by Chris Carter
‘Is that what you’re going to do?’ Susan asked. ‘Start your own practice?’
‘Nah, I don’t think so. I’ve been giving it a little thought lately, and I think that I might do the same as Robert.’
‘PhD?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it, yeah. What do you think?’
‘Yeah, if that’s what you really want, go for it, Lucien.’
Lucien tilted his head to one side and shrugged at the same time. ‘I just might.’
‘Talking about Robert,’ Susan said, adjusting herself in her seat, ‘it’s a pity that he had to go back to LA today.’
Young Robert Hunter had been there for their graduation ceremony and for the first three nights of their week-long party spree, but he had taken the bus back to Los Angeles that morning to spend a week with his father, before he had to go back to Palo Alto to start his summer job.
‘Yeah, I know,’ Lucien replied, sipping his new cocktail.
They were sitting at The Rocker Club in Crescent Park, on the north side of Palo Alto. It was their favorite lounge – the staff were friendly, the booze was cheap, the crowd was usually young and up for a good time, and the music was rocking and upbeat.
‘He does miss his father quite a bit,’ Lucien added. ‘It’s the only family he’s got left.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Susan said. ‘His mother passed away when he was very young, didn’t she?’
Lucien nodded. ‘I think he was about seven or eight, but he never really talks about it. Even when he’s a little drunk, Robert still manages to avoid the subject. I think that there’s more to it than just standard trauma of losing a parent when young, you know?’
Susan paused halfway through sipping her drink. ‘Oh, please don’t.’
‘What?’
‘Please tell me that you’re not going to be one of those dopey psychology graduates who can barely have a conversation with someone without psychoanalyzing them, Lucien. Especially your friends.’
‘I . . .’ Lucien shook his head with a half-embarrassed smile on his lips. ‘I wasn’t psychoanalyzing Robert.’
‘Yes, you were.’
‘No, I wasn’t. I was just saying that we’ve shared the same tiny dorm room for four years. He’s an odd person. Brightest guy I’ve ever met, but odd nonetheless, and I think that his mother’s death might go a little deeper than he lets on.’
‘Oh, really?’ Susan said, putting her drink down on the table and pulling a face. ‘Like what, for example, Doctor Lucien? Let’s hear your theory.’
‘I’m not a doctor, and I don’t have a theory,’ Lucien replied, pulling a face of his own. ‘I was just saying . . .’ He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Look, never mind. I’m not even sure why we’re talking about this. We’re here to party and celebrate.’ He reached for his drink. ‘So let’s party and celebrate.’
Susan raised her glass. ‘Yeah, I’ll drink to that.’
Guns N’ Roses’ ‘Sweet Child of Mine’ started playing through the speakers. Lucien finished his cocktail in two big gulps.
‘C’mon, let’s go dance,’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘But . . .’ Susan pointed at her drink.
‘Drink it down, girl . . . rock and roll style,’ Lucien replied, urging her with a series of hand movements. ‘C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.’
Susan gulped her drink down, took Lucien’s hand and allowed him to drag her to the dance floor.
A couple of hours and several drinks later they were both ready to leave. Susan looked to be really drunk, while Lucien looked in much better shape.
‘I think we should leave your car here and take a cab,’ Susan said. Her words were starting to skid into each other. ‘You can pick it up tomorrow sometime.’
‘Nah,’ Lucien came back. ‘I’m still good. I can drive.’
‘No, you can’t. You drank just as much as me, and I . . . am . . . wasted.’
‘Yeah, but I was drinking cocktails, not double shots of JD and Coke. You know the cocktails here are mainly juice with a splash of booze. I could drink them all night and still be OK to drive home.’
Susan paused and regarded Lucien for a long instant. He did look quite steady on his feet, and he was right, the cocktails at the Rocker Bar weren’t very strong.
‘Are you sure you’re OK to drive?’
‘Positive.’
