A few headshakes were followed by a couple of deflated sighs and whispers.
‘There’s something else,’ Hunter said.
The room’s attention returned to him.
‘Two of those rings, all three watches, and one of those necklaces aren’t feminine pieces of jewelry.’
All eyes moved back to the screen.
‘If these really belonged to his victims,’ Hunter moved on, ‘it doesn’t look like Lucien killed only women.’
Thirty-Two
At 7:30 a.m. sharp, the heavy metal door to the cell corridor in sublevel five of the BSU building buzzed open. The hallway beyond it was wide, well lit and about seventy-five yards long. The cinder-block wall on the right was painted a dull shade of gray. The shining resin floor carried almost the same color, just a touch darker, with two guiding yellow lines running along the edge of it. The left wall was a series of high-security cells. Ten in total. Each cell was separated by a wall as wide as the cell itself, which was about eleven feet. There were no metal bars. The cells were all fronted by very thick, shatterproof Plexiglas. On the Plexiglas, positioned in a cluster at the center of it and about five and a half feet from the floor, there were eight small conversation holes, about half an inch in diameter each. The cells were all empty, their lights turned off, with the exception of the one at the far end of the corridor.
Hunter and Taylor stepped through the door and into the echoey hallway. Despite being with the FBI for several years now, and having visited the BSU building on many occasions, this was the first time Taylor had been down in sublevel five. Hunter had never seen it either.
There was definitely something quite ominous and sinister about that long stretch of corridor, as if they had just stepped over the threshold between good and evil. The air inside it felt a touch too cold, a touch too dense, a touch less breathable.
Taylor did her best to fight the awkward shiver that sped up and down her spine as she took the first steps toward the last cell, but failed miserably. Something about that place reminded her of the Halloween haunted houses she used to be so scared of when she was a kid.
‘I don’t know about you,’ she said, steadying her body. ‘But I’d much rather do this up in the interrogation room.’
‘Unfortunately we don’t have that choice,’ Hunter replied as their shoes click-clacked against the shiny floor with every step. He suddenly stopped and faced Taylor. ‘Courtney, let me tell you something about Lucien.’ His voice was barely louder than a whisper. He didn’t want it to echo all the way to the last cell. ‘He always liked to play games – mind games – and he was very good at it. He’s probably even better now. I’m sure he’ll target you more than he will me. He’ll try to get under your skin with comments, innuendos, direct digs, whatever. Some will probably be very nasty. Just be prepared for it, OK? Don’t let it affect you. If he manages to get into your mind, he’ll rip you apart.’
Taylor made a face as if she already knew all this.
‘I’m a big girl, Robert. I know how to take care of myself.’
Hunter nodded. He hoped she was right.
Thirty-Three
Two metal fold-up chairs had already been placed side by side at the end of the corridor, directly in front of the last cell.
Lucien Folter was lying on his bed, motionless, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. He could hear the steps coming down the hallway toward him. He stood up, faced the Plexiglas and waited. He looked and felt completely relaxed. Not an ounce of any sort of emotion showing on his face. A couple of seconds later Hunter and Taylor came into his line of sight, and the blank mask vanished, like an experienced actor who’d just been given his cue for the big scene.
He gave them a warm smile.
‘Welcome to my new home,’ he said in a calm voice, looking around himself. ‘As temporary as it may be.’
The cell was a rectangular box, eleven feet wide by thirteen feet deep. Just like the corridor outside, its walls were made up of cinder blocks painted a dull shade of gray. Other than the bed, which was mounted against the left wall, there was only a latrine and a washbasin against the far wall, and a small metal table with a metal bench, both bolted to the right wall and floor.
As if about to conduct a business meeting, Lucien pointed to the two chairs in the corridor.
‘Please have a seat.’
He waited for Hunter and Taylor to be seated before taking a seat himself at the edge of the bed.
‘Seven-thirty in the morning,’ Lucien said. ‘I love an early start. And as far as I can remember, so do you, Robert. Still can’t sleep?’
Hunter said nothing, but his insomnia wasn’t a big secret, or something he kept hidden from anyone, anyway. He had started experiencing sleepless nights at the early age of seven, just after cancer robbed him of his mother.
With no family other than his father, coping with his mother’s death proved to be a very painful and lonely task. He would lie awake at night, too sad to fall asleep, too scared to close his eyes, too proud to cry.
It was just after his mother’s funeral when he started fearing his dreams. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face, crying, contorted with pain, begging for help, praying for death. He saw her once fit-and-healthy body so drained of life, so fragile and weak, she couldn’t even sit up on her own strength. He saw a face that had once been beautiful, that had once carried the brightest smile and the kindest eyes he’d ever seen, transformed during those last few months into something unrecognizable. But it was still a face he’d never stopped loving.
Sleep and his dreams became the prison he’d do anything to escape from. Insomnia was the logical answer his body and brain found to deal with his fear and the ghastly nightmares that came at night. A simple but effective defense mechanism.
Lucien studied Hunter and Taylor’s faces for several seconds. ‘You’re still very good at not giving anything away, Robert,’ he said, shaking his finger in Hunter’s direction. ‘Actually, I’d say you got better at it, but you, Agent Taylor.’ His finger moved to her. ‘Are close, but not quite there yet. I assume you’ve found the box.
‘See, Agent Taylor.’ A new smile found its way onto Lucien’s lips. ‘That quick glance you gave Robert just confirmed my suspicion. You still have a bit to learn.’
Taylor looked unfazed.
Lucien’s smile widened.
‘You see Agent Taylor,’ he said. ‘Keeping a steady poker face takes a lot of practice. Creating a deceptive façade takes a lot more energy though, isn’t that right, Robert?’ Lucien knew Hunter wouldn’t reply, so he moved on. ‘Even you have to admit that I’ve now got mine down to perfection, haven’t I? You thought you could always tell when I was lying, didn’t you?’ He breathed in. ‘And you could, all those years ago, but not anymore.’ Lucien paused and scratched his chin. ‘Let me see now. What was it again? Oh yes . . . this.’
Lucien looked straight into Hunter’s eyes, and suddenly his stare became a touch more focused, more determined. Then, for fraction of a second, his lower left eyelid tightened in an almost imperceptible movement. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have seen it.
‘Did you catch that, Agent Taylor?’ Lucien followed his question with a smile. ‘Of course you didn’t, but don’t beat yourself up just yet. It’s not your fault. You had no idea what you were looking for or where to look.’ His gaze moved to Hunter. ‘Robert noticed it because he knew he had to look at my eyes, especially my left one. I’ll do it again, a little slower this time. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it, Agent Taylor.’