Chris Carter - Gallery of the Dead

‘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.’

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.

Click, clack, click, clack.

Maybe it was because the novelty of the silent and the no-eye-contact treatment had worn off, or maybe it was because every step Agent Fisher took was overflowing with determination, but this time the man’s eyes moved straight back to her.

She paused before the vacant chair, but decided against taking a seat.

The man waited, his gaze carefully studying her every move.

‘The coroner is done with the autopsy,’ she lied, her face as steady as a surgeon’s hand. ‘Not that we weren’t already expecting it, but since we’re talking, I was wondering if you could help me understand something here. Why the different MOs? Why kill them all differently?’

The man’s demeanor didn’t change. He simply continued analyzing her with the same dead, cold stare as before.

‘I mean,’ she proceeded, ‘you drowned your first victim, you strangled your second one, you slit the throat of your third, and now, death by poisoning. Why? Why jump from method to method? Why don’t you stick with the same MO? I’m just curious here.’

Agent Fisher’s performance could’ve gotten her a place at Juilliard. From the slight trepidation in her voice, to the confusion swimming in her eyes, her acting was absolutely flawless.

The man readjusted himself on his chair and looked back at Agent Fisher as if he knew something she didn’t.

Their stares battled against each other for several seconds before Agent Fisher broke eye contact.

‘You know what?’ she said, without too much concern. ‘I don’t give a damn if you answer me or not. We’ve got you. It’s over and you’re going to rot in jail, starting from right now.’ She turned on the balls of her feet and marched toward the door. ‘Enjoy the rest of your pathetic life.’

‘Well,’ the man replied at last, once again stopping Agent Fisher just as she got to the door. ‘One might like to experiment with different methods. Or each victim might request a different approach.’

Agent Fisher’s stomach tightened inside her as if she’d been dropped from an airplane with no parachute.

‘ One? Experiment? ’ she asked as she turned around and walked back to the table, her eyes about to ignite. The man had once again used a generic reply. One that would not implicate him in anything.

The man shrugged. ‘And why not? C’mon, Special Agent Erica Fisher, do you want me to do your job for you? It’s your job to figure these things out, isn’t it?’

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

‘You sonofabitch.’ She slammed her hands on the tabletop so hard it made the notepad on it bounce.

The man wasn’t expecting that sort of reaction and despite his coolness, her aggressiveness startled him, making him jump back on his chair.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ she yelled as she leaned forward, her voice croaking with anger. ‘There has been no change in the killer’s MO, you lying piece of shit. I just made that up.’

There was no pretending anymore. The man knew that his game was up, but he still didn’t lose his cool. His reply was a casual tilt of the head, which only served to bring Agent Fisher’s blood to boiling point. She reached for the man’s collar, grabbing it with both hands.