‘I’m not sure, Robert,’ he said. His voice was a little weaker.
‘You’re not sure?’
Lucien’s eyes returned to his cuffed hands and he shuffled himself on his seat, looking for a more comfortable position, a clear sign that he was struggling with his own thoughts.
‘Tell me,’ he said, avoiding eye contact. ‘Have you ever heard from Susan?’ For an instant he seemed surprised by his own question.
Hunter frowned. ‘What?’
‘Susan. You remember her, don’t you? Susan Richards?’
Flashes of memory exploded inside Hunter’s head. He remembered Susan very well. How could he not? The three of them were almost inseparable during their years at university. Susan was also a psychology major, and a very bright student. She had moved from Nevada to California after being accepted into Stanford. Susan Richards was one of those happy-go-lucky kind of girls, always smiling, always positive about everything, and very little ever fazed her. She was also very attractive — tall and slim, with chestnut hair, beautiful almond-shaped hazel eyes, a petite nose, and plump lips. Susan had inherited most of her Native American mother’s delicate features. Everyone used to say that she looked more like a Hollywood star than a psychology student.
‘Yes, of course I remember Susan,’ Hunter said.
‘Have you ever heard from her in all these years?’ Lucien asked.
Hunter’s psychological training took over, and he finally realized what was happening. Lucien’s defense and fear mechanisms were kicking in. Sometimes, when a person is afraid, or too nervous, to talk about a delicate subject, he/she might, almost unconsciously, try to steer the conversation away from that fragile topic, and avoid talking about it, at least for a little while, until their nerves settle. That was exactly what Lucien was doing.
As a psychologist, Hunter knew that the best way to deal with that was to just play along. Nerves would settle in time.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘After her graduation, I never heard from her again. Did you?’
Lucien shook his head. ‘Same here. Not even a little note.’
‘I remember she’d said that she wanted to go traveling. Europe or something. Maybe she did and decided to stay over there for some reason. Maybe she met somebody and got married, or found a career opportunity.’
‘Yes, I remember she talked about traveling, and maybe she did,’ Lucien agreed. ‘But even so, Robert. We were together pretty much all the time. We were friends. . good friends.’
‘Things like that do happen, Lucien,’ Hunter said. ‘You and I were best friends, and we didn’t keep in touch after college.’
Lucien looked up at Hunter. ‘That’s not entirely true, Robert. We did keep in touch for a while. A few years, actually. Until you finished your PhD. I went to the ceremony, remember?’
Hunter nodded once.
‘I thought that maybe she had kept in touch with you.’ Lucien shrugged. ‘Everyone knew that Susan was into you.’
Hunter said nothing.
Lucien gave Hunter a friendly smile. ‘I know that you never got together with her because you knew that I really liked her.
‘That was very cool of you. Very. . considerate, but I don’t think I would’ve minded. The two of you probably would’ve made a very nice couple.’
Lucien’s eyes avoided Hunter’s for a second.
‘Do you remember when we went with her to that tattoo parlor because she wanted to get that horrible thing on her arm?’ he asked.
Hunter did remember it. Susan had decided to get a tattoo of a red rose, where its stem, full of thorns, was wrapped around a bleeding heart, giving the impression that it was strangling it.
‘I do remember it,’ Hunter said with a melancholic smile.
‘What the hell was that? A rose strangling a heart?’
‘I liked that tattoo,’ Hunter said. ‘It was different, and I’m sure it meant something to her. I thought it looked very good on her arm. The tattoo artist did a great job.’
Lucien pulled a face. ‘I don’t really like tattoos. Never did.’ He paused and his eyes moved to a random spot on the cinder-block wall. ‘I miss her. She could always make us laugh, even in the worst of situations.’
‘Yes, I miss her too,’ Hunter said.
Silence took over the room for several seconds. Hunter filled a paper cup with water from the cooler and placed it on the table in front of Lucien.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking a quick sip.
Hunter poured himself one as well.
‘They’ve got the wrong man, Robert,’ Lucien finally said.
Hunter paused and looked back at his old friend. It sounded like Lucien’s nerves were finally starting to settle, and he was now ready to talk. Hunter questioned with his eyes.
‘I didn’t do it,’ Lucien said, his voice full of emotion again. ‘I didn’t do what they’re saying I did. You have to believe me, Robert. I’m not a monster. I didn’t do those things.’
Hunter stayed quiet.
‘But I know who did.’
Fifteen
Behind the large two-way mirror, inside the observation room next door, Special Agents Taylor and Newman were attentively watching every movement made and listening to every word spoken by Lucien Folter. Doctor Patrick Lambert, a forensic psychiatrist with the FBI Behavioral Science Unit was also present.
On a table by the east wall, two CCTV monitors were showing highly detailed images of Lucien taken from different angles. Doctor Lambert was patiently examining every facial movement, and scrutinizing every different voice inflection the prisoner produced, but that wasn’t all. Both monitors were also hooked up to a computer equipped with state-of-the-art facial analysis software, which was capable of reading and evaluating the most minuscule of facial or eye movements. Movements that could not be controlled by the interviewee, triggered subconsciously as his state of mind altered from calm to nervous, to anxious, to irritated, to angry, or to any other state. Inside that observation room, they were all sure that if Lucien Folter lied about anything at all, they would know.
Neither Doctor Lambert, nor Special Agents Taylor and Newman, needed the facial analysis program to pick up all the anxiety and nervousness in Lucien’s tone of voice, eye movement and facial expressions. That was something they were already expecting. After all, he was talking for the first time since he’d been arrested for a very brutal double homicide. Add to that the fact that he was now face to face with an old friend he hadn’t seen since his college days, and Lucien was bound to be nervous and anxious. It was a common psychological human reaction. As was the initial avoidance of the subject. Talking about something common to him and his old friend was an easy and secure way to calm his nerves, to steady his uneasiness. They all waited, knowing that Detective Hunter would soon start slowly steering Lucien toward talking, but Hunter didn’t even need to. Lucien went back to the subject of his own accord. But his last few words caught everyone by surprise.
‘They’ve got the wrong man, Robert.’
The tension inside the observation room went up a notch, and instinctively everyone craned their heads forward in the direction of the monitors, as if that would make them see or hear better.
‘I didn’t do it. I didn’t do what they’re saying I did. You have to believe me. .’
‘Of course he didn’t,’ Newman said with a half-chuckle, looking over at Taylor. ‘They never do. Our prison system is full of innocent people, isn’t that right?’
Taylor said nothing. She was still carefully watching the screens, and so was Doctor Lambert.
‘But I know who did.’
Those last five words were something no one was expecting, because in truth, those words equated to an admission of complicity. Even if Lucien Folter hadn’t been the one who’d murdered and decapitated both of those women, by admitting that he knew who’d done it, not alerting the police, and being picked up transporting the women’s heads cross-state, made him an accessory to murder with at least a couple of aggravating circumstances. And in Wyoming, where he was arrested and the death penalty was still enforced, the District Attorney’s office would no doubt push for it.