Luthecker

by Domingue, Keith

  When it came to an individual’s psychology Lloyd was a puzzle solver. He had seen a wide range of behavior in his experience, and it was remarkable how predictable it was. It was fascinating to him the things people were capable of when they put both their beliefs and actions behind it. It could be amazing or horrifying. Unfortunately most of what Lloyd saw was horrifying.

  The kid was in on it. Occam’s razor. The simplest solution is most often the correct one. He was fucking with Brown. Lloyd would find out what he knew. What made this young man tick. There was no behavior he couldn’t trace the source of, no secret he couldn’t uncover. Brown was right to call him. He was the best. He finally opened the file.

  He looked forward to meeting this Alex Luthecker.

  • • •

  The flight from West Virginia to Los Angeles took just over five hours. With the time change, that put Lloyd in front of Luthecker by roughly 9:30am.

  The young man was smart to pick Los Angeles to live off the grid. A city of nine million people. Close to the Mexican border, but not too close. Home to countless undocumented residents, with an entire underground economy to support them. Liberal immigration policies and under-funded law enforcement. And new faces, young, fresh, and broke, shuffling in and out every day, from all over the world, pursuing the American dream, which had somehow morphed into the pursuit of wealth and fame with no calculable ability or work ethic.

  Los Angeles, the city where the superficial and the shallow went to be noticed, was the perfect place to remain unnoticed forever.

  That also summed up well why Lloyd hated L.A. A reconnaissance nightmare filled with narcissistic, superficial, smiling cobras. He would be happy to wrap this up and get back to the east coast.

  Luthecker was being held at Metro downtown.

  When “Homeland Security” stepped in and took over the case, the local P.D. were more than cooperative, and gladly kept their noses out of it. They had enough miscreant twenty-two year olds of their own to deal with, and couldn’t care less. They just wanted their cell back.

  Lloyd arrived at the station at 9:10am, separate from Brown. He had checked into the Marriott Downtown upon arrival in Los Angeles, and rented his own car. Despite his disdain for the city, he had no problem taking advantage of its virtues. The dining, while not exactly New York, was considerably better than West Virginia. He was a fan of Morton’s, the famous steakhouse on South Figueroa Street. He’d already called and made a reservation for 8pm later this evening, a table of one. Although he got along well with Brown, they never socialized, and he preferred to dine alone anyway. It was his way of decompressing, of organizing and mentally filing the day’s information. A nice prime rib and bottle of wine would be good at the end of what he anticipated would be a long day.

  He planned the initial session with Luthecker to be approximately four hours, less if he got him to open up on the first try. The most effective techniques of interrogation were the simplest- fatigue and uncertainty. Considering Luthecker’s age, and the fact that he was American, Lloyd didn’t anticipate an insurmountable amount of resistance. If he proved to be stubborn, Lloyd would ratchet up the pressure, visiting him at random intervals, day or night, for three days, depriving him of sleep and knowledge of when he would be questioned next, or what would happen to him. If little or no progress were made in that time frame, he would at that point recommend to Brown that they follow standard rendition protocol, grabbing Luthecker abruptly in the middle of the night and moving him. In less than a day and unbeknownst to the young man, he would end up overseas, Turkey or Jordan perhaps, dealing with much harsher realities in very short order.

  Lloyd entered the overcrowded Precinct lobby and found Brown, along with what looked like the Precinct Sergeant, waiting for him.

  “Sergeant Mike Alvarez”, the uniform offered, along with his hand.

  Alvarez was short, late forties, and judging from his waistline, had worked behind a desk for at least a decade.

  “Doctor David Lloyd”, he offered in response, as he shook the staff Sergeant’s hand.

  “This way.” Alvarez indicated, as he made his way between desks and staff, Brown and Lloyd in tow.

