by David Wiltse
"No!" she cried. She was wriggling, trying to get free, and her motions excited Cooper. He put his hand around her throat and squeezed.
"I could pull your head right off," he said. "I've done it before." he kept screaming and Cooper tightened his grip until he could no longer hear her cries, and when she fell silent he began to fill the woods with his own noises.
He thought he heard the chorus of approval echoing through the trees, the cons yelling and growling in appreciation of Old Coop. The punk was just lying there and Cooper gave him a push with his foot to get him away.
The punk groaned but didn't move. Cooper thought of just kicking the shit out of him, just for the fun of it. But then a squirrel moved in one of the trees and Cooper watched it for a moment, fascinated by the way it moved around and around the trunk of the tree, always so nervous and skittery as if it were looking over its shoulder all the time.
After a time Cooper realized something was missing and he put his arm around-the punk's waist and pulled him to his knees.
"Let us pray," Cooper said. The punk hung limply in his arm, so Cooper slapped him on the head. "Let us pray," he said again, prompting him.
"Sweet Jesus…" the punk whispered.
The punk's hair was longer and the freckles were gone and Cooper realized it was the woman, not the punk, but he had known that all along, of course he had. There was nothing wrong with pretending, he assured himself.
But he wished it was Swann. He could tell Cooper what to do now. Swann had been a bitch sometimes, but he was Cooper's bitch and he always came around for him in the end. And he seldom cried afterward. This bitch better not cry, either. Cooper hated a crying woman worse than anything.
Cooper rested his back against a tree and pulled Mayvis back onto his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair.:'Tell me you love me," he said.
'I love you," Mayvis said.
'I love you too, Swann," Cooper said. But it didn't sound right and it didn't feel right and Cooper felt an anger growing. He didn't want this woman on his chest, he didn't want her saying she loved him.
He continued to run his fingers through her hair because it felt good even though a rage was building in his throat, and gradually her body relaxed against his. Cooper watched the squirrel and a blue jay that seemed to be scolding it. When the bird finally shut up, Cooper became aware of a sound closer to him. Very softly, as if she knew she shouldn't do it, the woman was crying.
She turned her face to him suddenly, rising off his chest.
"You hurt me," she said. Tears ran down her cheeks.
Cooper's rage was too great to contain any longer-he felt it bursting from his throat into his head so that he was filled with it, his eyes, his ears, his skull filled with rage. I'm going to kill her, Cooper thought. There seemed no other way to quell his anger.
When they returned to the Nashville airport, Becker and Pegeen were met by an airline official who asked them to follow her. The official led them to a door marked personnel only, unlocked the door, and ushered them in, then quietly withdrew, leaving Becker and Pegeen to confront their greeting committee. Hatcher was the first to his feet, all smiles and cordiality, as if he had just happened to run into them by chance.
"John, how good to see you," he said, and then, as if knowing better, he did not try to shake hands but turned instead to Pegeen. "Special Agent Haddad? I'm Associate Director Hatcher. Pegeen, isn't it? Nice to meet you."
Pegeen winced involuntarily at Hatcher's name, or, more specifically, at his title, which he pronounced with great clarity. She noted the other man and the angrylooking woman behind Hatcher, but there was no doubt that he was the power in the room.
"How do you do, sir," she managed haltingly- but Hatcher had already turned from her, his interest no longer more than a social twitch.
The other man rose from his seat behind the conference table. Pegeen thought he looked too soft to be an agent.
She was right.
"Hello, John," the man said.
"Gold."
"It's been a while."
"That was the idea," Becker said. "To make it as long as possible." Then to Pegeen he said, "My shrink.
Or rather one of the Bureau's shrinks, the one who specializes in me."
Gold shook Pegeen's hand and murmured his name so diffidently that Pegeen wasn't sure if it was Murray, Maury, or Mary. Becker walked to the woman and kissed her. She 'seemed to accept the kiss without qualms but she did not bother to rise from her seat. She kept her eyes fixed on Pegeen, and Pegeen knew she was in trouble.
