Gallery of the Dead

by Chris Carter

  The building, which was set back from the road, was an unattractive two-story rectangular structure, with a well-kept front lawn. A short concrete walkway led them to a set of dark-glass automatic sliding doors and into a spacious entry hall. The young and slender officer sitting behind the security windows at the reception counter immediately stood up as the five visitors entered the building.

  ‘May I help you?’ he asked after sliding open part of the window.

  ‘Yes,’ Agent Brandon said, already producing his FBI credentials. ‘Captain Suarez is expecting us.’

  The officer blinked at the agent’s ID card before furtively consulting his watch.

  ‘At this hour?’ He frowned. ‘Are you sure you’ve got the time right?’

  At that exact moment, the heavy door by the reception counter buzzed loudly before swinging open. At the other side of it, a short, overweight man stood at the entrance to a long corridor. He wore a dark suit that fit him like a sack of potatoes, over a light-blue shirt. No tie.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said, peeking around the corner at the young officer. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were in.’

  Captain Suarez faced the group. ‘Special Agent Brandon?’

  Agent Brandon stepped forward and they shook hands.

  ‘If you’d all like to follow me, please,’ the captain said after all the proper introductions. ‘As I’ve told you over the phone,’ he began, first leading everyone toward the end of the corridor before guiding them down a concrete set of steps, ‘the subject isn’t talking. He hasn’t even given us his name.’

  ‘He hasn’t spoken a word since his arrest?’ Hunter asked.

  ‘Well, not exactly.’

  The steps led them to another long hallway, this one a little darker than the one they’d just come from.

  ‘One of my detectives tried to speak to him,’ the captain explained. ‘But all he managed to get were four stupid words – “This shall be fun”.’

  ‘One of your detectives tried to speak to him?’ Agent Fisher stepped forward, her tone firm and annoyed. ‘I thought your instructions were clear, Captain – the suspect was not to be interrogated by anyone. I hope you will agree that those weren’t really a complicated set of instructions, were they? Nevertheless, you don’t seem to have understood them. We’ll need to hear the recording of this conversation between your detective and our suspect and we’ll need to do that right away.’

  Captain Suarez paused halfway down the corridor and looked back at the agent resolutely. He really didn’t like her tone of voice.

  ‘Look, Special Agent Bitchness, we’re cooperating here. We have arrested a man at the scene of a homicide. A homicide that – though it partially matched a description received yesterday through an APB from the FBI – was committed inside our jurisdiction. Upon the arrest, we complied with the instructions in that FBI bulletin and, without asking “why”, immediately contacted the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We have placed this man in a separate cell, isolated from everyone, as requested. Also as requested, no investigation was initialized from our side, though we had the right to do so. Since then, I have been sitting on my ass here until this godforsaken hour, waiting for you all to show up like heroes out of the dark dust because whatever this is, it just couldn’t wait until the morning, right? Who knows? We’re so incompetent at what we do here at Tucson PD that the suspect might’ve escaped before sunrise.’

  The captain’s eyes widened at Agent Fisher.

  ‘There’s no recording of the interview because there was no interview,’ he continued. ‘My detective walked in there and asked him a couple of questions, to which he never got a reply. As I’ve told you, the only words the suspect has spoken since his arrest were “This shall be fun.” I could’ve omitted all that information from our little conversation here, but I didn’t. Like I said, we are cooperating. If you don’t like the way in which we are doing so –’ he pointed down the corridor, ‘– you can walk back the same way you came in.’

  Garcia almost danced a jig.

  Agent Fisher took a deep breath, but before she was able to reply, Agent Williams stepped forward, placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder.

  ‘I apologize, Captain. We definitely didn’t come here to pick a fight or to rub anybody the wrong way. We’re certainly grateful for your cooperation. It’s been a very long and surprising day for all of us and we’re a bit out of shape here. You’re right. Maybe we should’ve waited until the morning when everyone would’ve been at least rested and less on edge, but since we’re already here, do you mind if we carry on and talk to the subject?’

