Gallery of the Dead

Fifty-Three

Agent Fisher reentered interrogation room one, but this time she closed the door behind her smoothly, as if she was walking into a library room.

The man at the metal table had gone back to focusing his attention on his lap.

Agent Fisher readjusted her ponytail and slowly made her way back to the table.

Click, clack, click, clack.

Maybe it was because the novelty of the silent and the no-eye-contact treatment had worn off, or maybe it was because every step Agent Fisher took was overflowing with determination, but this time the man’s eyes moved straight back to her.

She paused before the vacant chair, but decided against taking a seat.

The man waited, his gaze carefully studying her every move.

‘The coroner is done with the autopsy,’ she lied, her face as steady as a surgeon’s hand. ‘Not that we weren’t already expecting it, but since we’re talking, I was wondering if you could help me understand something here. Why the different MOs? Why kill them all differently?’

The man’s demeanor didn’t change. He simply continued analyzing her with the same dead, cold stare as before.

‘I mean,’ she proceeded, ‘you drowned your first victim, you strangled your second one, you slit the throat of your third, and now, death by poisoning. Why? Why jump from method to method? Why don’t you stick with the same MO? I’m just curious here.’

Agent Fisher’s performance could’ve gotten her a place at Juilliard. From the slight trepidation in her voice, to the confusion swimming in her eyes, her acting was absolutely flawless.

The man readjusted himself on his chair and looked back at Agent Fisher as if he knew something she didn’t.

Their stares battled against each other for several seconds before Agent Fisher broke eye contact.

‘You know what?’ she said, without too much concern. ‘I don’t give a damn if you answer me or not. We’ve got you. It’s over and you’re going to rot in jail, starting from right now.’ She turned on the balls of her feet and marched toward the door. ‘Enjoy the rest of your pathetic life.’

‘Well,’ the man replied at last, once again stopping Agent Fisher just as she got to the door. ‘One might like to experiment with different methods. Or each victim might request a different approach.’

Agent Fisher’s stomach tightened inside her as if she’d been dropped from an airplane with no parachute.

‘One? Experiment?’ she asked as she turned around and walked back to the table, her eyes about to ignite. The man had once again used a generic reply. One that would not implicate him in anything.

The man shrugged. ‘And why not? C’mon, Special Agent Erica Fisher, do you want me to do your job for you? It’s your job to figure these things out, isn’t it?’

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

‘You sonofabitch.’ She slammed her hands on the tabletop so hard it made the notepad on it bounce.

The man wasn’t expecting that sort of reaction and despite his coolness, her aggressiveness startled him, making him jump back on his chair.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ she yelled as she leaned forward, her voice croaking with anger. ‘There has been no change in the killer’s MO, you lying piece of shit. I just made that up.’

There was no pretending anymore. The man knew that his game was up, but he still didn’t lose his cool. His reply was a casual tilt of the head, which only served to bring Agent Fisher’s blood to boiling point. She reached for the man’s collar, grabbing it with both hands.

‘I swear to God, if you’re a reporter and you’ve done all this for a fucking story, I’ll make your life a living hell, you dickless moron. You fucked with the wrong agent here.’

The door to the interrogation room swung open and Hunter, closely followed by Agent Williams and Garcia, stormed in.

‘Erica,’ Agent Williams called, getting to her and placing his hands on her arms.

Agent Fisher hesitated.

The man waited. His eyes showed no concern.

‘Let him go, Erica.’

Agent Fisher breathed out, her stare glued to the man’s face.

Agent Williams applied a little more pressure to her arms, trying to move them.

Finally, the agent let go of the man’s shirt. She felt her whole body tremble with anger.

‘You’re so screwed,’ she whispered to the man, before standing up straight again and taking a step back from the table. ‘Somebody take this piece of shit out of my face before I teach him a lesson he’ll never forget.’

‘Not so fast, Special Agent Fisher,’ the man said, his eyes slowly moving from her to the three new arrivals. ‘I guess that this would be a good time for me to call my lawyer, don’t you think?’

‘Ha,’ Agent Fisher chuckled. ‘You won’t get shit. You’ve committed a federal offense, you moron.’

‘Have I?’ the man asked, pretending to be oblivious. ‘And which offense was that?’

Agent Fisher’s eyes widened. ‘You really are an idiot, aren’t you? You should’ve thought this through, because wasting the FBI’s time is a federal offense, you imbecile, and I will make sure you pay for this.’

‘Really?’ the man questioned, still in a carefree way. ‘And how exactly did I waste the FBI’s time, Special Agent Fisher? All I did was exercise my constitutional right to stay silent. When I spoke, I did not lie and I did not incriminate myself with any of my replies. If anyone has interpreted them wrongly, that isn’t my fault. I also never once admitted to being...’ His stare went back to Agent Fisher. ‘I believe the FBI is calling this killer The Surgeon or The Artist — apparently according to his skills. So no, Special Agent Fisher, I did not waste your or the FBI’s time. You did that all by yourself. All I did was sit here and listen.’ The man sat back on his chair, with a new victorious air about him. ‘Can I call my lawyer now? I’d really like to go home. I’m hungry, tired, and these handcuffs are quite annoying.’

Agent Fisher’s hands clutched into fists.

‘You are a freelance reporter, right?’ Hunter asked, taking a step forward. ‘Not really attached to any newspapers or news channels, correct? You just sell whatever story you have to the highest bidder.’

The man looked back at him curiously. ‘Sorry, but you are?’

‘My name is Robert Hunter.’

The man’s head tilted back slightly. He spent a moment studying Hunter.

‘You’re not an FBI agent, are you?’ His gaze moved around the room and paused on Garcia. ‘And neither is he. That’s easy to tell just by what you’re wearing. Something, shall I say, much more relaxed than what Special Agent Fisher and Special Agent “grumpy face” here are wearing.’ He nodded at Agent Williams.

‘You’re right,’ Hunter agreed. ‘We’re not FBI agents.’ He decided to leave it at that. ‘You’re very perceptive and your “silent” approach, together with your cold-reading technique, was quite an impressive trick. It did get you some information, but let’s be honest here — not enough for any reputable news piece, especially when you consider the fact that the federal government has seized your camera and the film in it. You’ll never get those pictures. You are aware of that, aren’t you?’

‘You have no right to seize my camera,’ the man replied. This time there was concern in his voice.

‘Unfortunately for you,’ Hunter said, ‘yes, we do. You can ask your lawyer when you call him.’

Once again the man’s stare bounced from person to person in the room.

‘But,’ Hunter said, lifting his index finger, ‘I have a proposal for you.’

Hunter’s words caught everyone by surprise, making his colleagues look back at him questioningly, but before Agent Fisher or Agent Williams could say anything, he signaled them both to give him a minute.

‘A proposal?’ the man asked.

‘That’s correct,’ Hunter confirmed. ‘Kind of — you help us, we help you.’

The man regarded Hunter with the same resolve he had regarded Agent Fisher throughout their interview. Hunter was much harder to read than she had been.

‘OK,’ the man said with a nod. ‘I’m listening.’