play it your way. I’ll call Director Kennedy.’

Taylor’s telephone conversation with Director Adrian Kennedy lasted less than three minutes. He didn’t need much convincing.

Lucien Folter had been arrested six days ago. The FBI had two decapitated and mutilated female heads in their hands — no bodies — no identities. The questions were piling up like dirty dishes, and so far they had nothing. Kennedy wanted answers, and he wanted them pronto, whatever it took.

Within ninety minutes, everything was arranged and a Phenom 100 light jet was waiting for Hunter and Taylor at the Turner Field landing strip. This plane was about half the size of the one they took from Los Angeles to Quantico, but just as luxurious inside.

The cabin lights dimmed momentarily, and the plane took off swiftly. Hunter sat nursing a large cup of strong black coffee, while his brain tried to carefully revisit every word that was said that morning inside the interrogation room.

Taylor was sitting in the black-leather swivel chair directly in front of Hunter. Her laptop computer was resting on her lap; its screen displayed a detailed map of Cherokee County with all its cities and towns. ‘OK, we’re airborne, so where exactly are we heading? Who’s Professor “Hot Sauce”?’

Hunter smiled as he remembered it.

‘Lucien, Susan and I went to a Halloween party in an Irish bar in Los Altos. There we bumped into our neuropsychology professor. Nice guy, great professor, and he loved to drink. That night we’d all had a few, but then, out of the blue, he decided to challenge us to a shot-drinking competition. Lucien and I declined, but to our surprise, Susan took him up on the offer.’

‘Why were you surprised?’

‘Susan wasn’t that good a drinker,’ Hunter said, with a slight shake of the head. ‘Four, five shots, and Susan was gone. What we didn’t know was that she had a trick up her sleeve.’

Interest bathed Taylor’s face. ‘What trick?’

‘Susan’s grandparents were Latvian, and because of that, she knew a few Latvian words, including the word for water — “ūdens”. The deal was, each one took turns downing a shot of their favorite drink. Susan knew the barman, who was actually Latvian. The professor was drinking Tequila, and Susan kept on ordering a shot of “ūdens” from the barman. Fourteen shots later, the professor threw in the towel. His forfeit penalty was to drink an entire two-ounce bottle of Hot Sauce, which he did. He didn’t turn up for class for the next three days. From that day on, the three of us only referred to him as Professor Hot Sauce.’

Hunter quickly studied the map on Taylor’s screen. It took him just a second to find what he was looking for.

‘So who was your neuropsychology professor?’ Taylor asked.

Hunter pointed at the screen. ‘His name was Steward Murphy.’

The city of Murphy was the largest city in Cherokee county, situated at the confluence of the Hiwassee and Valley Rivers.

‘It doesn’t look like there’s an airport in Murphy,’ Taylor said, analyzing the map, before typing in a new command. A second later she had an answer. ‘OK, the closest airport to Murphy is Western Carolina Regional Airport. About thirteen and a half miles away.’

‘That will do,’ Hunter said. ‘You can tell the pilot that that’s where we’re heading.’

Taylor used the intercom phone on the wall to her right to give the pilot his instructions.

‘We should be there in about an hour and ten minutes, give or take a few,’ she told Hunter.

‘Much better than eight and a half of driving,’ he commented.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something, Detective Hunter?’ Taylor said after they’d been airborne for a few minutes.

Hunter peeled his eyes from the blue sky outside his window and looked at her.

‘I do if you’re going to carry on calling me Detective Hunter. Please call me Robert.’

Taylor seemed to hesitate for a moment. ‘OK, Robert, as long as you call me Courtney.’

‘Deal. So what would you like to ask me, Courtney?’

‘You felt guilty, didn’t you?’ She waited a couple of seconds and decided to clarify. ‘When Lucien told you about his drug problem and how he got involved with it all.’

Hunter stayed quiet.

‘While everyone in the observation room had all their attention focused on Lucien, I was observing you. You felt guilty. You felt like it’d been your fault.’

‘Not like it’d been my fault,’ Hunter finally said. ‘But I know I could’ve helped him. I should’ve noticed he was hooked when he came to see me in LA for the last time. I don’t even know how I missed that.’