The Mermaid Murders (The Art of Murder 1)

That was not insanity. It was pure evil. There was a difference. A big difference.

You couldn’t stand in the presence of that indifferent malevolence and not be affected. Or at least Jason couldn’t. Kennedy was clearly made of tougher stuff given he had made the pursuit and capture of creatures like Pink his life’s work.

“When?” he asked reluctantly.

“Today. Now,” Kennedy said.

“Now?”

If Kennedy heard the note of dismay, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Right, and this time we’re going to try a different angle,” he said. “One more suited to your personality.”

“My personality? What does that mean? What’s my personality?”

Kennedy wasn’t exactly smiling, but his mouth had a wry curve. “You’re curious, imaginative, and have a flair for the dramatic. You like to talk, you’re a born smartass, and you get bored following a script.”

“The hell,” objected Jason. Flair for the dramatic? Born smartass? “You’ve known me all of two days!”

Kennedy shrugged. “It’s what I do. Remember?”

“How could I forget, O Oracle of Quantico?”

Kennedy grinned, and Jason, hearing his words, curled his lip.

“You sure you don’t want to go yourself?” Jason said after they parked in the visitors’ lot. He stared at the long, white, forbidding-looking building. “You’d probably get more out of him.”

“It’s tempting.” Jason realized Kennedy wasn’t joking. “I don’t want to give him that.” His mouth quirked a little. “I have every confidence in you, Agent West.”

“Sure you do,” Jason said dryly. “But thanks.”

He was startled when Kennedy reached over and gave his shoulder a quick, hard squeeze. As gestures of affection went that fell somewhere between buck up, little buckaroo and see you on the other side.

Which was actually kind of embarrassing because the last thing he wanted Kennedy to think was that he was having trouble with this—or worse, that he was afraid. When he glanced at Kennedy, Kennedy was staring out the windshield, frowning at his own thoughts, and Jason had already been dismissed.

Jason got out of the car and headed for the visitors’ entrance.

* * * * *

Pink was smiling as the interview room door closed behind Jason. He looked almost genial although the cold look in his eyes never changed. “What can I do you for, Special Agent Mulder?”

Kennedy had two instructions for round two with Pink: go with your gut, and keep him guessing.

“Let’s quit playing games. You know why I’m here,” Jason said.

Just for an instant Pink looked confused. That was a good thing, of course. That was what they wanted. Jason had spent the entire walk from the car to this room trying to think of ways to keep Pink off-balance. He just wished he didn’t feel equally off-balance.

He said briskly, “What can you tell us about the Huntsman?”

Pink stared at him without blinking.

Again Jason was struck by how unnaturally calm and focused Pink seemed for someone who had spent years with almost no human contact. He displayed none of the behaviors prisoners who spent extended periods in the special segregated units typically exhibited. No trouble meeting Jason’s eyes, no trouble sitting still, and certainly no fear. No fear at being out of his cell and no fear of Jason.

“You look familiar,” Pink said suddenly. “Do I know you?”

Jason asked coldly, “Do you?”

He remembered Pink. Not well. Remembered watching him fish along the banks of Holyoke Pond. Remembered joking with Honey that he only seemed to turn up on the days she was the scheduled lifeguard, never on Jason’s days. An odd guy. A guy you kept your distance from. Not someone you were afraid of. Not someone you thought about enough to be afraid of.

He could not afford to remember these things now.