of these horrible things you did. Things you have no memory of.'
'It was the brain tumor, huh?'
'I loved my wife!' Fuller's voice cracked. 'I never would have killed her if I knew what I was doing. Jesus, Holly.'
His shoulders sagged. A good actor? Or someone who really felt remorse?
'Why did you ask me here, Fuller? Without lawyers? What did you want to say to me?'
'I wanted to thank you.'
That threw me.
'What?'
'To thank you. For stopping me, before I hurt anyone else. Also, to apologize for shooting you.'
I gave him a once-over.
'Touching, Fuller. I'm deeply touched, really. Your tears make up for all of those women you butchered.'
'I don't remember butchering any women. I'm thankful for that, actually. I don't know if I could live with myself if I remembered.'
'You don't remember Davi McCormick? Cutting off her arms? Putting my handcuffs on her wrists, so your sicko buddy Rushlo could leave them in the morgue?'
Fuller shook his head.
'How about Eileen Hutton? You bit her so hard she was missing chunks of her flesh.'
'Please stop.'
'What did she taste like, Barry? Can you remember that?'
'I can't remember anything.'
Time to get serious.
'I bet you do remember it. I bet you remember what a rush it was, to cut off her head. I bet it gave you such a sense of power and control. You fucked her too, didn't you? Do you remember if it was before or after you yanked out her heart?'
Barry was really putting on a show now, sobbing loudly. But I wasn't buying.
'Drop the act, Barry. I know you're lying. You remember every sick little detail. I bet you jerk off to those memories every night in your lonely little cell. You make me sick. I hope they fry your ass in the chair, tumor or no tumor, you piece of shit.'
When Fuller pulled his hands away from his face, he was grinning. I'd expected anger or outrage, but he looked outright amused.
'You're wearing a wire, aren't you, Lieutenant?'
I didn't reply.
'You want me to be honest, but you won't be honest yourself? Let me see the wire.'
I considered my options. Knowing Barry was faking this seemed more important than proving it. I took out the recorder, then switched it off.
'Fine, Barry. Just you and me. You ready to drop this stupid amnesia ploy and come clean?'
Fuller closed his eyes and clasped his hands together, as if in prayer. Then he lifted his arm and rubbed his face on his sleeve, back and forth.
'Onions.' He blew his nose. 'Under my fingernails. Instant tears, courtesy of the wonderful chicken soup served up nice and hot by the Department of Corrections. Pretty good performance, huh? Anything I need to improve before I give it in court?'
I felt myself get very cold.
'How much do you remember, Barry?'
'I remember everything, Jack.'
'The murders?'
'Every detail. And you were right. At night, when I'm all alone in my cell, I abuse myself thinking about them. Spit and a fist are a poor substitute for a bleeding, screaming whore. But I have to make do until they let me out.'
He made a kissy face and winked at me. My stomach rolled over, and I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.
'So there was no reason for this? Just bloodlust?'
'Just bloodlust? You say that like you're disappointed. What's a better reason for murder than that? Money? Revenge? Lust is so much purer.'
'So you're a sociopath.'
'Actually, no. I've had a lot of time in here to read, sort things out. According to the DSM IV, I suffer from disorganized episodic aggression. I feel empathy, I just choose to ignore it to get high.'
'High on killing?'