  Captain Suarez held Agent Williams’ stare for a couple of seconds.

  ‘Right this way.’

  As they carried on down the corridor, Garcia leaned over toward Hunter. ‘Am I the only one who thinks that “This shall be fun” being the only thing the suspect has said since he was arrested is a little strange?’

  ‘No,’ Hunter said back. ‘I’m with you on that one.’

  Captain Suarez turned left at the end of the hallway and guided everyone past a door guarded by a young police officer before showing them all into a small observation room just around the corner. The air inside the concrete-walled room was uncomfortably warm.

  ‘There he is,’ Captain Suarez said.

  Through the large two-way mirror on the wall directly in front of them, they could see a tall and broad-shouldered man sitting at a metal table. His hands were cuffed to the tabletop through a one-foot-long chain. He was sitting back on his chair in as much of a comfortable position as he could muster, given his predicament. His eyes were low, focusing on his lap. He wore a dark-blue T-shirt, blue jeans and black All-Stars. His shoelaces had been taken from him as a precautionary measure.

  For a long, silent moment everyone attentively regarded the man on the other side of the mirror, and if anyone in that observation room had ever imagined what The Surgeon might look like, that man would be pretty close to it.

  ‘From what I understand,’ Agent Fisher said, ‘he had no identification on him when he was arrested.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ Captain Suarez confirmed. ‘All he had on him was a camera.’

  ‘A camera?’ The question came from Agent Williams, but the concerned look was uniform across everyone’s faces. They had not known that fact until then, as none of them had seen the arresting report yet.

  ‘That’s right. When the two officers surprised him at the scene, they saw him drop a heavy object to the floor. They thought it was a weapon. It turned out to be a camera.’

  One of Agent Fisher’s eyebrows lifted as she turned to face the group.

  ‘I said that he would probably be photographing his scenes, didn’t I?’

  ‘The camera has been bagged as evidence and it’s sitting upstairs,’ Captain Suarez announced.

  ‘Has anyone looked through the photos yet?’ Hunter asked.

  ‘No,’ Captain Suarez replied, purposely giving Agent Fisher a plastic smile. ‘For two reasons. One – since this isn’t our investigation, the evidence doesn’t belong to us either, and two – it’s not a digital camera.’

  That fact surprised everyone.

  ‘We’re talking about an old-fashioned, thirty-six-millimeter film camera here. You’ll have to get the film developed if you want to see the photos.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Agent Brandon said, nodding at Captain Suarez. ‘Let’s go get the camera.’ He addressed Agents Williams and Fisher. ‘I’ll have the pictures in an hour. Two, max.’

  The captain looked at the rest of the group.

  ‘It’s OK, Captain,’ Agent Williams assured him. ‘We’ll be all right by ourselves. We’re just going to ask him a few questions.’

  ‘Suit yourselves,’ Captain Suarez replied before he and Agent Brandon left the room.

  Everyone went back to regarding the man on the other side of the two-way mirror, but Agent Fisher seemed to be lookin
g at him a little differently. There was a new shine in her eyes, as if she knew something the others didn’t.

  ‘We should let Robert talk to him,’ Garcia suggested. ‘He’s an expert interrogator.’

  ‘Oh, I really don’t think so,’ Agent Fisher said, taking a step back from the two-way mirror. ‘Despite whatever title appears on the official report, Detective Garcia, this is an FBI investigation and as such, an FBI agent will be the first one to interrogate the suspect. And please rest assured that Detective Hunter isn’t the only expert interrogator in this room.’

  ‘So Agent Williams will interrogate him?’ Garcia asked, his face as straight as a die.

  ‘You probably think you’re funny, don’t you?’ Agent Fisher asked back.

  ‘I have my moments.’

  ‘Well, this is definitely not one of them.’