  Lloyd studied the inhabitants of Metro Precinct as they walked through the stale and faded early seventies architecture. He took note of several: The middle aged black woman pleading to the empty face behind the glass. The tattoo-covered Latino in hand cuffs being pulled along by two uniforms on either side of him. The mounds of paperwork sitting on a desk in front of a sweaty cheap suit and tie.

  There was a constant human miasma to large Metropolitan Police Precincts, Lloyd mused. The combined lives of all the individuals in the building created it, and it was palpable. It was a mutuality of desperation, between those who had either fallen between or created the cracks in the system, and those who were trying to keep that system from collapsing. It was a barely held balance, and it would never change. And everyone in the room knew it. It was a sad dance, a hellish environment, made survivable to the system keepers only by the occasional small victories.

  “How long we gotta keep’em?” Alvarez asked, interrupting Lloyd’s train of thought.

  “Until we inform you otherwise.” Brown replied.

  Alvarez bristled.

  “I want that fucker out of here.”

  There was no attempt by Alvarez to hide the vitriol in his voice. Luthecker really did spook people, Lloyd thought.

  “I’d like to observe him for a bit first.” He stated.

  “This ain’t fucking Law and Order. He’s locked in a concrete room with no windows. You can sit across from him and look at him all you want.”

  The men turned a corner into a hallway of bare concrete walls and faded grey steel doors, each door with a number, small wire mesh window, and waist level food slot.

  An armed uniform stood in front of the last door on the right. Luthecker’s holding cell.

  Alvarez pulled keys as they approached.

  “My guy will go in there with you.” Alvarez offered, as he unlocked the door.

  “No.” Lloyd responded. “I’d like to speak with him alone. If I need anything, I’ll let the guard know.”

  Alvarez looked back and forth between Lloyd and Brown.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged, as he opened the heavy steel door.

  A small-framed man sat handcuffed to a small table bolted to the floor.

  Lloyd shut the door behind him.

  • • •

  At first glance, Luthecker looked like nothing special, Lloyd thought. Five foot seven, maybe one hundred forty pounds. Disheveled hair and eyes both dark brown in color. Soft hands. Not a day laborer, he speculated. He also noted a relatively pale complexion for someone who looked of southern European descent. Most likely a night job, one with little human interaction, a security guard perhaps, if he even had a job at all.

  He wore Nike tennis shoes, the wear, style, and model indicating that they were at least five years old. A plain grey T-shirt hung loosely on his small frame, along with Old Navy painter’s jeans, faded and worn. He remained expressionless, as Lloyd sat down across from him.

  Both men studied each other for a long moment. Lloyd immediately picked up on something strange in Luthecker’s behavior: His eye movement. Almost REM-like in speed and oscillation, in what appeared to be a ravenous effort to take in every detail about Lloyd. And then, as quickly as it started, the rapid eye movement seemed to ease, as if Luthecker were breaking from a trance. At that point, he eyed Lloyd no differently than any other young idealist might, with contempt.

  The incident regarding the strange eye movement lasted less than ten seconds. It gave Lloyd pause. If you weren’t ready for it, it was quite disturbing. He understood why Luthecker spooked people. Why Brown thought something was amiss as well. But Lloyd had seen similar if not as intense behavior before, in the prisons of Guantanamo Bay. The attempt to grasp any clues about your captors and use it against them. Whether trained or natural, Lloyd ins
tinctively knew then that he was dealing with a man who had his own set of profiling skills.

  This is going to be interesting, he thought.

  He decided to speak first.

  “I’m Doctor David Lloyd.” He started.

  Luthecker said nothing.

  “You realize you’re a hero.” He tossed out as bait.

  Still nothing.

  “And we just want to know, how you knew about the bomber. So we can be the heroes next time, and you can go back to your life.”

  The first deal on the table. And the only easy one Luthecker would get.

  Still nothing.

  Then Luthecker spoke.

  “You should have taken them.” He announced.

  Lloyd looked at him, tilting his head a bit in reaction to the statement.

  “Should have taken what?”

  “Your meds. Did you know that the state of California uses diazepam as a pre-execution sedative?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You should have taken them.”

