Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

“I was bluffing.”

Kennedy’s eyes met his. Kennedy grinned. The effect of that broad white display of perfect teeth was startling. He looked younger and a lot friendlier.

“Everybody bluffs. You were willing to walk away from the table. That , he won’t have expected.”

“We’ll see.”

Kennedy remained unconcerned. “We couldn’t shut him up in the old days. He’s spent most of the last decade all by his lonesome. I think we’re going to hear from Martin Pink before the day is out.”

As it turned out, they heard from Pink—or at least the warden—before they finished eating lunch.

When Kennedy clicked off his cell phone, his smile was his usual sardonic one. “Congratulations. You’ve been granted another audience.”

Jason was relieved. Partly. He hated thinking he’d blown it. At the same time he wasn’t looking forward to another meeting with Pink. He wasn’t afraid for his personal safety. And he wasn’t afraid he was going to lose control and try to strangle Pink. It wasn’t anything like that. There was something disturbing, unsettling, about Pink. In simply knowing what the man was capable of. Man? Pink was a monster. A monster in men’s clothing. Of course it wasn’t the politically correct or psychologically informed view, but it was the truth as far as Jason was concerned. To do what Pink had done to Honey and the others was inhuman. Worse than animal.

A good portion of his unease was knowing Pink was still capable of monstrous acts. Age hadn’t softened him. Solitude and reflection hadn’t redeemed him. You had only to look into those dead eyes to know that if he got the chance, Pink would do it all again. Only he’d try a lot harder not to get caught.

That was not insanity. It was pure evil. There was a difference. A big difference.

You couldn’t stand in the presence of that indifferent malevolence and not be affected. Or at least Jason couldn’t. Kennedy was clearly made of tougher stuff given he had made the pursuit and capture of creatures like Pink his life’s work.

“When?” he asked reluctantly.

“Today. Now,” Kennedy said.

“ Now ?”

If Kennedy heard the note of dismay, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Right, and this time we’re going to try a different angle,” he said. “One more suited to your personality.”

“ My personality? What does that mean? What’s my personality?”

Kennedy wasn’t exactly smiling, but his mouth had a wry curve. “You’re curious, imaginative, and have a flair for the dramatic. You like to talk, you’re a born smartass, and you get bored following a script.”

“The hell,” objected Jason. Flair for the dramatic? Born smartass? “You’ve known me all of two days!”

Kennedy shrugged. “It’s what I do. Remember?”

“How could I forget, O Oracle of Quantico?”

Kennedy grinned, and Jason, hearing his words, curled his lip.

“You sure you don’t want to go yourself?” Jason said after they parked in the visitors’ lot. He stared at the long, white, forbidding-looking building. “You’d probably get more out of him.”

“It’s tempting.” Jason realized Kennedy wasn’t joking. “I don’t want to give him that.” His mouth quirked a little. “I have every confidence in you, Agent West.”

“Sure you do,” Jason said dryly. “But thanks.”

He was startled when Kennedy reached over and gave his shoulder a quick, hard squeeze. As gestures of affection went that fell somewhere between buck up, little buckaroo and see you on the other side .

Which was actually kind of embarrassing because the last thing he wanted Kennedy to think was that he was having trouble with this—or worse, that he was afraid. When he glanced at Kennedy, Kennedy was staring out the windshield, frowning at his own thoughts, and Jason had already been dismissed.

Jason got out of the car and headed for the visitors’ entrance.

* * * * *

Pink was smiling as the interview room door closed behind Jason. He looked almost genial although the cold look in his eyes never changed. “What can I do you for, Special Agent Mulder?”

Kennedy had two instructions for round two with Pink: go with your gut, and keep him guessing.

“Let’s quit playing games. You know why I’m here,” Jason said.

Just for an instant Pink looked confused. That was a good thing, of course. That was what they wanted. Jason had spent the entire walk from the car to this room trying to think of ways to keep Pink off-balance. He just wished he didn’t feel equally off-balance.

He said briskly, “What can you tell us about the Huntsman?”

Pink stared at him without blinking.

Again Jason was struck by how unnaturally calm and focused Pink seemed for someone who had spent years with almost no human contact. He displayed none of the behaviors prisoners who spent extended periods in the special segregated units typically exhibited. No trouble meeting Jason’s eyes, no trouble sitting still, and certainly no fear. No fear at being out of his cell and no fear of Jason.

“You look familiar,” Pink said suddenly. “Do I know you?”

Jason asked coldly, “Do you?”

He remembered Pink. Not well. Remembered watching him fish along the banks of Holyoke Pond. Remembered joking with Honey that he only seemed to turn up on the days she was the scheduled lifeguard, never on Jason’s days. An odd guy. A guy you kept your distance from. Not someone you were afraid of. Not someone you thought about enough to be afraid of.

He could not afford to remember these things now.

Pink narrowed his eyes, considering. “What are you, twenty-nine? Thirty? You’re too young to have been on the Huntsman taskforce. Huh. Yeah. I know you.” He smiled. “I never forget a face. It’ll come to me.”

The skin prickled between Jason’s shoulder blades. But then that was no doubt intended as intimidation. Image was everything in the serial killer business.

He kept his voice flat and unemotional. “I understand you’re allowed television and radio in your cell. You must be aware of the situation in Kingsfield. You’re not going to pretend you didn’t know the Huntsman—the real Huntsman—has returned?”

“The real…” Pink stopped. He laughed. A high breathy sound that raised the hair on the back of Jason’s neck. Pink stopped laughing. “Some little girl’s boyfriend breaks her neck, and you think that’s the work of the Huntsman?”

“This offender has the exact same MO.”

“ This offender ,” mimicked Pink. “Says who?”

“This offender has knowledge of things no one but the genuine Huntsman and law enforcement could know about those crimes.”

“The genuine—” Pink got control. He smiled again. “Maybe I have a-a disciple.”

Jason laughed. Maybe Kennedy was right. Maybe he did have a flair for the dramatic. “Yeah, right. Maybe you were the disciple.”

“No.”

Jason shrugged.

Pink’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t know everything. This brand new Huntsman of yours. I’ll bet money on that.”

Jason looked amused. “What do you think he doesn’t know?”

Pink watched him, as though trying to read Jason. He was probably very good at reading people. Jason stared right back. And again, he couldn’t help thinking Pink simply did not show the mental wear and tear prolonged solitary confinement typically inflicted. It was kind of depressing. Jason would have liked to know that Pink was suffering.

“It’s personal, isn’t it?” Pink said suddenly.

Jason felt a flicker of unease. “Yeah, personally I loathe psychopaths.”

Pink sat back in his chair, smiling knowledgeably. “Yep. It’s personal.” He clasped his hands, gently shaking the manacle chains as though he liked the sound of the links clinking. “I’ll tell you what this other Huntsman doesn’t know: the things you don’t know. The things that fucker Kennedy and the cops didn’t notice.”