James Swain - The Program

“Look at me,” the FBI agent said sharply.

Crutch smiled to himself. Linderman wanted to look at his face and stare into his eyes, the eyes being a window into a person’s soul. He obliged him.

“Happy now?” Crutch asked.

Linderman crossed his arms and glared at him. Like so many serial killers, Crutch looked incomplete, as if the Creator had put down the paint brush during his portrait, and left him without several important ingredients. This was the person Crutch saw whenever he looked at himself in the mirror. A half-finished man.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Crutch said.

“Start talking.”

“Let me tell you what I want. If you think it’s feasible, I will tell you what I’ll give you in return. Sound promising?”

The FBI agent nodded stiffly.

“A man of few words. How refreshing. All right, here’s my request. I want you to leave me alone. No more searching my cell, or bugging my telephone conversations, or interfering with my day-to-day existence. Go back to South Florida, and stay out of my life. I know what you are, and I want you gone.”

“And what is that?”

“A killer, just like me.”

Anger danced across the FBI agent’s eyes like lightening in a window.

“I don’t belong to your sick little club,” Linderman snapped.

“Oh, yes, you do,” Crutch shot back. “I read about it on the Internet. You and your men killed Simon Skell’s gang in cold blood. You had shotguns, and Skell’s boys had handguns. You slaughtered them in that house. I went to the FBI’s web site, and looked at the dead men’s photographs. I can look at a dead person, and tell you what the person who killed him was thinking when they took their life. You had revenge on your mind. You thought Skell’s gang abducted your precious daughter, so you butchered them, and then you killed Skell. The FBI should have called you on the carpet, only the bureau doesn’t like to punish it’s stars, so they left you alone.”

“I didn’t kill Skell,” Linderman said.

“Really? The reports I read said you were there.”

“Jack Carpenter killed Skell.”

“You knew what Carpenter would do to Skell. It was no different than you killing him yourself.”

“What does any of that have to do with you?”

Linderman was no longer in command of the conversation, and on the defensive. Crutch went for the kill. “It has everything to do with me. You’re a man on a mission who’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants, including breaking laws. You’ll ruin your career just to fuck me. I recognize that trait in you, because I have it myself. I want you out of my life.”

“And in return, you’ll hand over Mr. Clean,” Linderman said.

The words caught Crutch by surprise. He would never give up Mr. Clean, or for that matter, any other serial killer he’d been in contact with.

“Who?” Crutch asked.

“Mr. Clean, the serial killer you’re talking to in Fort Lauderdale.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Don’t play that game with me. I saw the index cards in your cell. You figured out who Mr. Clean is, and made contact with him. You’ve got some sick deal with him that involves abducting violent teenage boys. Mr. Clean called you right before he abducted Wayne Ladd two days ago. You’re in cahoots with him.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Crutch said.

“You’re lying,” the FBI agent said, his voice rising. “You’ve been using the computers in the records department to go onto the Internet, and download information about killing and torture and all sorts of sick stuff. You’ve been doing research, putting together a special program for serial killers, haven’t you?”

Crutch rocked back in his chair. The momentum had shifted. Linderman was now on the attack, and doing his best to break him down.

Kill him, said the voice inside his head.

Crutch considered it. Crutch was stronger than people realized, his body toned from hundreds of push-ups he did every day in the privacy of his cell. But Linderman was also fit, and was a killer.

An even match, Crutch thought. Those were never good.

“You have a very active imagination,” Crutch replied.

Linderman took a step forward, halving the distance between them. The gesture was not lost on Crutch. The FBI agent was not afraid of him.

“Mr. Clean screwed up,” Linderman said. “A witness overheard his conversation with you. Mr. Clean said, “I found a boy for The Program.’ I didn’t understand what that meant until I came up here. You’ve written something that will turn boys into monsters, and Mr. Clean is helping you try it out. The first two teenagers he abducted didn’t work out, so he killed them. I guess you’re hoping the third boy is the charm.”

Linderman was smarter than he’d thought. He’d taken all the pieces of the puzzle, and put them together without making a single mistake. He even knew about The Program.

Kill him , said the voice.

Crutch reined in the murderous impulse. He had one last card hidden up his sleeve. He could still save himself if he played that card right.

“I will not turn over Mr. Clean, or for that matter, anyone else,” Crutch said. “But I will give you something much more valuable, if you leave me alone.”

“What’s that?” Linderman replied.

“Your daughter.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I never kid.”

“Do you have any idea how many prisoners in Florida have reached out to me, and offered information about Danni? Dozens. I didn’t cut any deals with them, and I won’t cut any deals with you. This conversation is over.”

Linderman moved for the door, never taking his eyes off Crutch.

“But this information is different,” Crutch said.

“Right,” he said.

“Please listen to what I have to say.”

Linderman reached for the door, then stopped. Crutch smiled cruelly. He had the FBI agent right where he wanted him. He slapped his hands on his thighs like someone keeping time at a square dance, his eyes dancing in his head.

“Your daughter is still alive,” Crutch said.

The words hit Linderman hard.

Long ago, he had accepted that Danni was probably dead. As an FBI agent, he knew the odds of her being alive were slim at best. More than likely, she’d been killed within a few hours of being abducted, her body stashed in some hidden place that would elude the police and other searchers for years to come.

But deep down he’d held out hope that Danni was still alive. It was the hope that every parent of a missing child kept burning in their hearts. Somehow, their son or daughter had managed to beat the odds, and not be killed by their abductor.

And now Crutch was telling him that his prayers had been answered, and Danni had not perished. It was not the messenger he would have wanted, but he was not going to turn it away. He released his hand from the door knob.

“Keep talking,” Linderman said.

“Step back into the room if you want to hear more,” Crutch said.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Don’t you want to know?”

Of course Linderman wanted to know. It was the only thing on this earth that he truly cared about. But he would not take orders from a monster. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited.

“I’m listening,” Linderman said.

“I’m not lying, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Crutch said.

“It would be a stupid lie to tell.”

“Well put. Before I continue, I need to know if we have a deal or not.”

“I need to hear more.”

“Very well. To be honest, it was why I thought you came to the prison. I knew Simon Skell very well.”