Let the Devil Sleep

you.”

Gurney took a deep breath, trying to defuse his irritation at her irritation. “What’s bothering me is that there are a lot of elements in the case and they all have to be interpreted in a particular way in order to support the overarching narrative. And I get the impression that it’s the narrative that’s driving the interpretation of its elements, rather than the other way around.” Rather than the way a sane, objective, reliable analysis should be conducted, he was tempted to add but didn’t.

Holdenfield hesitated. “Be more specific.”

“There are obvious questions raised by each data point, each bit of evidence, each fact. The answers to all of them appear to be coming from the investigative premise instead of the investigative premise coming from the answers to the questions.”

“You call that being more specific?”

“Okay. Questions. Why only Mercedeses? Why stop at six? Why a Desert Eagle? Why more than one Desert Eagle? Why the little plastic animals? Why the manifesto? Why the combination of cool rational argument with hot religious language? Why the rigid repetition of-”

Holdenfield broke in, sounding exasperated. “David, each of those issues has been examined and discussed in detail-every one of them. The answers are clear, they make perfect sense, they form a coherent picture. I really don’t understand your point at all.”

“So you’re telling me that there was never a competing investigative premise?”

“There was never any basis for one. What the hell is your problem here?”

“Can you picture him?”

“Picture who?”

“The Good Shepherd.”

“Can I picture him? I don’t know. Is that a meaningful question?”

“I think so. What’s your answer?”

“My answer is that I don’t agree that it’s meaningful.”

“It sounds to me like you can’t picture him. Neither can I. Which makes me think there may be contradictions in the profile that are screwing up the gut-level process of imagining a face. Of course, he might be a woman. A woman strong enough to handle a Desert Eagle. Or he might be more than one person. But we’ll put that aside for now.”

“A woman? That’s absurd.”

“No time to argue that right now. I have one last question for you. Amid all the professional consensus, did you or any of your forensic-psych colleagues or anyone at the Behavioral Analysis Unit ever disagree among yourselves about anything in the case hypothesis?”

“Of course we did. There are always diverse opinions, differences in emphasis.”

“For example?”

“For example, the concept of pattern resonance emphasizes the transference of energy from an original trauma into a current situation-which makes the current manifestation essentially an inanimate vehicle that is given life by the past. The application of the imitation-instinct paradigm would give the current situation a greater validity of its own. It’s a repetition of a past pattern, but it does have life and energy of its own. Another concept that might apply is the transgenerational transmission of violence theory, which is a traditional learned-behavior model. There was ample discussion of all those ideas.”

Gurney laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“I can picture you guys staring out at a palm tree on the horizon and debating the number of coconuts on it.”

“Your point being?”

“What if the palm tree itself is a mirage? A group delusion?”

“David, if anyone in this conversation is delusional, it’s not me. Is that it for the questions?”

“Who benefits from the existing hypothesis?”

“What?”

“Who benefits from the-”

“I heard you. What the hell do you mean?”

“I have this sense of a sticky synergy connecting the facts of the case with the weak points of FBI methodology and the career dynamics of the professional forensic community.”

“I can’t believe you said that. I really can’t. It’s so insulting. Look, I’m about to hang up on you. I’ll give you one chance to explain yourself before I do. Speak to me. Quickly.”

“Rebecca, we all fool ourselves from time to time. God knows I do. There’s no insult intended in my observation about this. When you look at the Good Shepherd case, you see a simple story of a brilliant psycho whose buried rage has found tragic expression in his attacks on symbols of wealth and power. When I look at the same case, I’m not sure what I see-maybe a case that people shouldn’t be as sure about as they seem to be. That’s all. I just think too many conclusions have been reached-and embraced-too quickly.”

“And where does that take you?”

“I don’t know where it takes me. But it does make me curious.”

“Curious like Max Clinter?”

“Is that a real question?”

“Oh, definitely a real question.”

“At least Max understands that the case isn’t nearly as sewn up as you and your FBI buddies think it is. At least he understands that there could be another connection among the victims beyond the fact of Mercedes ownership.”

“David, what do you have against the FBI?”

“Sometimes they get carried away by their way of doing things, their way of making decisions, their obsession with control, their process.”

“The simple reality is, they’re excellent at what they do. They’re smart, objective, disciplined, receptive to good ideas.”

“Does that mean they pay your consultancy fees on time without complaining?”

“Is that supposed to be just another observation with no insult intended?”

“It’s an observation that we tend to see the good in people who see the good in us.”

“You know, David, you’re so full of shit you ought to be a lawyer.”

He laughed. “That’s funny. I like that. But I’ll tell you something. If I were a lawyer, I’d like to have the Good Shepherd as a client. Because I have a feeling that the FBI concept of the case is about as solid as smoke in the wind. In fact, I’m getting kind of itchy to prove it.”

“I see. Lots of luck with that.”

The connection was broken.

Gurney slipped his phone back into his pocket, his unusually aggressive tone echoing in his head. Slowly his gaze moved to the far landscape. All that was left of the sunset was a purplish smudge across the gray sky, like a darkening bruise above the line of hills.

“Who was that?” The voice was Kim’s.

He turned around. She, Madeleine, and Kyle were still sitting at the table, their eyes on him. They all looked concerned, Kim more than the others.

“A forensic psychologist who’s written a lot about the Good Shepherd case and consulted with the FBI on other serial-killer issues.”

“What are you… what are you doing?” There was a pressure in her lowered voice, as though she were furious and trying not to show it.

“I want to know everything there is to know about the case.”

“What was all that stuff about everybody’s understanding of it being wrong?”

“Not wrong necessarily, just poorly supported by the facts.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I already told you Rudy Getz is going ahead with my documentary, with the set of test interviews I did. Rudy wants to use the raw footage I shot with my own camera. He says it