Susan shrugged. ‘OK then, but you’re driving slowly, you hear? I’m going to keep my eye on you.’ She made a V with her index and middle fingers, pointed at her eyes, and then slowly moved her hand in the direction of Lucien’s.
‘Ten-four, ma’am,’ Lucien said, giving her a military salute.
Lucien had parked down the road, just around the corner. At that time in the morning, the street looked deserted.
‘Buckle up,’ he said, taking the driver’s seat. ‘It’s the law.’ He smiled.
‘Says the man who had a truckload of cocktails before taking the wheel,’ Susan joked, struggling with the seatbelt.
Lucien waited, giving her the look.
‘I’m trying, all right?’ she said, a little flustered. ‘I can’t find the goddamn hole.’
‘Here, let me help you.’ Lucien leaned over, grabbed her seatbelt buckle, and quickly slid it into its lock. Then, with no warning, he moved a little closer and kissed her full on the lips.
Susan pulled back, surprised. ‘Lucien, what are you doing?’ It looked like she had gone sober all of a sudden.
‘What do you think I was doing?’
A very awkward few seconds flew by.
‘Lucien . . . I’m . . . very sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression tonight, or any other night. You’re a fantastic person, a really good friend, and I get along with you great, but . . .’
‘But you don’t have those kind of feelings for me.’ Lucien finished Susan’s sentence for her. ‘Is that what you were about to say?’
Susan just stared at him.
‘What if instead of me being the one sitting here, it were Robert?’
Susan was taken aback by the question.
‘I bet you wouldn’t pull back like you did. I bet you’d be all over him like a two-dollar whore. Your clothes would probably be gone, and you’d be sitting on his lap, undoing his belt with the utmost urgency.’
‘Lucien, what the hell is going on? It’s like I don’t even know you right now.’
Lucien’s eyes went stone cold, as if all the life and emotion had been sucked out of them.
‘And what makes you think you knew me at all?’
The arctic tone of Lucien’s words made Susan shiver. She was still struggling to understand what was happening when Lucien exploded into action, violently launching his body forward, and using his left hand to pin Susan’s head against the passenger window.
Lucien hadn’t fastened his seatbelt, which gave him a lot more freedom of movement.
Susan tried to scream, but Lucien rapidly slid his hand over her mouth, muffling whatever sounds came out of it. With his right hand, he opened the small compartment that sat between the two front seats and reached inside.
Susan grabbed at Lucien’s left hand and tried to push it away . . . tried to free her mouth . . . her head, but even if she’d been sober, he’d still be way too strong for her.
‘It’s OK, Susan,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘It’ll all be over soon.’
With incredible speed, Lucien’s right hand shot toward Susan’s face. She felt something prick the side of her neck, and in that instant their eyes met.
Hers full of fear.
His full of evil.
Forty-One
Lucien recounted the events that took place that night with the same enthusiasm as someone recollecting what he’d had for breakfast. All the while his eyes were locked on Hunter.
Hunter tried his best to remain impassive, but hearing Lucien’s account of how he had subdued Susan had started to slowly tighten a knot in his throat. He shifted his weight in his chair, but neve
r once broke eye contact with Lucien.
Lucien paused, had another sip of his water, and said nothing else.
Everyone waited.
Silence.
‘So you drugged her,’ Taylor said.
Lucien gave her an unenthusiastic smile. ‘I injected her with Propofol.’
Taylor glanced at Hunter.
‘It’s a fast-acting general anesthetic,’ Lucien clarified. ‘It’s incredible what you can get your hands on when you manage to get access to the medical school building at Stanford.’
‘So what happened next?’ Taylor asked. ‘Where did you take her? What did you do?’
‘No, no, no,’ Lucien said with a slight shake of the head. ‘It’s my turn to ask a question. That was the agreement, was it not? So far, this “question game” has been very one-sided.’
‘Fair enough,’ Taylor agreed. ‘Tell us what happened next and then ask your question.’