  The exchange caught Lloyd off guard. He answered back with a firm reminder of who was in charge.

  “Alex, this can go very easy, or very difficult for you. It’s your choice.”

  Luthecker showed no perceptible reaction.

  “Do you believe in God, Doctor Lloyd?” He asked.

  Lloyd noticed his voice was surprisingly calm and soft-spoken, yet crystal clear.

  “If I said yes, would that make you more comfortable?”

  “Let me answer that for you. You don’t. Understandable, considering what you’ve seen. And what you’ve done.”

  “Do you?” Lloyd quickly flipped back. A discussion of religious belief systems, combined with a world-view filtered through the prism of victimization. Nothing remarkable so far, he thought.

  “I think “God” is less a sentient being than he is the indifferent collective momentum of all things.”

  Lloyd paused before responding. Assessed Luthecker’s statement. It revealed an obvious above average intellect. It also revealed what was more than likely a self-educated, self-deluded individual, with a heavy dose of the Internet as teacher.

  “What does that actually mean?” He finally asked.

  “Some people recognize this, and try to control that momentum. When your actions disturb their efforts, you get their attention.”

  Luthecker wasn’t answering questions, he was preaching. A crusader. One that was obviously at odds with the U.S. Government. Perfect. Lloyd loved dealing with these types of extremists. He tried not to smile as he moved the young man along.

  “Is that what you did? “Disturb the “momentum” by pointing out the bomber? Did you know him?”

  “And that effort moves quickly, and often violently, to correct any aberrations in their plan.”

  Luthecker sat back in his chair and waited, signaling to Lloyd that it was his move. Lloyd remained expressionless. He finally decided it was his turn to speak.

  “Could you explain to me what you mean by the “momentum of all things?” He asked.

  Luthecker studied Lloyd a moment before responding.

  “The universe consists of countless patterns, some that intersect and some that do not, but all of which are related, and those patterns are what form the momentum.”

  “I’m still not following you.”

  Luthecker leaned in towards Lloyd, ever so slightly.

  “All human behavior happens in patterns, does it not, Doctor Lloyd? That’s what you study. That’s why you’re here. You’re here trying to find out who, or what, I am. I mean, you are “the best”, aren’t you? At seeing what makes people “tick”? Well then let me help you: I saw the patterns of one man’s life and stepped into the momentum to save a few people. And that introduced an “unknown” into the plan, which got the planners attention, which in turn allowed the momentum to lead you straight to me. Because despite their efforts, it will not be controlled.”

  Lloyd studied Luthecker a moment before responding.

  “Hand of God then.” He finally baited.

  “Did you know that the extended side effects of benzodiazepine addiction includes suicidal impulses and retrograde amnesia? Do you think that the drug is designed that way to keep the nightmares from finally catching up with you?”

  “Shut the fuck up with the bullshit, and answer my questions.” Lloyd snapped back. He was thrown. Brown was right. Luthecker was a real danger. He somehow had access to personnel records. He had to bring this interrogation around, fast, with actionable intel. “Now this “momentum” you’re babbling about.” He continued. “That’s God, right?? Maybe Allah? And you’re acting on behalf of him, against the planners, right?”

  “It makes your job easier to frame it that way, doesn’t it? But no. That’s not what I’m talking about. You’re not listening.”

  “I am listening now. Explain.”

  Lloyd felt a bit light headed. He wanted to kick himself for skipping out on his meds before this initial conversation. How in the Hell could this kid know?

  “For all of your alleged expertise, you really can’t see what’s happening here, can you?”

  Luthecker locked eyes with Lloyd and gave that barely perceptible smile once again.

  “This conversation is not a challenge of your abilities, Doctor Lloyd. It’s a test of mine. It’s the source of the alarm bells in your head. The piece of the puzzle on the plane ride over here that you couldn’t figure out.”

  Lloyd paused. This kid was really good.

