by Chris Carter
Hunter could guess what was coming next.
‘So you decided to change identities,’ he said.
Lucien looked straight at Hunter and nodded.
‘That’s right,’ he agreed. ‘You know, being a junkie, living life as “scum” for as long as I did, puts you in contact with some very colorful folks. People who are able to get you anything you want . . . for a price, obviously. Getting hold of a new identity was as easy as buying a newspaper.’
Hunter knew Lucien wasn’t lying because he understood the reality of the world they lived in. All one needs to obtain whatever documents one likes in a different name is to know the right people, or wrong people, depending which way you look at it. And these people aren’t even that hard to find.
‘Once I became Liam Shaw,’ Lucien said, ‘I then concentrated on getting healthy again. It took me quite a while to manage to put weight back on . . . to regain focus. With all the drugs, I had the body of an anorexic. My stomach had shrunk. My mouth was full of ulcers. My health had deteriorated to a hair away from death. I had to keep on forcing myself to eat.’ He paused and looked at his arms and torso. ‘I look OK on the outside now, but my insides are royally fucked up, Robert. I’ve caused a lot of damage to my body. Much of it irreversible. Most of my internal organs are so damaged, I’m not even sure how they’re still working.’
Despite his words, Hunter picked up no self-pity in Lucien’s tone of voice or in the look in his eyes. He had simply accepted what he had done to himself. He had acknowledged his mistakes, and he seemed OK with paying the price.
‘Tell me about this car delivery thing,’ Hunter said.
Eighteen
Lucien’s eyebrows bobbed up and down once, as he looked back at his old friend.
‘The problem with getting involved with the kind of people I got involved with, is that they get their claws very deep into you right at the beginning. And once they do that, they never really let go. They own you for life. I’m sure you understand that these people can be very persuasive when they want to be.’
Hunter said nothing.
‘It started about a year and a half ago.’ Lucien moved on. ‘The way it happens is, I get a call on my cellphone telling me where to pick up the car from. They give me a delivery address and a time-frame. No names. When I get there, there’s always someone waiting to collect the car. I hand the car over, he gives me enough money for a ticket back . . . maybe a little extra, and that’s all. Until the next phone call.’
‘I’m guessing you don’t always deliver the cars to the same place,’ Hunter said.
‘Not so far,’ Lucien agreed. ‘A different pick-up and delivery address every time.’ He paused and looked at Hunter. ‘But I’ve always delivered to the same person.’
That came as a surprise.
‘Can you describe him?’ Hunter asked.
Lucien pulled a face. ‘About six-foot tall, well built, but deliveries were always made at night, in some dark field. The person receiving the car was always wearing a long coat with its collar up, a baseball cap, and dark glasses.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s as good a description as I can give.’
‘So how do you know it was the same person?’
‘Same voice, same posture, same mannerisms.’ Lucien sat back on his chair. ‘It wasn’t hard to tell, Robert. I’m telling you, it was the same person every time.’
Hunter saw no reason to doubt Lucien. ‘How about the person who delivered the car to you?’ he asked.
‘As I’ve said, the instructions came over the phone. Car was left in a car park. Keys, car park ticket and delivery address were left inside an envelope in a safe place for me to collect. No human contact.’
‘And you had no idea what you were delivering?’ Hunter asked. ‘I mean – you didn’t know what was in the trunk?’
Lucien shook his head. ‘It was always part of the instructions – don’t ever look in the trunk.’
Hunter pondered over that for a second or two, but Lucien anticipated his next question, and offered an answer before Hunter could even ask it.
‘Yes, I was curious about it. Yes, I thought about taking a quick peek many times, but like I said, these are the kind of people you simply don’t fuck with. If I’d opened that trunk, I’m sure they would’ve had a way of knowing it. Curious or not, that was one stupid mistake that I wasn’t prepared to make.’
Hunter had a quick sip of his water.
‘You said that this all started about a year and a half ago?’
Lucien nodded.
‘How many deliveries were there?’