  Agent Fisher grabbed the notepad and the pen that were sitting on top of the small rectangular table inside the observation room. ‘Please remember something, Detective: make no mistake, you’re here as guests, nothing more, so you’d better get used to the view from the back seat. My advice to you is: get comfortable and try to pay attention, OK?’ She reached for the door. ‘Who knows? You might even learn something.’

  Fifty

  The door to interrogation room one closed behind Agent Fisher with an unrestricted bang, but once again the noise didn’t seem to bother the man sitting at the metal table. He kept his eyes low, as if calmly reading some invisible book resting on his lap.

  Agent Fisher studied the man from where she stood for a long moment before slowly approaching the table. The clicking of her low heels against the concrete floor echoed ominously throughout the room.

  The man’s eyes stayed where they were, but his lips stretched into a short, cynical smile, as if he knew exactly what was coming.

  Click, clack, click, clack.

  The man seemed to enjoy the odd suspense.

  Agent Fisher finally paused before the table and waited.

  No movement from the man. His eyes stayed low. His hands stayed on the table.

  Agent Fisher half-placed, half-slapped the notepad she had with her on the tabletop. The noise it made didn’t startle the man, but it seemed to get his attention, as he finally lifted his stare and locked eyes with the FBI agent.

  ‘Hello there,’ she said, her expression stern, her voice serene but firm, full of authority.

  The look in the man’s eyes was icy and calculating. No apprehension. No fear. He was studying her, Agent Fisher could tell. She’d seen that cold look many times before and it didn’t scare her.

  ‘I’m Special Agent Erica Fisher with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.’

  If Agent Fisher was expecting even an ounce of hesitation to flash across the man’s face as she mentioned which law-enforcement agency she worked for, she was bitterly disappointed. The man’s demeanor didn’t change, not even a little bit. He simply carried on analyzing the woman standing in front of him. In the mood she was in, Agent Fisher saw no point in wasting any time with frivolous conversation.

  Trick number one – make the subject believe that you are the highest-ranking official in the investigation. The highest-ranking official he will ever talk to. Why? Many psychopathic serial killers, when they finally realize that the game is probably over, will do all they can to bargain their position, and they know that only the person at the very top has the power to conduct any sort of bargaining. Talking to anyone else is nothing more than a waste of breath. Agent Fisher could distinctly see that the man wasn’t about to waste his.

  ‘I’m the senior agent in charge of this entire investigation,’ she lied.

  On hearing those words, something finally changed inside the man’s eyes.

  Agent Fisher peeked at her image reflected in the two-way mirror to her left before taking a seat across the table from the man.

  ‘This is the only opportunity you’ll have to speak directly to me. After this, I’ll be gone and I will not grant you another opportunity. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

  The man’s stare seemed to intensify. He was still clearly trying to read her.

  ‘So,’ the agent continued. ‘With that said, let’s get through the introductions here, shall we? As I’ve said, I’m Special Agent Fisher . . . and you are?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Any name I can call you by, just for the sake of this conversation?’ she insisted.

  The man’s poker face was almost as solid as his adversary’s, but not quite. Still, there was no reply.

  Agent Fisher sat back on the chair and crossed her legs. There was no agitation on her part.

  The man clasped his hands on the tabletop.

  Agent Fisher noticed that his nails were very clean and neatly clipped.

  ‘Would you rather I come up with a name I can use until you decide to tell me your real one?’ she asked.

  For several seconds the man didn’t move, then he gave her a barely noticeable shrug, which, despite being silent, was still a response. She was making progress.

  Time to test some reactions.

  ‘OK . . . let’s see . . . I could call you . . .’ she pretended to be thinking about it. ‘Surgeon. How about that? Does that appeal to your skills?’

  No reaction whatsoever from the man, which surprised Agent Fisher, but she kept a steady face, still not giving anything away.

  ‘Don’t you like that? Really? OK, I’m sure I can come up with something else. How about . . .’ Another pause. ‘Artist?’

  A muscle flexed just under the man’s left eye. It was a minute twitch, which Agent Fisher wasn’t sure if the others on the other side of the two-way mirror had picked up on, but she certainly had.