  “And what abilities of yours exactly are we talking about?”

  “Do you know why most people would be destroyed if they could truly interpret the patterns that created their fate?”

  Lloyd’s heart began to race a bit. This was nothing unusual, he tried to tell himself. It was only a symptom of anxiety, something he had felt many times before, and he fought to control it.

  “It removes the illusion.” Luthecker added, answering his own question.

  “And what…what illusion is that?” Lloyd asked. He realized he was sweating. He resisted the urge to pad his forehead.

  “That they can out run their choices.”

  Lloyd’s heart kept racing. It was diazepam withdrawal and he knew it. He didn’t think he would need it with Luthecker, considering it was just questions, and now he was really regretting it.

  He couldn’t understand why Luthecker was making him so nervous. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He may have to cut this initial session short, and pick it up again later in the day, he decided.

  He caught Luthecker staring at him again, with those god-awful rapid moving eyes.

  “Stop it…” Lloyd whispered out of defensive instinct.

  “It’s just killing you, isn’t it? The weight of it all. The momentum of your choices.”

  Luthecker leaned in closer, seizing the moment, like a fighter with his opponent on the ropes. He spoke barely above a whisper.

  “Let me tell you what I see in the patterns that created David Lloyd. He was severely abused as a child. Like many who are, he carried it forward. Torture was home for him. He chose a path that allowed him to legitimize his fantasies. He murdered people in Iraq. And he liked it. Like his father before him, he developed a taste for young boys. Abuse begets abuse, does it not? His superiors knew this, but covered it up, for the good of God and Country, but mostly because he was so good at what they wanted him for. But now his indiscretions and addictions have become insatiable, and he’s become unstable. A liability. So they decided that he had one more use, as a sacrificial lamb in order to see if I was truly capable of what they suspect.”

  Lloyd sprung out of his chair in shock, falling backwards into the concrete wall.

  “How…?”

  “It’s all over your face.”

  Lloyd turned white. Somehow his darkest secrets had been exposed. It hit him like a shockwave. He couldn’t comprehend it. Couldn’t get his head around it. His mind started to shut down. His heart
pounded like it never had before, like it might burst from his chest. He began to shake.

  “As you know, they’re recording this conversation. What you don’t know, and what I do, is how it all ends. They’re waiting for you at your hotel. But the shame of being exposed as a murderer and a pedophile is too much for you, isn’t it? You’re not going to let them get you alive, are you?”

  Luthecker’s voice chilled Lloyd to the bone.

  He had to get out. He had to take care of things. Damage control mode. How the fuck could this twenty-two year old kid whom he’d never laid eyes on before know all this? He ripped through the steel door and out of the room in sheer panic.

  “Sir!?” The guard asked, gun ready.

  Lloyd ignored him. He scanned the hallway.

  “Where’s Colonel Brown?”

  The guard looked back and forth between Lloyd and Luthecker before answering.

  “He left, as soon as you went in, sir.”

  Lloyd was already running down the hallway.

  He blasted through the lobby, knocking over chairs, people, paperwork off desks.

  He couldn’t believe what had happened. Brown had used him. Exposed him. Betrayed an unspoken honor to never speak of the secrets of those who did the dirty work to keep the world safe. That was the only explanation.

  He sprinted to his car, got inside, and instinctively ducked low, as if to hide. He was completely out of breath, covered in sweat, the shaking becoming uncontrollable. He was destroyed and he knew it. He could only imagine them going through the interrogation tapes from Iraq. Sorting through the images on his computer. Scrutinizing his travel records. Searching his business apartment. Why would Brown do this to him? He didn’t know where to go, what to do. What would he tell his wife? His kids? His head was spinning, his anxiety on overdrive. He needed his meds. The trial would be a public spectacle of shame. In prison he’d be a dead man and he knew it. His stomach churned, causing him to vomited suddenly, all over his lap and the steering wheel of the car.

  Deep in the recesses of his mind, he had often wondered what this day would be like.