‘This was supposed to be my fifth car delivery.’
Hunter held steady, but alarm bells started ringing everywhere inside his head. Five deliveries. If Lucien was telling the truth, and he was delivering the same or very similar cargo every time, then this whole thing had just escalated into a serial-murderer investigation. And judging by what he’d seen, a very brutal and sadistic one.
Lucien paused and looked at Hunter differently, like a rookie poker player who’d just gotten a great hand and was unable to disguise it. ‘My trump is – I know who the person over the phone was.’
Hunter’s eyebrows arched.
Lucien took a moment before speaking again. ‘For now, I’ll keep that information to myself, together with all the previous pick-up and delivery locations.’
That answer caught Hunter completely by surprise and he frowned.
‘I know you’re not running this show, Robert,’ Lucien explained. ‘The FBI is pulling all the strings here. The only reason you’re here is because I asked for you. I know they’ve probably told you that you’re only here as a guest . . . a listener. You have no authority over anything. You can’t guarantee me anything because here you have no bargaining powers. My only bargaining power, on the other hand, is information.’
‘I understand that,’ Hunter agreed. ‘But I don’t see how withholding it can help you, Lucien. If you are innocent, you have to help the FBI prove that, not play games with them.’
‘And I will do that, Robert, but I’m scared. Even a child can see that the evidence against me is overwhelming. I know that I’m facing death row here, and I’m petrified. Yes, I’ll admit that paranoia has set in in here.’ Lucien lifted his shackled fists and hit them three times against his forehead before looking straight into Hunter’s eyes. ‘I didn’t tell them anything so far because I didn’t think they’d believe me.’
It was easy to see how paranoia and fear could’ve easily distorted Lucien’s vision of reality. Hunter had to reassure him. ‘It doesn’t quite work like that, Lucien. Why wouldn’t the FBI believe you? They’re not out to send you, or just anyone to prison. They want to find the person who’s responsible for those murders, and if you can help them, of course they’ll listen to you. Of course they’ll follow up on what you tell them.’
‘OK, maybe they would, but I panicked.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Then I thought of you. I have no family left, Robert, everyone’s gone. There’s no one on this earth who even cares if I live or die. I met a lot of people in my life, but you’re the only real friend I’ve ever had. The only one who knew the real me, and you were also a cop. So I just thought that maybe . . .’ Lucien’s voice was filled with emotion one more time. His toughness cracked again. ‘I didn’t do this, Robert. You have to believe me.’
Back in college, Hunter could usually tell when Lucien was lying because he had a very subtle tell. Hunter had identified it in their second semester at Stanford. As he was telling a lie, Lucien’s stare would harden, become more determined, as if somehow the tough look in his eyes could hypnotized you into believing him. Consequently, for just a fraction of a second, his lower left eyelid would tighten, producing not exactly a twitch, but a very delicate movement. He couldn’t help it because he didn’t even know he was doing it. It’s been over twenty years, but Hunter hoped he could still identify it because he knew what to look for. But there had been no hardening of the stare. No movement of
the lower left eyelid whatsoever, no matter how subtle.
‘Remember when I told you that I didn’t know how to ask for help, your help?’ Lucien paused for breath. ‘Well, I’m doing it now. Please help me, Robert.’
Hunter felt the stab of guilt slash through him for the second time.
‘How can I help you, Lucien?’ he asked. ‘You said so yourself just a moment ago. I’m here as a listener. I have no authority over anything. I’m not even an FBI agent. I’m a detective with the LAPD.’
Lucien locked eyes with Hunter for a long moment, and then, all of a sudden, his gaze softened.
‘If I’m brutally honest, Robert, I don’t think I really care if I live or die anymore. I messed up a long time ago. I made way too many mistakes, and since then, I’ve done nothing but live a sub-life. I lost everything, including my dignity and the only person I truly loved. I guess I can say that I’m ashamed of most of my life, but I’m not a murderer. I know that this might sound silly, but I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, except you, Robert. Regardless of what happens to me, I want you to know that I’m not a monster.’
