Chris Carter - An Evil Mind

‘Exactly.’ Taylor nodded. ‘Especially if that person is his

first ever victim. If Lucien hadn’t fantasized about killing Susan in particular, then why torture and kill a “friend”? He could’ve easily found another anonymous victim — a total stranger — someone he could’ve picked up in a bar or a club, a hooker, I don’t know, but someone who he had zero feelings for, someone he couldn’t care less about.’

‘And to Lucien, that was exactly who Susan was.’

Taylor frowned.

‘You’re trying to look at it with your own eyes, Courtney,’ Hunter said, putting his coffee cup back down on the table. ‘You’re trying to understand it with your own mind. And when you do that, your emotions get in the way. You have to try to look at it through Lucien’s eyes. His psychopathy isn’t victim-centered.’

Taylor held Hunter’s gaze for a long while. Every agent with the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit is aware that there are two major types of aggressive psychopaths. The first kind — victim-centered — are the ones to whom the victim is the most important part of the equation. The perpetrator fantasizes about a specific type of victim, so everyone he chooses has to match that type, fit the profile. And it usually boils down to physical type. With victim-centered psychopaths, the whole fantasy revolves around the way the victim looks. It’s the victim’s physical attributes that excites and ‘turns them on’. Most of the time because it reminds them of someone else. In those cases, there’s always some sort of strong emotional connection, and nine out of ten times their fantasies will involve some sort of sexual act. The victim being sexually assaulted either before or after being murdered is almost a certainty.

The second major type of aggressive psychopaths — violence-centered — are the ones to whom the victim is secondary. The most important part of the equation is the violence, not the victim. It’s the killing act that pleasures them. They don’t fantasize about a certain type of victim. They don’t fantasize about having sex with the victim, because sex will bring them little, or no pleasure at all. On the contrary, it’s a distraction from the violence. What they fantasize about is torture, about how to inflict pain, about the God-like power that it gives them. To those psychopaths, anyone can become a victim, even friends and family. There is no distinction. Because of that, they achieve a much higher level of emotional detachment than the victim-centered ones. They can easily kidnap, torture and kill a friend, a relative, a lover, a spouse. . To them it doesn’t matter. Emotions simply have no relevance.

‘How do you know Lucien’s psychopathy isn’t victim-centered?’ Taylor finally asked.

Hunter finished his coffee and used a paper napkin to dab his mouth.

‘Because of what we have so far.’

Taylor leaned in slightly and cocked her head.

‘The tokens that were found inside that box in Lucien’s house, remember?’ Hunter elaborated. ‘Not all of them came from women, and the ones that did drastically varied in size. That tells us that the victim’s physical type and even the gender aren’t that important to him. But Lucien also told us so himself. . twice.’

Taylor paused, and Hunter could tell that she was searching her mental record of that morning’s interview.

‘He told us that when he was in high school he dreamed of hurting people.’ Hunter reminded her. ‘Sometimes people he knew, sometimes people he had never seen before. . just random creations of his imagination — not a specific type.

Taylor remembered Lucien saying that, but she hadn’t fully made the connection.

‘Then he told us that when he started fantasizing while wide-awake, the star roles in his violent fantasies usually belonged to people he disliked. Sometimes teachers, sometimes school bullies, sometimes family members. . but not always. No physical attributes, or gender came into play. In Lucien’s dreams and fantasies, who he was hurting made no difference to him. What excited him was the act of murder, itself.’

Hunter consulted his watch. It was time to get going.

‘Trust me, Courtney, whatever feelings Lucien felt for Susan wouldn’t have stopped him. Not even love.’

For lunch Lucien had been given an aluminum tray containing one portion of bread, lumpy mashed potatoes, a small amount of vegetables, and two pieces of chicken, which were swimming in some sort of yellowish sauce. Everything lacked salt and seemed to have been seasoned with an extra pinch of absolutely nothing at all. Lucien was convinced that the FBI had redefined tasteless food, but he didn’t really mind. He wasn’t eating for taste or pleasure. He ate to keep his body and mind fed, to give his muscles at least some of the nutrients they needed. And he ate every last scrap.

Just ten minutes after he’d finished his lunch, Lucien heard the familiar buzzing and unlocking sound that came from the door at the end of the corridor.

‘Two hours almost to the second,’ he said, as Hunter and Taylor came into his line of sight. ‘I had a feeling you two would be punctual.’ Lucien waited for them to sit down. ‘Do you mind if I stand up and walk about a little while we talk? It gets the blood flowing to my brain better, and it helps me digest that crap you guys call food around here.’ He jabbed his head toward the empty tray.

No one had any objections.

‘So,’ Lucien said. ‘Where were we?’

Hunter and Taylor both knew that Lucien hadn’t forgotten where they’d left off. The question was just part of his game.

‘Susan Richards,’ Taylor said, calmly crossing her legs, interlacing her fingers together, and resting her right elbow on one of the chair’s arms.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Lucien replied as he slowly started pacing from left to right at the front of the cell. ‘What about her again?’

‘Her remains, Lucien,’ Hunter said in a firm but unthreatening tone. ‘Where are they?’

‘Oh, that’s right. I was about to tell you, wasn’t I?’ There was a perverse quality to Lucien’s new smile. ‘Have you contacted her parents yet, Robert? Are they still alive?’

‘What?’

‘Susan’s parents. We met them a couple of times, remember? Are they still alive?’

‘Yes. They’re still alive,’ Hunter confirmed.

Lucien nodded his understanding. ‘They seemed to be nice people. Will you be the one in charge of giving them the news?’

Hunter suspected he would be, but he was getting tired of Lucien’s games. The way he saw it, right then, any answer was an answer, as long as it got Lucien talking.

‘Yes.’

‘Will you be doing it over the phone, or do you intend to do it face to face?’

Any answer.

‘Face to face.’

Lucien chewed on that for a beat before returning to Hunter’s original question. ‘You know, Robert, that night I experienced things. . feelings, actually, that until then I had only read about in criminology books, interview transcripts, and accounts from apprehended offenders. Personal and intimate feelings that the more I read about them, the more I wanted to experience them for myself, because that’d be the only real way to find out if they’d be true for me or not.’

He paused and stared at the wall in front of him, as if fascinated by some invisible work of art hanging from it.

‘That night, Robert, I could actually feel Susan’s life-light fading away right at my fingertips.’ Lucien’s gaze moved down toward his hands before continuing. ‘I could feel her heart pulsating in my palms, and the more I squeezed, the weaker it got.’ He turned and faced Hunter and Taylor one more time. ‘And that was when I was elevated, like an out-of-body experience. That was when I realized that what so many had testified to, the feeling we read about so many times, was indeed true.’