“Now that the introductions are over, is there anything you need before we get started? Restroom break? Something to drink? Coffee? Bottled water?” Doctor Jante asked.
“I’m fine,” Felicity replied.
“Nothing for me,” I added.
“Excellent. Then why don’t we all have a seat, and we can get down to business,” she suggested.
“So, we’re it? Just us four?” I asked, shooting her a puzzled look.
“I’m sorry, were you expecting someone else?” she asked, wearing her own confused expression.
“I just…” I started, paused, then furrowed my brow and asked, “I mean… Aren’t we going to talk to Annalise Devereaux?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head.
“But, isn’t that what you told Felicity this is about?” I asked, glancing over at my wife. “Annalise?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “This is certainly about Devereaux, but we won’t be talking directly to her. She isn’t even being held in Saint Louis. What made you think that?”
Out of frustration I found myself preparing to ask if they had received a call from Ben but stopped before the first syllable was spoken. Obviously they hadn’t, and they were here for something other than what I originally hoped. Besides, they had never actually told Felicity that we would be speaking to Annalise, just about her. Now, the reason they hadn’t asked for me was becoming clearer, but what they wanted with my wife remained a deepening mystery. In that instant I decided it would be prudent not to show my hand just yet—especially if my friend was still trying to pull strings for me. Because, as slim as my chances of getting that meeting with Annalise already were, running off at the mouth now could possibly erase even that.
I wasn’t sure if my moment of indecision made me pause too long or not, but by way of answer I splayed my hands out in front of me and said, “Sorry. I guess I must have just misunderstood.”
“That’s all right,” Doctor Jante replied, cocking one eyebrow upward as she spoke.
I could tell by her expression that she had just mentally logged an observation about me. Without a doubt I was being profiled, and she wasn’t being the least bit secretive about it. I wasn’t so sure I liked being under the microscope all of a sudden, but then given the situation and my verbal misstep, I suppose I knew it was to be expected.
“Actually,” Agent Hanley began, directing himself at Felicity, “The reason we asked you here is that we’ve been conducting an ongoing criminal investigative analysis of Devereaux in order to compile information for our serial offenders database. It’s simply part of the standard procedure to interview relatives, victims, friends, co-workers, and so on whenever possible. It allows for a much broader and more detailed picture.”
“So you’re just getting all that out of the way before sitting down with Annalise herself,” I said, nodding to indicate I now understood where this was going—or so I thought.
“Actually, we’ve already been conducting one-on-one interviews with Devereaux for over a week now,” he replied.
I screwed up my face with a puzzled expression and asked, “How are you able to get away with that? She hasn’t even been convicted yet. Isn’t her attorney objecting to that?”
“Oh, he objects all right,” he replied. “But she requested the meetings with us herself.”
“She did?”
He shrugged. “I know, it doesn’t seem to make sense, and we’re sure she has a hidden agenda. But it’s an opportunity we simply cannot afford to pass up.”
“Yeah, I guess so…”
“So, I guess you’re killing two birds with me then,” Felicity offered. “Victim and relative all rolled into one.”
“You are definitely a somewhat unique case,” Doctor Jante agreed, giving her head a slight nod. “What with being her half sister, and…” She allowed her voice to trail off and left the second observation unspoken.
“Unique is one way to describe it,” my wife replied. “But I prefer thinking of it as DNA being a fekking saigh.”
“I’m sorry, a what?” Jante said.
“It’s Gaelic,” I offered. “Just think copulating female dog and you’ve pretty much got it.”
“Copul… Ahh, okay, I see.”
“Yes… Well, obviously we have copies of the case files and are very familiar with the situation,” Special Agent Hanley interjected. “Your arrest for the homicides was unfortunate.”
Felicity snorted and rolled her eyes. “Unique… Unfortunate… Unintended… No offense, Agent Hanley, but I think I’ve heard all of the UN words from the bureaucratic handbook already. You might want to try a different page.”
Her voice tone was cold, and it was obvious to everyone in the room that a nerve had been struck.
“Miz O’Brien, I really didn’t mean to offend you…”
She held up her hands and shook her head. “I’m sorry… Really…” She took in a deep breath and sighed heavily before she continued. “I know it isn’t your fault. My apologies. It just isn’t a very pleasant memory.”
“We certainly understand,” Hanley replied.
Felicity looked over at me, and I knew from the quick flash in her eyes that what she really wanted to tell him was that he had just fed her yet another of the overused UN words. Instead, she simply nodded and said, “Thank you.”
Doctor Jante looked my way and said, “Mister Gant, we’re mainly interested in speaking with your wife at this point, so if you have something else you need to do…”
I gave her a curt nod. “No offense, Doctor Jante, but is that just a polite way of asking me to leave?”
Before she could answer, Felicity interjected, “I’d really rather he stayed, then.”
“That’s fine. It’s really no problem, either way,” she reassured us both then motioned to the conference table. “Shall we?”
After some shuffling of the chairs, the doctor took a position at the end of the table. Felicity was already seated diagonally next to her at the corner with me on her left, and Special Agent Hanley took a place directly across from us. Given that they waited for us to choose places first, I had a feeling it was a strategically calculated move on their part.
