Though Lucien’s words were intended for Taylor, all of his attention was on Hunter.
‘I know that right now you have a thousand questions tumbling over each other inside that brain of yours, Robert. I know that all you want is to understand the why’s and how’s. . and obviously, since you’re a cop, to identify all the victims.’ Lucien rotated his neck from side to side, as if trying to release some tension. ‘That could take a while. But believe me, Robert, I really do want you to understand the why’s and how’s. That’s the real reason why I called you here.’
Lucien looked past Hunter at the two-way mirror behind him. He wasn’t speaking to Hunter or Taylor anymore. He knew that after what they had uncovered in North Carolina, a more senior FBI figure would be on the other side of that glass. Someone with the authority to call all the shots.
‘I know that you also want to know the why’s and how’s,’ he said in a chilling tone, staring at his own reflection. ‘After all, this is the famous FBI Behavioral Science Unit. You live to study the minds of people like me. And believe me, you have never encountered anyone quite like me.’
Lucien could practically feel the tension growing behind the glass.
‘More than that,’ he continued. ‘You need to identify the victims. It’s your duty. But I’m telling you now, you’ll never be able to do that without my cooperation.’
Hunter saw Taylor uneasily shift her weight from foot to foot.
‘The good news is that I’m willing to do that,’ Lucien said. ‘But I’ll do it on my terms, so listen up.’ His voice seemed to have gone even more serious. ‘I will only speak to Robert, no one else. I know he isn’t with the FBI, but I also know that that can easily be remedied.’ He paused and looked around the room. ‘The interviews will not be conducted in this room anymore. I don’t feel comfortable here, and. .’ He lifted his hands and moved them about, allowing the chain between his wrists to rattle against the metal table once again. ‘I really don’t like being shackled. It puts me in a very bad state of mind, and that’s not good, for me, or for you. I also like to move around when I talk. It helps me think. So from now on, Robert can come down to my cell. We can talk there.’ He stole a quick peek at Taylor. ‘Agent Taylor can sit in on the interviews if she wants. I like her. But she’ll have to learn how to control that temper of hers.’
‘You don’t get to negotiate,’ Taylor said, keeping her voice as calm as she could muster.
‘Oh, I think I do, Agent Taylor. Because I take it that by now you’ll have a team of agents going over every inch of my house in Murphy. And if they’re competent in the least, they should find out that what you and Robert saw in that house earlier. .’ Lucien paused and he and Hunter locked eyes once again. ‘Well. . that’s only the beginning.’
Twenty-Six
Lucien was right in his assumption — a specialized FBI team had already been deployed to scrutinize every inch of his house back in Murphy.
Special Agent Stefano Lopez was the agent in charge of the very experienced, eight-strong search team. That particular crew had been put together eight years ago by Director Adrian Kennedy himself, who had little trust in forensic specialists. A few years back, most forensic work around the country had started to be outsourced to private companies. Their overpaid forensic agents, if one could call them that, no doubt fueled by the increasing number of forensic-investigation TV shows that had hit the airwaves in the past decade, truly believed they were stars, and acted accordingly.
Kennedy’s team had been highly trained in the collection and analysis of forensic evidence, and all eight of them had a degree either in chemistry, or biology, or both. Three of the agents, including Lopez, the team leader, had also been premed students before joining the FBI. They were all qualified, and had brought with them enough lab equipment and gadgets to perform a variety of ‘on the spot’ basic tests.
To expedite the search, Agent Lopez had compartmentalized the house and split the crew into four teams of two: Team A — Agents Suarez and Farley — was in charge of going through everything in the living room and kitchen; Team B — Agents Reyna and Goldstein — was searching both bedrooms down the corridor, and the small bathroom; Team C — Agents Lopez and Fuller — was downstairs in the basement; Team D — Agents Villegas and Carver — was outside searching the property grounds.
Team C had already photographed the entire basement in its original state, and was now in the process of sieving through everything as it was collected, tagged, and placed inside plastic evidence bags for further analysis. The first items to be taken down were the framed human skin pieces.
As Agents Lopez and Fuller carefully unhooked the first frame from the east wall, they both realized that the frames had been simply, but cleverly homemade. First, the human skin piece had been either soaked or sprayed with a preserving substance like formaldehyde or formalin, which is a solution of gas formaldehyde in water. Then, the piece had been stretched out and placed flat against a sheet of Plexiglas that was about 2 millimeters thick — equivalent to two regular microscope slides stacked together. A second sheet of Plexiglas, of identical thickness, was then placed over the human skin piece, sandwiching it between both Plexiglas sheets. To keep skin deterioration down to a minimum, the Plexiglas/human skin sandwich was finally airtight locked using a special sealant, before being framed just like any regular painting or picture.
‘This is one hundred percent fucked up,’ Lopez said, after dusting the last of the frames for fingerprints. There were none.
Lopez was tall and slim, with short curly hair, piercing dark brown eyes, and a hooked nose that had earned him the nickname Hawk.
‘No shit, Hawk,’ Agent Fuller said as he started tagging and bagging the frames. ‘You know we’ve seen enough killers’ trophies over the years, among them quite a few body parts, but this is pushing the boundaries.’ He made a head gesture toward the frames. ‘This guy didn’t just cut a finger or an ear off his victims. He skinned them, at least partially, maybe even while they were still alive, and to me that puts him in a new category I haven’t seen before.’
‘And what category is that?’
‘Psychopath freak show — leveclass="underline" grandmaster. One with a lot of skill and patience too.’
Hawk agreed with a nod. ‘Yeah, that is messed up, but what really gets me is this room.’ He looked around him.
Fuller’s gaze circled the room, following Hawk’s. ‘What do you mean?’
‘How many serial killers’ trophy rooms would you say that we’ve seen over the years?’
Fuller pulled a face and shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Hawk. More than enough, for sure.’
‘Since this unit was put together, thirty-nine,’ Hawk confirmed. ‘But we’ve all seen hundreds of photographs of other trophy rooms, and you know they all look similar — small, smelly, grimy, dark, you know what I’m talking about. It’s usually just a cupboard-sized space or a shed somewhere where the perpetrators keep whatever parts they chopped off their victims. Somewhere they can go to jerk off, or fantasize, or whatever it is they do when they’re reliving the time they spent with their victims. You’ve seen them. They all look like some sort of sick shrine out of a Hollywood horror movie.’ Hawk paused, turned both of his gloved hands upward, and looked around the room again. ‘But look at this place. It looks like an average family’s sitting room. It’s just a little dusty.’ He ran two fingers over the top of the chest of drawers, showing the result to Fuller just to emphasize his argument.