Hunter was about to say something, but Lucien interrupted him.
‘Please don’t say that you already know that, or that you don’t believe I am one, because I don’t want your pity, Robert. I want you to know. Really know. That’s why I’m going to tell you what I’m going to tell you, because I know that you will check on everything I say, with or without the FBI.’
Still no telltale signs from Lucien.
Hunter knew Lucien was right. There was no way he would walk away from that interrogation room and forget about everything Lucien was about to tell him, no matter what sort of pressure the FBI tried to put him under.
‘So what is it that you want to tell me?’ he asked. ‘What is it that you want me to go check out?’
Lucien looked down at his hands before meeting Hunter’s stare . . . and then he started speaking again.
Nineteen
Special Agents Taylor and Newman, together with Doctor Lambert, stepped into the interrogation room thirty seconds after Lucien was taken back to his cell. Hunter was leaning against the metal table, facing a blank wall, a pensive look on his face.
‘Detective Hunter,’ Taylor said, grabbing his attention. ‘This is Doctor Patrick Lambert. He’s a forensic psychiatrist with the BSU. He also watched the entire interview from the observations room.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective Hunter,’ Doctor Lambert said, shaking Hunter’s hand. ‘Impressive work.’
Hunter gave him a subtle frown.
‘Your paper. Impressive work. And to think that you wrote that when you were so young.’
Hunter accepted the compliment with a simple head gesture.
‘For someone who had said only seven words in five days, you sure got him talking,’ Taylor said.
Hunter looked at her, but said nothing back.
‘We didn’t pick up anything relevant,’ Newman announced, pouring himself a cup of water from the cooler.
‘What do you mean?’ Hunter asked.
Newman told Hunter about the facial analysis software they were using inside the observation room.
‘There were a few nervy eye, head and hand movements,’ Doctor Lambert said. ‘A few emotional qualities here and there in his tone of voice, but nothing that would flag as too anxious or too nervous. Bottom line is – we have no clear indication that he was lying about anything.’ He paused for effect. ‘But we also have no clear indication that he was telling the truth about anything.’
So much for your expensive facial analysis software, Hunter thought.
‘And that includes everything he told you in the last few minutes of your interview,’ Doctor Lambert added.
Lucien had tried keeping his voice quiet; quieter than throughout the entire session, but the powerful multi-directional microphone on the ceiling directly above the metal table had picked up every word he had said to Hunter.
‘I’m sending a riddle your way, Robert. A riddle that only you will know the answer to.’ Lucien had placed both elbows on the table, leaned forward, and looked over Hunter’s shoulder at the two-way mirror behind him. ‘I don’t trust those fuckers.’
His voice had become almost a whisper.
‘For the past several years, I’ve been living – or hiding, if you prefer – in North Carolina. The house is rented, and I pay cash in advance directly to this old couple, so the place can’t be traced back to me.’ A pause, followed by a sip of water. ‘In our dorm room back in Stanford, I used to have several posters on the wall by my bed. But there was a particular one. The largest of them all. The one that you also liked . . . with the sunset. If you think about it, you will remember it. The county in North Carolina carries the same name as the figure in that poster.’
Hunter’s expression had turned thoughtful.
‘I’m sure you’ll also remember Professor “Hot Sauce”.’ The right edge of Lucien’s mouth had lifted in a semi-devious smile. ‘Susan’s dare? Halloween night?’ He’d waited just a second before seeing recognition dance across Hunter’s face. ‘By sheer coincidence, the city I’ve been living in shares his name.’
Hunter had said nothing.
‘After I got the first phone call asking me to make the first car delivery, something inside my head told me that this would probably end very badly. So, out of precaution, I started keeping a diary, so to speak. Actually, it was more like a notebook, and I noted down everything I could – date, time and duration of calls, conversation details, pickup times and locations, car type and license plate numbers, stops I did on the way, the name of the person at the other end of the line . . . everything. I keep the notebook in the house, down in the basement.’
