Lee Campbell looked out at the rows of upturned faces in the lecture hall. Most of them were thoughtful and attentive, hoping he would have answers for them-some kernel of wisdom to unlock the key to the darkest of human deeds. Not surprisingly, the room was packed. People stood along the walls, and he recognized a few professors in the rear seats. Word had gotten around that he was working on a serial-killer case. Very few details had been leaked to the press, though, and no doubt some people in the audience were hoping for some choice tidbits about the case.
"'Behavior reflects personality.' This statement was made by legendary FBI criminologist, one of the founders of profiling, John Douglas." He paused to let this sink in.
"'Behavior reflects personality.' What does this mean? Because a person's so-called 'personality' is comprised of so many things: upbringing, cultural background, religious beliefs, moral convictions-and the list goes on. So what can we take from Douglas's assertion, and how can we apply it to an active case?"
He took a breath. This was turning out to be even harder than he thought. It was one thing to prepare for this lecture-but now, in front of all of these people, he felt exposed and naked. His right hand throbbed, a dull ache like a steady drumbeat in the background of his mind. With his left hand, he took a drink of water from the bottle in front of him, then gripped the podium to steady himself.
"The writer Robert McKee has said that stories happen 'when you allow yourself to think the unthinkable.' As many of you know, I had a recent case where there were two offenders working together. Though not unknown, it is not what we usually would expect in a case like this. There are, of course, other examples-the most notorious being Charles Ng and his partner in crime. The pattern that operated there was similar to what was operating in this case: a dominant figure who plans and controls the actions of the more submissive partner. In both the Ng case and this one, if you look closely enough, you see the patterns of not one but two personalities at work.
"Profiling is especially useful when there is also little physical evidence-no blood, semen, DNA, hair, or even fibers-which often means a killer with both self-control and a sophisticated knowledge of crime scenes."
He paused and took a gulp of water, looking out across the sweep of faces. At this point in an elective lecture, you might expect a few people to have headed off for class. Since the events of 9/11 the whole city was jumpy, and this was nowhere more true than in centers of law enforcement, where there was an explosive combination of guilt, fear, and anger. He even heard rumors that enrollment had fallen off as a result. But no one had left the lecture room. In fact, a few more people had slipped into the room after he began his talk.
"I know there's been nearly a year of speculation about what went wrong on the morning of September 11," he said, looking out at the full auditorium, all eyes turned on him, the faces tense and expectant. "But there's really no other way to say it: We missed all the warning signs. We know now they were there-we just didn't see them. The men who did this lived and moved among us, and we blinded ourselves to the threat they posed, in part because our arrogance didn't allow us to see just how vulnerable we were."
He went on to talk about how the memorandum from the FBI agent was lost in the bureaucratic shuffle until it was too late. "It's important for all law enforcement professionals to take it upon themselves as individuals to fight the deadening effects of bureaucracy," he continued. "It's not a glass ceiling; it's a concrete one. And we have to make the effort to punch through it when necessary. It's too dangerous to do otherwise."
When he finished, the audience sat in silence for a few moments, the younger students wide-eyed, and then he took questions.
Several hands shot up at once, and he pointed to a thin, serious-looking young man in the third row with thick, round glasses. He looked more like a physics major than a future policeman.
"Did 9/11 make you question everything you learned?"
"I guess I'd say it made me question everything I thought I knew, but maybe that's not such a bad thing."
A pretty girl with caramel-colored skin in the back raised her hand.
"Are there any steps being taken in the class curriculum to make sure this doesn't happen again?"
"Since I'm not part of the administration of this school, I can't answer that question. I know there were support groups set up to help people deal with it."
"Did you attend one?" another student asked.
"No, I didn't." "Why not?"
The real answer was too complicated, and too revealing: he had suffered a complete nervous breakdown, and was hospitalized at St. Vincent's for nearly a month.
"I was… laid up for a while. Also, I see someone privately."
There was an uncomfortable silence. Someone shouted from the back of the hall, "What happened to your hand?"
Lee looked for the speaker, but couldn't see who it was. "I had an accident."
There was a longer silence, as if the students sensed a line had been crossed, prying into what was personal for him.
"The important question is not what did we do wrong," he said, "but what can we learn from this? Because there's always something to be learned. Perhaps the greater the mistake, the more there is to be learned from it. Sometimes we are blinded because as human beings we don't allow ourselves to think the unthinkable. It is perhaps a failure of imagination, but it is even more a failure of courage. To face our darkest fear and fantasies is not easy, and it is not for everyone. But as members of the law enforcement community, it is the job we have chosen."
A chubby white kid in the third row raised a hand.
"Do you think the terrorists were psychopaths?"
Lee thought about it for a moment.
"No," he said. "I think they were misguided fanatics, but I don't think they entirely lacked the capacity for empathy."
"What about your current case?"
"I can't really comment on an ongoing investigation." Lee looked at Tom Mariella, sitting in the back row. He gave a tiny nod, and Lee continued. "Okay, one more question."
The thin physics major with the round glasses raised his hand.
"Yes?"
"Can we avoid-" He paused, flustered, his face reddening from the neck upward. "Yes?" Lee said.
"Can we avoid another attack like the one on September eleventh?"
Lee looked up, aware that they were all waiting for his answer. The room was dead quiet. He could hear the faint whoosh of traffic out on Tenth Avenue. In the back of the room, someone coughed.
"I think we can," he said, "if we can allow ourselves to think the unthinkable."
And as he said the words, he realized they applied not just to the tragic events of last September, but to this case as well. Think the unthinkable. Certainly the killer he was chasing was doing just that-and now Lee had to do the same.