"This is Assistant Director Crist," Becker explained to Pegeen. "I call her Karen because I live with her."
The woman nodded coolly at Pegeen, and Pegeen understood the reason for the woman's hostility. She sensed the small sense of betrayal as unwarranted and irrelevant. He had no reason to tell me he was married or living with someone or anything else, she thought, we were just working. I didn't mention my marital situation with him, either. But then I had nothing of any interest to mention. He did, but he didn't so much as hint at it. And what did that indicate? Pegeen warned herself to pay attention to the business at hand. She had heard of Karen Crist, of course. There were very few women in the Bureau who outranked her, and none had risen so far so fast; all of the younger women in the organization watched her every move with fascination and inspiration.
But she was not only a phenom and a role model, Pegeen realized. She was also a jealous woman. Which meant a potentially dangerous one. Pegeen resolved to walk very lightly.
"I just thought we'd take this opportunity to see how things went,"
Hatcher said.
"What opportunity is that?" Becker asked. "The fact that we all happen to be here in the Nashville airport?
You're right, that is a pretty good opportunity."
Hatcher leaned back in his chair, the smile still fixed on his face. He was prepared to let the others run the meeting, had instructed them to do so if Becker was resistant to Hatcher's methods.
Karen leaned forward slightly. "What happened in the meeting with Swann, John?"
Becker scanned the three across the table from him very carefully before speaking. Pegeen thought he had the look of a hunted animal who was deciding which of his pursuers to attack first.
He decided on Gold.
"What's going on, Gold?"
"Well…" Gold looked at Hatcher, then Karen. He shrugged. "I'm here basically to talk to you in case you… in case you want to talk to me."
"I don't want to talk to you."
"Well..
"We listened to the meeting, John," Karen said.
"You had the prison room bugged?"
Hatcher, still smiling, studied his fingernails.
"That decision was taken," Karen said.
"And I wonder who took it?" Becker asked. Hatcher did not look up. "A new low, Hatcher."
"There are some things about the meeting we'd like you to explain,"
Karen said.
Becker ignored her, directing himself to Hatcher. "Not because you taped me without letting me know," he said.
"Because you're making my wife run this interrogations "I didn't know you were married," Hatcher said.
"Congratulations."
"We're not…" Karen said.
"I call her my wife," Becker said.
"I have no problem running this interview," Karen said. "If you feel uncomfortable, John, then-"
"You don't refer to agent Becker as your husband, do you?" Hatcher asked blandly.
"No," she said.
"You see why I was confused," Hatcher said, lifting his hands slightly as if to show they were sparkling clean.
"Apologies all around."
"None necessary, sir," Karen said. She turned to Becker. "We had a wire in the prison interview room.
We didn't have a camera. Some of the conversation seems rather ambivalent and we thought it best to clarify any ambiguities."
"You sound rather hostile to the man Swann,
" Gold prompted. "Was there something going on that we couldn't pick up on tape?"
Becker glared at Gold. Pegeen could see the psychologist visibly wilt under the stare.
"Perhaps we'd better talk about it in private," Gold said.
"Was, there a delay coming back from Springville?" Karen asked.
"You had a stopwatch on me, too?"
"Perhaps Agent Haddad can help us out here," Hatcher said, his smile widening. He arched his eyebrows in silent question.
"We, uh, did make an unscheduled stop, sir."
"Oh, really?"
Pegeen glanced at Becker for a clue on how to proceed.
He kept his eyes boring holes into Hatcher. For his part, the Associate Director seemed unaware of anything but Pegeen.
You don't lie to an Associate Director, Pegeen thought.
Whatever else you do, don't be that stupid. Then here goes your career.
"We stopped at the Hi-Ho Motel," she said, feeling as if she had just walked into the room and put her foot in a cow turd. She had their attention now.