Hunter had caught a new glint in his old friend’s eyes. Something that wasn’t there before.
‘The house is right at the end of the wood’s edge. The keys are in my jacket pocket, which I believe was seized by the FBI. You have my authorization to use it and get into the house, Robert. You’ll find a lot in there. Things that can help you clear this mess up.’
That was all Lucien had said.
‘So,’ Newman said to Hunter. ‘Do you know the answers to all that crap he threw at you at the end?’
Hunter said nothing, but Newman seemed to read his demeanor as a positive answer.
‘Great. So if you give us the name of the county and the town in North Carolina where his house is at, your job here is all done.’ He finished drinking his water. ‘I understand that you were on your way to Hawaii for a long-overdue vacation.’ For no reason at all, Newman checked his watch. ‘You’ve only missed a day. You could be there by tomorrow morning.’
Hunter’s gaze lingered on Newman for a few seconds, before moving to Taylor, and then back to Newman.
‘That’s exactly why Lucien made the location of his house into a riddle that only I could figure out,’ he said, standing up straight and adjusting the collar on his leather jacket. ‘Because the only way any of you are getting there, is if I take you there.’
Twenty
Neither Newman nor Taylor had the authority to make that sort of decision. All they knew was that the man in their custody had refused to talk, saying he would only speak to Detective Robert Hunter of the LAPD. Hunter had been brought in, but as far as everyone was concerned, he was there simply as a listener. His job was to get Lucien Folter to talk. He wasn’t supposed to be involved in the investigation, and he certainly wasn’t part of the team. This was not a joint venture between the LAPD and the FBI.
‘I thought that you couldn’t wait to go on vacation, Robert,’ Adrian Kennedy said, staring straight into the web camera.
Hunter, Taylor and Newman had gone back up to the BSU floor and were now sitting inside an ample office, facing a very large flat-screen monitor mounted onto the west wall. The dot-sized green light at the top of the monitor indicated that the in-built camera was on.
Despite being less t
han an hour away, Director Adrian Kennedy’s overbooked schedule prevented him from making the trip back to Quantico. He was speaking to everyone via a video link from his office in Washington, DC.
‘Well, that plan got screwed up yesterday when you showed up in LA, Adrian,’ Hunter said, matter-of-factly.
‘I’m sure we can fix it, Robert,’ Kennedy replied. ‘If you just give Agents Taylor and Newman the information they need to proceed, I can arrange to have a jet fly you over to Hawaii tonight.’
Hunter looked impressed. ‘Wow. Is the FBI budget that loose that you can actually justify getting a jet just to take me all the way to Hawaii from Virginia? Damn, and at the LAPD we don’t even get a big enough budget to supply us with enough bulletproof vests.’
‘Robert, I’m serious. We need this information.’
‘So am I, Adrian.’ Hunter’s voice went grave all of a sudden and his stare hardened. ‘I didn’t ask for this. You came to me, remember? You threw me into this mix. Now I’m part of it, whether you like it or not. If you think I’m just going to hand over the information and walk away like an obedient little boy, then you don’t know me at all.’
‘Nobody really knows you, Robert,’ Kennedy hit back, his voice still calm. ‘You’ve always been this cryptic enigma for as long as I’ve known you. But you’re now playing a very risky game . You do understand that what you’re doing is withholding information that’s pertinent to a federal homicide investigation. I can have your ass for that.’
Hunter looked unfazed.
‘If that’s how you want to play it,’ he replied evenly. ‘I’ve never explicitly told anyone that I understood what Lucien’s little riddle meant. I can’t be withholding information if I have none, Adrian, because I don’t think I remember seeing any posters in my old dorm room, and Professor “Hot Sauce” is no professor I can recall.’ Hunter paused and, from the corner of his eye, saw frustration start to color Agent Newman’s face. ‘You’re not the only one who knows how to play hardball, Adrian, and I’m not one of your puppets.’