She arched her eyebrows to put him on notice that his words didn’t shock or discomfit her. She’d heard far worse. By the time the psychopaths she worked with came into her sphere of influence, intimidation was the only string they had left to play on, so they became masters at it. “On the other hand, there are plenty of places to hide a body.”
A wry smile twisted his lips. “Now you’re speaking my language.” He clasped his hands in his lap. “Tell me something...”
She perched on the edge of her chair. “What’s that?”
“Do you really think you can do it?”
“Do what?”
“Figure me out. Explain why I like to kill—why I’d do it again if I could.”
“We’ll never know the answer to that question unless I try. And you might be encouraged to hear that there will be certain benefits to moving to your new home. You won’t be locked up in your cell ninety-nine percent of the time, for one.”
“Because I’ll be doing what?”
“There will be an abundance of studies and other activities for you to participate in, many of which will offer incentives that could make your time in prison easier than it would be here.”
He didn’t respond right away. He studied her for a few seconds. Then he said, “Will I get to spend much time with you?”
She felt the creeping sensation he, no doubt, hoped to inspire. She often became a focal point of her patients, especially these sorts of patients. But that type of thing came with the territory. “Most likely. Dr. Timothy Fitzpatrick, also a psychiatrist, is lending his support to the project. He and I will head up a team of seven psychologists. With only a little over two hundred subjects, there will be a reasonable ratio of mental health providers to inmates.” She hoped both her team and the number of psychopaths in the study would grow with time, that the breadth and scope of her studies would one day become quite extensive, but she had to start somewhere—and this was her shot.
His gaze slid down, over her breasts and hips as if she stood before him naked. She wore a skirt, blouse and heels. She’d gotten blood on the only suit she’d brought to California when she hit her head last time, or she would’ve worn it again. Typically, she tried to avoid anything that showed her legs. She received enough sexual interest from the men she studied as it was. She didn’t care to encourage that—although it was inevitable no matter what she wore. They didn’t come into contact with many women, especially women under the age of forty.
“I have to admit, it’s beginning to sound interesting,” he said. “But may I ask what, exactly, you’re studying, Dr. Talbot?”
Dr. Talbot? He’d switched tactics. She got the impression that he was trying to charm her, trying to engage her beyond the usual scope of the interview. But she was equally curious about him, so she was willing to play along—to a point. “All aspects of behavior, but… speech patterns would be a specific example.”
“Because…?”
“The patterns of those who score high on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist—men like yourself—tend to combine words differently than others. I find those differences fascinating and would like to see if I can establish more of a link, discover why.”
He rolled his eyes as if that sounded positively boring. “Who cares about speech?”
“I do. It could lead us to other discoveries.” Studies had already shown that psychopaths sometimes had difficulty monitoring their speech...
“You’re willing to risk your life to figure out why I speak differently than you?”
“Someone’s got to do it.”
He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Good Lord, you’re foolhardy. Can you imagine what might happen with so many ruthless killers under one roof?”
She’d been confronted with these scare tactics before—not only from the psychopaths themselves, but from her detractors in the media. “There will be plenty of security, I assure you.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head as if she didn’t quite get it. “All it takes is one breach, and...it’ll be a bloodbath.”
Evelyn folded her arms. “The potential alone should fill you with excitement. Have I convinced you? Are you now eager to join me in Alaska?”
The corners of his lips turned up. “Absolutely.”
Chapter 3
Jasper Moore had changed his identity several times over the years. He now went by the name Andy Smith, which was far more common and unremarkable than “Jasper.” He’d changed his face, too. Considerably. So considerably that sometimes he regretted the surgery. But he’d probably be in prison right now if he hadn’t taken advantage of what his parents had afforded him.