Doctor Jante extracted a notebook computer from her briefcase and placed it on the table. Pivoting the screen upward, she pressed the power button and started it into its boot process as she spoke. “In all honesty, while we regularly conduct interviews with serial offenders, the primary reason we are so interested in Devereaux is her classification.”
“You don’t mind if we record this, do you?” Hanley interjected, waving a digital voice recorder as he spoke.
“That’s fine,” Felicity replied with a nod, then looked over at the Doctor and quipped, “So the FBI actually has a classification for serial bitch?”
Jante gave her a thin smile. “Actually, Miz O’Brien, we use something called the Kelleher Typology nine-point categorization in order to divide serial killers into different groups. Devereaux herself falls into the classification of sexual predator, and while that is not at all unusual for male offenders, for women it is incredibly rare. In fact, until now there has been only one other.”
“Aileen Wuornos,” I offered.
“Correct,” she replied. “Do you have an interest in serial killers, Mister Gant?”
“They aren’t a morbid hobby or anything,” I returned. “But circumstances seem to dictate that I end up dealing with them on a regular basis, so I’ve done a little homework to stay ahead of the curve.”
“Of course,” she replied. “We are certainly familiar with your work helping local law enforcement.”
“I pretty much assumed you would be.”
“Yes, I don’t doubt that.” Her tone was guarded, and it was obvious that I was still being sized up. She flashed a quick smile then continued, “It might interest you to know, however, that there are some who reject that classification for Wuornos, as the evidence suggests she had motivations for the murders other than sexual gratifi
cation. It really depends on how strict one interprets the typology.”
I nodded. “Actually, I’ve heard this before from one of your own. Right about the time Annalise’s second Saint Louis victim was discovered, in fact.”
“So exactly what is it you’re wanting from me then?” Felicity asked, interrupting before we could diverge any further.
Hanley replied, “Well, Miz O’Brien, as I was telling you earlier, it’s standard procedure to interview most anyone the offender has ever had contact with in order that we form a comprehensive model of the psychopathology relating to the crimes.”
“That sounds reasonable, but my contact was extremely limited and very recent,” my wife objected. “I didn’t even know she existed until a few months ago, much less that we were related. I don’t really see how I can help.”
“Well, that’s what we are hoping to find out today,” Doctor Jante replied. “For some reason Devereaux is extremely fixated on you.”
“No offense, but that isn’t exactly a news flash,” Felicity said with a shrug and an animated shake of her head. “She wanted me dead. One of your agents saved my life and almost lost hers in the process.”
“Special Agent Mandalay, yes, of course,” Jante replied. “We’ve seen the report. However, the issue at hand isn’t merely her fixation, which, to be honest, is actually somewhat of a mystery. And that is why we wanted to speak to you about it. You see, on the surface Devereaux appears to be suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder. In lay terminology, you’ve probably heard it referred to as multiple personalities.
“In her case she seems to have two very similar but, at the same time, very distinct personalities. However, neither of these identities is childlike, which is disturbing because one of the hallmarks of a true dissociative disorder is the child persona. Still, both of her apparent personalities are unnaturally preoccupied with you, Miz O’Brien. The interesting thing about them, however, is that their obsessions run to diametrically opposed extremes.”
“Miz O’Brien,” Hanley spoke up. “As I said, we’ve reviewed the case reports and are familiar with the various, shall we say, incidents, which in part led to your implications in the crimes.”
“You mean my trip to the bondage club and motel,” my wife said in a flat voice.
He glanced at me then back to her. “I was trying to be tactful, but yes.”
She shook her head. “I prefer a straightforward approach. But either way, if you’ve seen the case reports, then obviously you also know I was cleared, so where exactly are you going with this?”
“Please don’t misunderstand, Miz O’Brien,” Doctor Jante rushed to clear up the perceived implication. “You aren’t being accused of anything. However, there are some pressing questions that do raise a few concerns in that regard. Specifically the fact that Devereaux’s secondary personality appears to have an extensive and very intimate familiarity with you and your husband, even though she herself has only a cursory knowledge. Such disparities certainly aren’t uncommon with identity disorders, but under the circumstances we feel it bears investigation.”
“Why is that?”
“The apparent connection,” Hanley answered. “According to the case files, the name used by her alternate personality is mentioned prominently in conjunction with you as well, Miz O’Brien. So given that she seems to know so much about you, we were hoping you could help shed some light on Miranda?”
CHAPTER 15:
Miranda.
Hanley spoke the three syllables with clinical sterility, as if they formed nothing more than a mere appellation. I suppose to him, and most everyone else for that matter, that is exactly what it was. But for Felicity and me, the name held a very different meaning. Because of the memories it conjured, I had been making a point of not saying it aloud whenever my wife was around. I seriously doubt my personal moratorium on the noun kept her from thinking about all that had happened to tear our lives apart in recent months, but I liked to believe that it helped, even if only a little.