‘No deal. It’s my turn now. Time to finally feed my curiosity.’ Lucien massaged the back of his neck for a moment before looking back at Hunter. ‘Tell me about when you were a kid, Robert. Tell me about your mother.’
Hunter’s jaw tightened.
Taylor looked a little confused.
‘Quid pro quo,’ Lucien said. ‘You as cops, or profilers, or federal agents, or whatever, are always looking to try to understand what makes people like me tick, isn’t that right? You’re always trying to figure out how the mind of a ruthless killer works. How can a human being have such disregard for another human life? How can someone become a monster like me?’ Lucien delivered every word in a steady, mono-sounding rhythm. ‘Well, on the other hand, a monster like me would also like to know what makes people like you tick. The heroes of society . . . the best of the best . . . the ones who’d risk their lives for people they don’t even know.’ He paused for effect. ‘You want to understand me. I want to understand you. It’s as simple as that. And as Freud would tell you, Agent Taylor, if you want to delve deep into someone’s psyche, if you want to understand the person they became, the best place to start is with their childhood and their relationship with their mother and father. Isn’t that right, Robert?’
Hunter said nothing.
Lucien slowly cracked every knuckle on both of his hands. The creepy, bone-creaking sound reverberated against the walls in his cell.
‘So, Robert, please indulge me in a twenty-five-year-old curiosity of mine, will you?’
‘I don’t think so, Lucien,’ Hunter said, his voice as serene as a priest’s in a confessional.
‘Oh, but I do, Robert,’ Lucien replied in the same peaceful tone. ‘I really do. Because if you want to know any more about what happened to Susan, including where you could find her remains, you will indulge me.’
The knot in Hunter’s throat got a little tighter.
‘Tell me what happened, Robert? How did your mother die?’
Silence.
‘And please don’t lie to me, Robert, because I can assure you that I’ll know if you do.’
Forty-Two
For a moment Hunter’s memory flashed back to Susan Richards’ parents. He and Lucien had met them a couple of times when they’d made the trip from Nevada to Stanford to visit their daughter. They were a very sweet couple. Hunter couldn’t remember their names, but he remembered how thrilled and proud they were of Susan for being accepted into such a prestigious university. She was the first person in either of their families to have ever gone to college.
Just like Hunter’s parents, Susan’s mother and father had come from very poor backgrounds, and neither of them had been able to finish high school, having to drop out before their freshmen year and find jobs of their own to help their families. When Susan was born, they’d promised themselves that they would do whatever it took to offer their daughter a better chance at life than the ones they had. When they started saving for her college fund, Susan was only three months old.
According to the law in the USA, death in absentia, or presumption of death, occurs when a person has been missing from home and has not been heard from for seven years or more, though the amount of years may vary slightly from state to state. Despite what the law says, in the absence of remains or any concrete proof, Hunter was sure that if Susan Richards’ parents were still alive, they’d still be holding on to a sliver of hope. The least he could do was give them some closure, and the chance to bury their daughter with dignity.
‘My mother died of cancer when I was seven years old,’ Hunter said. He still looked pretty relaxed in his seat.
Lucien smiled triumphantly. ‘Yes, that much I already know, Robert. What type of cancer?’
‘Glioblastoma multiforme.’
‘The most aggressive type of primary brain cancer,’ Lucien said, his voice emotionless. ‘That must’ve been a tough blow. How fast did it develop?’
‘Fast enough,’ Hunter said. ‘Doctors found it too late. Within three months of the diagnosis she passed away.’
It was Taylor’s turn to shift her weight in her chair.
‘Did she suffer?’ Lucien asked.
Hunter’s jaw tightened again.
Lucien leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and very subtly started rubbing his hands against each other.
‘Tell me, Robert.’ The next four words were delivered slowly, with a pause between each of them. ‘Did your mother suffer? Did she scream in pain at night? Did she go from being the strong, smiling, full-of-life person to an unrecognizable sack of skin and bones? Did she beg for death?’