"The Hi-Ho Motel," Karen repeated without inflection.
"It's a-uh-motor lodge. Just outside of Springville."
"I wanted to take a shower," Becker said.
"I understand," Hatcher said.
"No, you don't."
"And what did you do while Agent Becker took a shower?" Hatcher asked.
"I waited for him, sir."
"Where?" Karen asked.
Since I'm already dead, this will bury me, Pegeen thought.
"Pardon me?"
" 'Where did you wait,' I think is what Assistant Director Crist is asking," Hatcher volunteered.
"In the motel room, sir… it seemed best." Her ears It tinged with fire. Betrayed by her complexion again.
"I understand," Hatcher said, nodding.
"That was my assignment," Pegeen said, making matters worse, she realized.
"What was?" asked Karen.
"To keep an eye on Agent Becker."
"You were assigned to drive him," Karen said.
"I was also told to assist, him with anything he needed," Pegeen said.
"Did you feel he needed assistance in the shower?" Hatcher asked. He's enjoying it, Pegeen realized. He likes seeing me squirm. "Not specifically the shower, sir, no."
"I told her to come in," Becker said. "Leave her alone-she doesn't have anything to do with it."
"Why did you think he needed assistance?" Gold said.
His tone was genuinely sympathetic, and Pegeen liked him immediately.
"Was he upset?"
"Yeah, I was upset," Becker said. "She did the right thing, I was upset and she wanted to make sure I was all right."
"I understand," said Hatcher.
"You don't have a clue," said Becker.
"What were you upset about?" Karen asked.
"I was upset that I was working for Hatcher," Becker said. "I'd sworn to myself, never again, but there I was, sitting in prison with a sick little puppy licking my hand, and I felt so dirty I couldn't stand it, so I took a shower.
Now, if you don't leave Agent Haddad out of this, Hatcher, I won't tell you what you want to know. Do you understand that?"
Hatcher turned to Pegeen, smiling, if possible, even more insincerely than before.
"I think that will be all for now. And thank you so much."
Pegeen felt all of their eyes on her back as she walked out of the room, but she thought she could distinguish those of Karen Crist. They were the ones with the daggers on the end.
Gold cleared his throat, but it was Hatcher who spoke.
"So, John. You have your way; you have what you asked for. I wonder now if you could tell us what it is you think I want to know."
"You heard the tapes, what do you think?"
"I wasn't there, John. I didn't see the man."
"Why not go there? He'll be happy to see you. I don't think he gets nearly enough visitors."
"But I don't need to go, John. You've already gone, you're the expert in this particular area, so you tell me.
Are we on to the killer of those girls in the coal mine?
Can this man Swann help us find him?"
"If you give him what he wants, this man Swann will help you find Jimmy Hoffa."
"You recommend that we work with him, then?"
"I recommend that you work with him. I don't want anything else to do with him."
"You seem to have had an-uncomfortable@xperience. I regret that. I had hoped you might like to come back to work full time."
Before Becker could retort, Karen interrupted. "We just want you to assess Swann as a source, John. It's important."
"Why?"
In the silence, Karen and Hatcher exchanged glances.
Gold moved uncomfortably in his chair.
"Well, naturally, some of us don't share your view of the importance of murder that you expressed to Mr. Swann. What was it? Everyone is killing everyone else, so what do a few more matter? That's a paraphrase, of course. A very curious attitude for a law officer, John, although I know you will hasten to tell me that you are no longer an officer. Nonetheless, this man Cooper seems to have murdered a good many people and may be about to do many more, and I for one would like to stop him."
"Cooper is the cellmate?"
"Darnell Cooper," Karen said. "He did five years of hard time for assault with intent, never requested parole, wouldn't have got it if he had, got out three weeks ago.
Never showed up to meet with the parole officer."
"Gone?"
"Without a trace so far. But we haven't been looking very long."
