Page 10 of Tell Me Your Lies

“Do you know how many doctors have asked me how it makes me feel? As if they don’t understand when I know darn well they do. They’re men, aren’t they? Well, most are. You’re the first female shrink I’ve seen.” His chains clink. “I hope you come again.”

“I’m not a shrink.” The FBI agent moves around and the sound of her clothes rustling is evident. “I’m a behavioral analyst. I research the reasons people are the way they are and offer advice on how to deal with problems. I’m what used to be called a profiler. Now, go on, tell me what you feel when you murder someone. Do you look back and regret anything?”

“No man likes to be rejected and I don’t believe a woman, once she’s advertised, has the right to reject a man.” There’s a long pause and I stare at the silent screen in my vehicle. Barnes drops his voice. “Yeah, I do regret not killing the last one. They wouldn’t have caught me. My DNA wasn’t on record.”

My hands shake on the steering wheel. This man could be my father and he’s talking about murdering my mother. I can’t stop listening. No matter how difficult, I must know the truth.

“I’ll ask you again. How does killing make you feel? Do you kill in a fit of anger?” The FBI agent clears her throat. “I find it hard to believe you kill women and don’t feel anything.”

“Now let me ask you a question.” He sighs. “How does it make you feel when you’re eating a slice of your favorite pie or savoring a glass of the finest wine? Does it make you fly into a rage?”

“No. It makes me feel relaxed, happy and contented.”

“There, you’ve answered your own question.” Barnes’ handcuffs clink on the table. “I enjoyed it so much, I’d act like a pig to make them reject me. It became like the candy you craved as a kid. All week, at school, waiting for the bell to ring so I could go to the store on Fridays and my pa would buy me a candy bar. I’d eat it slow to make it last. The women and killing them were like that candy bar.”

“You say you craved them but tossed them away like trash on the side of the highway. Don’t you ever think about them and what you’ve done?”

My skin crawls as I hear his snort. He is laughing at her and playing a cat and mouse game. His voice is so smooth and conversational. It’s hard to grasp that he is talking about murder.

“I enjoy them at the time but when I’m done, it’s like eating the candy. I toss the wrapper.” His voice becomes darker. “Do you think about the burger wrapper you tossed in the trash? It’s the same thing. You enjoyed the burger, so why think about the trash? It’s self-explanatory and you seem like a smart woman.”

There’s a rustle of papers before the FBI agent speaks again.

“During your trial, you said you couldn’t remember most of the women you were accused of murdering, although you didn’t deny meeting them. Why is that?”

“When I go to a restaurant and have an enjoyable meal, I recall the name of the restaurant and go back often.” Barnes chuckles. “Not so much the others. Some of them are imprinted in my mind and I can recall them just fine. Others are like cold pizza.”

I stop the recording, unable to go on. I need to compose myself. The man I’m meeting, the person who fathered me, is a monster. How he sat there calmly describing the women he murdered as if they were fine wine or cold pizza chills me to the bone. I carry his genes and it frightens the hell out of me.

FIFTEEN

The long drive has exhausted me but eating and then drinking a few cups of strong coffee have made me more determined than ever to discover my mother’s name. The GPS tells me that the prison is another half a mile away. It’s difficult to miss. It looms in the distance like a stain on the countryside. It’s surrounded by high walls topped with razor wire and I can see guards with guns peering from the watchtowers. As I drive into the parking lot the blacktop shimmers under the baking Florida sun. I step out and push my hat on my head. The noise from cicadas is almost deafening and the atmosphere around me is depressing. I scan the area and notice a squat building with the sign VISITORS in tall letters. I go inside and note the sudden drop in temperature. Immediately a corrections officer demands my ID and confirms my pre-approval for a visit. He looks me over and a smile quirks the side of his mouth. It’s as if he’s already made up his mind why I’m here. I’ve read about women who are attracted to murderers and maybe he figures I’m one of the same.

I ignore him and head to a waiting area. It’s a sterile-looking room. Along one side vending machines offer snacks and the chairs are bolted to the floor. Above, fluorescent lights buzz and flicker. A corrections officer, this time a woman, demands I place all my personal items into a bag. My heart races as she pats me down searching for weapons. I’m escorted through a series of very heavy doors that clang shut behind me. This has suddenly got serious.

“You’ll be allowed a non-contact visit.” The corrections officer might as well be a robot for all the emotion she shows. “Pick up the phone to speak to the inmate and if you want to leave before the end of the visit press the red button by the door.”

My hands are trembling but I meet her gaze and nod.

“You look like a scared rabbit.” She shakes her head. “Why are you bothering to visit this animal?”

I stare at my hands. “It’s personal.”

“That’s what they all say.” She opens the door and waves me through.

I step into a booth and the smell of disinfectant burns my nostrils. Before me is a chair positioned in front of a glass panel. Hanging on the wall is a black phone receiver. Suddenly the idea of touching the phone with the mouthpiece so close makes me wish they had allowed me to bring in a pack of sterile wipes. Sucking in a deep breath, I sit down and stare into the empty space. Waves of nausea roll over me and my stomach cramps in fear. The door opens and a man wearing an orange jumpsuit, with his hands and feet in shackles, shuffles toward the chair and sits. He lifts the phone and so do I. It crackles and I wait for him to speak first.

“Oh, I like young ones.” Barnes’ syrupy voice runs over me like acid. He smiles and his eyes twinkle. “Do you think you can change me too? They all say that, you know, the ones that come to visit.”

I stare at him trying to make out any resemblance. He must be fifty and appears to be about five ten. His dark hair is streaked with white and mine is a dirty blonde. His eyes are blue and so are mine, and the same shape. I note he has a long straight nose where mine turns up at the end. Maybe I got that from my mother? I have interviewed so many people over the years and yet suddenly I’m struck dumb. All the questions I wanted to ask him seem to be stuck in my throat. I gather my courage. “I’m your daughter.” I wait for a reaction and only see his eyes widen slightly. He doesn’t know I exist. “My mother was your last victim, the one who survived and testified against you. I came to see you because I want to know her name. It’s not in the court documents. It’s been redacted.”

“You have her mouth.” A wide grin spreads across his face. “You don’t get anything for nothing in this world, missy. What will you do for me for the information?”

He is trying to get control over me but after reading about people like him I understand what he’s trying to do. You can’t reason with a psychopath. “Nothing. I’ll leave now if you’d like or I can maybe come back and visit you. I don’t believe any of your family ever have since they discovered you’re a serial killer.” I push my chair back as if ready to leave.

“If you have a good life, you shouldn’t pursue her.” Barnes leans in closer to the glass partition, his eyes growing cold. This is no longer a game for him. He looks like a predator. “She was very young and out flaunting her body for any man who had ten bucks in his pocket. Likely she’s killed herself with drugs by now. As your pa, I advise you not to chase her because it will only make life bad for you.”

The way he is looking at me terrifies me. I know now how a mouse feels just before a cat pounces. “I want her name. If she is in trouble, I am in a position to help her.”