Hunter could see that Lucien had switched his game, at least for the time being. He wasn’t interested in getting under Taylor’s skin anymore. Today, Hunter was his target. And Lucien was doing a damn good job.
‘Yes,’ Hunter replied.
‘Yes?’ Lucien said. ‘Yes to what?’
‘To everything.’
‘So say it.’
Hunter breathed in.
Lucien waited.
‘Yes, my mother suffered. Yes, she did scream in pain at night. Yes, she did go from being a strong, smiling, full-of-life person to an unrecognizable sack of skin and bones, and yes, she did beg for death.’
Taylor stole a peek at Hunter and felt goose bumps creep up all over her body.
‘What was her name?’ Lucien asked.
‘Helen.’
‘Was she in a hospital or at home when she died?’
‘At home,’ Hunter said. ‘She didn’t want to be in a hospital.’
‘I see.’ Lucien nodded. ‘She wanted to be with her family . . . with her loved ones. Very noble, though strange and a little sadistic that she’d want her seven-year-old son to witness first-hand all of her suffering, all of her pain . . . and I’m guessing it must’ve been something quite excruciating.’
Through the avalanche of memories, keeping a steady face had become impossible. Hunter looked away and pressed his lips together, taking a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was as steady as he could muster, but there was no hiding the sadness in it.
‘My mother worked as a cleaner for minimum wage. My father worked nights as a security guard, and to complement the little money he earned, during the day he would take any odd job he could get. The end of each and every month was always a struggle in our house, even when they were both healthy. We had no savings because there was never anything left to save. My father’s small health insurance wouldn’t cover the costs. We couldn’t afford the hospital bills. Back home was the only place she could be.’
A long, dragged silence.
‘Wow, that’s one sad story, Robert,’ Lucien finally said coldly. ‘I can practically hear the violins. Tell me, were you at home when your mother died?’
Hunter shook his head. ‘No.’
Lucien returned to a regular seating position and nodded calmly before standing up. ‘I told you that if you lied to me, Robert, I’d know. And that was a lie. This interview is over.’
Taylor’s surprised gaze waltzed between Hu
nter and Lucien.
‘Fuck Susan’s remains,’ Lucien said. ‘You will never find those. Good luck explaining that to her family.’
Forty-Three
Lucien turned and slowly walked over to the washbasin.
Taylor tensed on her seat, but the awkward moment lasted just a few seconds before Hunter lifted both of his hands in a surrender gesture. ‘OK, Lucien, I’m sorry.’
Lucien ran a hand through his hair, but kept his back to Hunter and Taylor. He took his time, as if he was considering Hunter’s apology.
‘Well, I guess I can’t really blame you, can I, Robert?’ he said at last. ‘You needed to give it a shot to see if I could really tell if you were lying or not. It’s only logical. Why would you trust me now? I could never tell with you before, could I? You never really had any telltale signs. You were always the one who could keep a straight face through any situation.’ He finally turned to face his interrogators again. ‘Well, old friend, I guess you’re getting old, or perhaps it’s because I’ve gotten much, much better at reading people.’
Hunter didn’t doubt that for a second. Many serial killers become experts in observing people and reading their body language and hidden signs. It helps them choose the right victim and pick the precise moment to strike.
‘So,’ Lucien continued. ‘For old times’ sake, I’m going to let this one slide, but don’t lie to me again, Robert.’ He sat back down. ‘Maybe you would like to rephrase your answer?’
A short pause.
‘Yes, I was home when my mother died,’ Hunter began again. ‘As I’d said, my father worked nights as a security guard, and my mother passed away during the night.’
‘So you were alone with your mother?’
Hunter nodded.
Lucien waited, but Hunter offered nothing more. ‘Don’t stop now, Robert. Did her screams scare you at night?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you didn’t go hide in your room, did you?’
‘No.’
‘And why not?’
‘Because I was more scared of not being there for her if my mother needed me.’
‘And did she? On that last night? Did she need you?’