"Just since my meeting with Swann, or did you have a head start?"
"Just since your meeting."
Becker nodded. "Well, good luck to you."
"Thank you, John," said Hatcher. "You've been most cooperative, as always-in your own way. I have matters to tend to, so I'll leave you now, but I'm sure you'll have things to discuss with Dr. Gold and Assistant Deputy Crist… Actually, Deputy Crist, if you could accompany me for just a moment. You have more access to Agent Becker than the rest of us, and I expect there are one or two things you'll want to clear up with him, but if you'll just come with me now… So nice to see you again, John."
Becker leaned over in his chair and studied the floor after Hatcher and Karen had gone.
"What is it?" Gold asked.
"I'm looking to see if he leaves an actual slime trail."
"He's my superior, John. Karen's too, which is more to the point. What do you accomplish by treating him that way?"
"It gets some of the venom out. Isn't that what you shrinks like us to do? Ventilate the venom?"
"It makes Karen's job a good deal harder. If you won't behave when she's in the room-"
"When will I behave? Is that the rest of that sentence?
Karen's a big girl, Gold. She's far better at the politics of all this than you or me. And can you imagine — what would happen if I were nice and docile and, God help me, polite to Hatcher if she were around? Do you know what that would do for her? It would make Hatcher think she was my keeper. He'd have her there every time anybody talked to me, he'd have her supervising my every move. And when I did rebel, and we both know I would before long, it would look like her failure. She's a lot better off if I make it clear to Hatcher that she can't control me either."
"It's an interesting approach. You maintain your freedom, Karen maintains hers. Does Karen see it that way, too?"
"Why are you here, Gold?"
"I was told to come, John. By Hatcher directly."
"Before or after you listened to the tapes?"
"After."
"Why? What's so important about this case?"
"You know they don't tell me-I'm just a shrink. I don't deal with casework. I'm just here for you because of our relationship."
"What does that mean?"
"In case you needed to talk to me. You did sound rather upset on the tape."
"So Hatcher hurried you to Nashville to check on my state of mind? Just out of the goodness of his heart?"
"I don't know about the goodness of his heart. You're very valuable to him."
"Do you want to talk, John? About the interview?"
"Not particularly."
"But then you never particularly want to talk to me, do you?"
Becker laughed. "You've noticed?"
"You've dropped a hint here and there… Swann got to you some way, didn't he?"
"The place got to me. The situation. Him, too, maybe.
I felt-I felt like I couldn't get away."
Gold nodded. "I don't know what it's like. I've never had to go into a prison."
"Keep it that way."
"Yes, please God… What sort of a man is he?"
"Small."
"You know what I mean."
"But you don't. Listen, Gold, don't ask me to appraise anybody in prison. They play a role the whole time they're there, all of them, every single one. They don't dare to let their guard down or let the mask slip for a second. One wrong word, one sideways glance, and someone will see it, because believe me, everyone is watching. Everywhere.
There's nothing but eyes, all around you. You know how vultures work?
They don't come down to see a healthy animal walking along-they don't waste their energy. If you're crossing a desert, it doesn't matter if you're actually dying-if you can act like a healthy human, they won't come near you. But if you limp or stumble or wilt, they'll see it from miles away. The important thing in prison is to be what they expect you to be. You'll find your role in the first week, and you'd better play it to the hilt or you're a goner. So don't expect to get a true picture of any con. He's playing a part."
Gold was silent for a moment. Not for the first time he wondered about his wisdom in electing to work with men with whom he had little affinity, who labored under dangers with which he was unfamiliar. Every one of them knew more about peril and fear and overcoming anxiety than he would ever know, no matter how long he listened to them. And Becker, of course, for all the time they had spent together, knew demons and devils and shades of hell that Gold was grateful he had never even dreamed of. And yet, even though they seemed to have nothing in common, Gold felt an affection for Becker that transcended the doctor/patient relationship. He thought Becker liked him, too.