Lien-hua watched Creighton Melice force a smile onto his face, but a sneer lurked beneath his words. “Well played, Agent Jiang. Well played. Did they teach you that at the Academy? Classic Power Plays and Intimidation Techniques? Let me guess-do whatever it takes to keep the suspect talking: threaten him, play to his ego, pacify, feign interest, become whatever he desires most in order to gain his trust-a friend, a confidant, an admirer, a mother figure, a seductress… how am I doing?”
She let the glimmer of a smile pass across her face. “We must have taken the same course.”
Move, countermove.
A short silence from Melice. Yes, she’d struck something there.
Maybe he has taken classes in criminal science. Maybe he was in law enforcement. I made a note to check on that.
She flipped her notepad faceup, wrote something down. I couldn’t see what she was writing, and neither could she, since she kept her eyes trained on Melice the whole time.
I noticed him stare past her to the crime scene photos Dunn had hung on the wall. I don’t like those kinds of gimmicks. The idea is to make the suspect think the authorities have mountains of evidence against him. The problem is, sometimes when innocent people see the array of evidence they get so unnerved that they start confessing to things they never did. Fear often makes people do and say things they later regret. Melice seemed to read my mind through the glass. “Are those pictures supposed to make me nervous, Agent Jiang? Get me to confess? Sorry to say, but I’m not interested in confessing any of my sins today. I’m not Catholic…” He let a sly smile play across his lips. “And you don’t look like a priest.”
“Do you normally confess your sins, Neville?”
“Only to God.”
“So, you believe in God?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe in sin?”
A pause. “Do you know what the Lord said to Cain, Agent Jiang?”
“What did the Lord say?”
“The Lord told him that sin was crouching at his door. That it desired to have him, but that he had to master it.”
“And did he?”
“No. It mastered him. The firstborn of our race murdered the second. Quite a legacy.”
Without missing a beat: “Is that what happened to you, Neville?
Did sin master you? Is that why you killed the women?” He refused to reply. She waited, waited, and finally said, “Neville, why didn’t you want a lawyer here today?”
“Maybe there’s something I want to tell you that I don’t want my lawyers to know.”
“I’m listening.”
“Come closer.”
She didn’t even hesitate. She walked to him, set both of her hands on the table, and leaned over so that her ear was beside his lips.
Dunn stood and walked to the two-way mirror. “What’s she doing?”
“She’s getting him to talk,” I said. “It’s what we sent her in there to do.” Lien-hua could smell Melice’s sour breath.
“Drowning,” he said, his voice coarse and low, “would be a terrible way to go, don’t you think, Agent Jiang?”
Her thoughts spun sideways.
The image of Cassandra in the tank.
The fabric of that crimson evening gown wafting around her like curious red smoke, embracing her with a strange mixture of beauty and death.
An elegant, designer shroud.
Cassandra choking on water. Gasping for breath.
And then it wasn’t Cassandra’s face anymore, but her own. Staring up pale and lifeless through the water. A dead reflection of herself.
Lien-hua shook the thought loose. Shook it loose. “Is that why you do it, Neville?” she whispered. “Because you think drowning would be a terrible way to go?”
They were whispering to each other. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I figured I’d ask Lien-hua about it later. They spoke for a couple moments, and then Melice smirked and Lien-hua stepped back.
“I have an idea,” he said. “You’re interested in the way a killer thinks. Why don’t we play a little game? You ask me questions about the murders, and I’ll tell you what I think might have been going on in the killer’s mind. All hypothetical, of course; we’ll call it my best guess.”
I’d seen this before. It’s not uncommon for killers to give their confession in the third person, recounting the events as if they were observers of, rather than participants in, the crime. Verbally distancing themselves from the crime seems to make it easier for them to confess.
Then Melice stared directly into the two-way mirror. “How does that sound, everyone? Sound like fun?” He knew we were watching and he seemed to relish the attention. This guy would not be easily rattled.
“All right, Neville,” she said. “Tell me what it’s like. I’ve talked to dozens of killers. Let’s see if you can do as well as they did, if you can articulate the experience eloquently enough for me to feel what a killer would feel.”
A slow smile creased Melice’s face. He shook out a cigarette and began to fondle it in his bandaged hands. I wouldn’t have given him the pack, but Detective Dunn apparently had a different strategy.
“Oh, I think you misunderstood me.” He massaged the table with his bandaged hand. “I don’t want you to feel like the killer. I want you to feel like the victim.”
“OK, I’m ready,” she said. “Make me feel like the victim.”
“I’ll do my best.”