Hearing it spoken by the federal agent now, however, the rolling syllables that would most likely sound pleasant to anyone else’s ear were no less than a dull knife twisting in my gut. Unfortunately, for us Miranda wasn’t a pretty name at all. Instead of “someone to be admired” as its Latin root suggested, it was just the opposite. Even worse, it had become a garish pseudonym for evil incarnate.
I took a deep breath and heard Felicity do the same. If nothing else, the direction this interview was taking served as a confirmation of the reason behind the persistent chill running the length of my spine. Not that such verification was needed, or even wanted. It simply was what it was.
“Miz O’Brien?” Doctor Jante prodded.
Felicity sighed then looked away and fixed her distant gaze on the opposite wall. After a moment she finally muttered an answer to the question. “Grodag… Uathbheist… Fekking Ban-àibhistear.”
The doctor wrinkled her forehead. “Gaelic again, I assume?”
My wife pursed her lips and looked over at her. Then with a frigid voice, she translated the string of foreign words into a simple summation, “You wanted to know about Miranda… There it is. She’s a monster… If Satan exists, she’s the fekking manifestation.”
“I take it you mean Devereaux’s secondary personality? Agent Hanley asked. “Or are you saying there is an actual Miranda?”
“Her personality if that’s what you want to call it then,” she spat. “You’ve been talking to her. She seems real enough, don’t you think?”
“Can you tell us about her?”
“I don’t know what I can possibly tell you that you don’t already know. Like I just said, you’ve been talking to her, not me.”
“Obviously you know something about Miranda, or you wouldn’t be having this type of reaction.”
Felicity’s voice turned hard. “Of course I do. I know what she did. I know I was accused of it. And, I know she made my life a living hell. Isn’t that enough to warrant my reaction?”
“In this case, I don’t think so,” he replied.
“Maybe you should think a bit harder then.”
“Allow me to explain my reasoning, Miz O’Brien,” he continued calmly. “I think you know more than you are saying because according to the early police reports, you actually identified yourself as Miranda on at least one occasion.”
I straightened in my chair at the comment but remained closed-mouthed for the moment. However, I couldn’t say how long that would last. The earlier mistrust I had apparently been too quick to rule out was rearing its head once again. I felt the prickle of gooseflesh as the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. In concert with the sensation, my brain sorted through the various directions this could go. Unfortunately, none of them seemed particularly appealing.
“That’s a different story,” Felicity told him.
“Different how?”
She shrugged. “Just…different.”
“Well, even you have to admit that it seems a bit coincidental,” he pressed.
“You said it yourself,” she replied. “Coincidence.”
“As I said, Miz O’Brien, we’ve read the case files.”
To my knowledge, with the exception of the handful of detectives and federal officers with whom I had closely worked, the name Miranda had been nothing more than an alias used by Annalise. Now, however, the harsh light of the BAU appeared as if it was being trained on a ghost, even if they didn’t realize it, and my wife was being caught in that beam as well.
In response to my wife’s silence, Agent Hanley made a capitulatory gesture with his hands as he raised his eyebrows. “Honestly, I think you’re hiding something. Why can’t you at least tell us why you chose to refer to yourself by that particular name?”
My comfort zone was already being severely stressed, and his latest comment served only to push it to the limit. Instead of allowing its walls to be breached I interrupted. “I think maybe we’re finished here.”
&nb
sp; My tone carried a sharp edge that, judging from the looks I received, definitely appeared to annoy or at the very least surprise the two FBI agents. At this point, however, I really didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let Felicity be railroaded again, especially not like this.
“I was speaking to your wife, Mister Gant,” Hanley replied.
“I caught that, Agent Hanley,” I shot back coolly. “But, just so we avoid any misunderstanding, I was speaking to both of you.”
“I agree with Rowan, then,” Felicity announced. “This suddenly seems more like an interrogation than an interview.”
Doctor Jante spoke up. “Miz O’Brien, I understand how you must feel about this after everything you’ve been through, but you have nothing to worry about. No one is accusing you of anything.”
“That certainly isn’t the impression you’re giving me,” Felicity replied.
“I apologize for that,” Doctor Jante said, offering a smile. “To the both of you. That isn’t our intention at all. We’re simply trying to gather as much information as we can, and with our time limited as it is, sometimes the stress can creep through, even for us.” She glanced at her partner. “I’m afraid Agent Hanley was just a little overzealous.”
Hanley gave her a shallow nod of agreement then muttered a quick and blatantly insincere apology in our direction. Other than that he remained quiet, with a somewhat stoic expression on his face as he stared across the table at us.
In that moment the two of them had officially established their roles as good cop and bad cop. Any other time I probably would have pointed out to them that I was onto their game, but the obvious posturing seemed just exactly that—obvious. Their less than subtle attempt at manipulation bothered me enough that I had to wonder why they had been so transparent. I knew I should be listening to my instincts to cut and run, but there was just one small problem. My curiosity was taking over.
“We’d like to continue if you’re agreeable to that,” Jante said, directing herself to Felicity, although she did cast a quick glance in my direction as well.
Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 13