Page 132 of Chameleon Killer

You’re welcome.

“So, you’re not the person I dubbed the Auditor, but you are the person behind a pattern of behavior that I associated with the bodies being dropped in a current investigation.” Not my best wording, but I would go with it. “Do I have that part correct?”

Behavior does not require a name to exist.

I leaned forward. “Semantics.”

No. It’s specificity.

I rolled my eyes and then leaned back in the chair, arms folded as I studied the ceiling. Was he being obstreperous on purpose or just specific? He split hairs, all the way down to the fine print.

Could it be an OCD response? Something on the spectrum? Or simply covering his ass?

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Ms. McBryan?

I caught the words from the corner of my eye and held up one finger to ask for more time as I considered each exchange we’d shared up to this one.

After another deep breath, I dropped my folded arms and leaned forward.

“So, you’re saying the name is wrong?”

I’m saying the name belongs to you.

I blinked.

Not to me.

The second line came before I could really say anything.

“Okay. Then who am I speaking with?”

The cursor disappeared. It returned with four words.

Who do you think?

I stared at the screen then up at the ceiling for a moment as the cursor blinked. Then another line appeared.

You’re hesitating.

“I’m thinking,” I corrected and another smile quirked the corners of my mouth. “Since we’re being specific.”

Correct.

You also studied the ceiling for 6.3 seconds.

I laughed. The chuckle escaping before I could even consider the consequences of the humor. “You counted?”

I observed you.

I rested my elbows on the desk and even as I studied the monitor, I wished it was the man—or woman, though I was fairly certain the Auditor was male—sitting in front of me. There were no tells with a blank monitor. No way to measure responses.