  ‘Is that better? Is that how you perceive yourself? As an artist?’

  The man breathed in.

  Agent Fisher gave him a somewhat sarcastic nod followed by a careless chuckle. ‘You think that being silent will somehow help you?’

  She waited.

  Nothing.

  ‘Well, I can guarantee you it won’t. Why don’t you try this: take a moment and look around you.’ Agent Fisher waited a couple of seconds, but the man once again didn’t move. ‘Those are solid walls, and you’re sitting down in the basement of a police precinct. I hate to break it to you, but . . . you’re fucked. You’re going nowhere from here but to death row. You know that, don’t you? Your only chance at anything is to talk to me.’

  The threat didn’t seem to bother the man.

  Time to step things up a little.

  Trick number two: push, challenge, or try to discredit the subject, but aim your punches at their overinflated egos. Due to their delusional belief that they are superior to everyone else, psychopaths will be much quicker to defend their egos than their actions.

  ‘You know, for someone who thinks he’s so smart, so creative, you sure screwed up fast, didn’t you?’

  The man blinked at her.

  The punch got through.

  Push again.

  ‘Well, I’ve got some news for you. You’re not smart. You’re not an artist. You’re just another crazy psycho who likes killing people and leaving stupid clues behind. Our archives are full of people like you.’

  Silence.

  Push further.

  ‘Actually, no.’ Agent Fisher made a face. ‘Let me correct myself here. Our archives are full of people a lot smarter than you because they didn’t get caught so quickly. They didn’t forget that people have neighbors, and neighbors like to look out their windows.’

  The man’s eyes narrowed a touch.

  Agent Fisher read it and chuckled again. ‘Oh, you didn’t know that that was how you got caught, did you?’

  The man’s jaw tightened.

  ‘That’s right, one of Mr. Davis’s neighbors saw you breaking into Mr. Davis’s house – a neighbor who was supposed to be on holiday, but had to cut it a few days short. Now how unlucky for you was that, huh?’ She paused for effect. ‘For some
one who thinks he’s so intelligent . . . so prepared, that’s a stupid mistake to make, wouldn’t you say? A last-minute check would’ve really come in handy for you.’

  The cynical smile was back on the man’s lips.

  ‘You know what?’ Agent Fisher calmly said, getting to her feet.

  Trick number three.

  ‘I’m actually done with this. I’m tired. I traveled a hell of a long way to get here and you definitely weren’t worth it. Good luck on death row.’ She turned her back on the man.

  Click, clack, click, clack.

  ‘So . . . Special Agent Fisher,’ the man called out, halting the agent as she got to the door.

  She didn’t turn to face him.

  ‘How many bodies have you found so far?’ The man’s voice was as powerful as his frame and as calm as Agent Fisher’s.

  She took a deep breath to suppress the smile that shadowed her lips before turning and allowing her gaze to settle on the man’s face once again.

  ‘How many?’ he insisted.

  She walked back to the table and retook her seat. It was her turn to stay quiet.

  ‘Three . . . ?’

  Agent Fisher studied him, trying to read his dark eyes.

  ‘Four . . . ?’ He tilted his head to one side ever so slightly.

  Agent Fisher breathed out, sat back on her chair and recrossed her legs.

  The man gave her another simple and subtle nod.

  Agent Fisher had finally got what she wanted.

  ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Are there more?’

  The man’s right eyebrow arched. ‘There might be, but how about we go slowly, huh?’

  The man practically admitting to more than four victims sent a chill down Agent Fisher’s spine. We have him, she thought.

  ‘Let’s try to establish some key points here, shall we?’ the man continued. ‘Tell me, Special Agent Fisher, who was the first victim you found?’

  She regarded the man with a hawk’s stare. ‘How about you tell me? Who was your first victim?’

  The man ran his tongue over his top lip. ‘I like you, Special Agent Fisher. You’re not as dumb as you look.’