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“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Sean.
“Just that things change.”
“Come on, Murdock, you’re among friends. What’s so special about Roy? Why do you care about the guy so much?”
“Six bodies.”
“Jeffery Dahmer had a lot more than that and I didn’t see the Bureau flying around the country stirring up trouble.”
“Every case is its own kingdom.”
Michelle smirked. “So now you’re a poet?”
“You folks have a productive day.” Murdock walked off.
At the inn, after Megan went to her room, Sean and Michelle sat in the small front parlor.
“When I mentioned Kelly Paul’s name to Roy?”
“I didn’t know you did. I couldn’t hear what you said.”
“That was intentional in case they were recording. But when I did say the name, I got a reaction. It wasn’t much, but there was a slight jerk of the head, a tiny widening of the eyes.”
“You really think he understood you?”
“I really do. And that’s not all. The same thing happened when I mentioned Judy Stevens.”
“So he is faking? Why would he do that? To keep from going to trial? That’s a long shot. He can’t be a zombie forever.”
“I’m not sure it’s just to keep from going to trial.”
“What other motivation would he have?”
“If we answer that question, we answer pretty much everything.”
CHAPTER
32
EDGAR ROY SAT in his cell. He had assumed the usual position. Long legs splayed out, his back at a comfortable angle against the metal chair that was bolted to the floor. He fixed his gaze on the far end of the ceiling. It was six inches to the right of the back wall and four inches from the wall perpendicular to that. Roy imagined that spot to represent a crossroads of sorts. There was actual comfort for him in that tiny piece of concrete.
Over his shoulder a camera recessed into the wall behind a protective transparent shield watched his every move, not that there were any moves. A listening device embedded in the wall recorded everything he said, not that he had said anything since coming here.
Lesser minds might not have been able to pull this off, at least over a long period of time. But one thing Roy had always been good at was losing himself within his mind. For him, his brain was a very interesting place to be lost. He could entertain himself endlessly with memories, puzzles, and assorted contemplations.
He’d begun thinking about his earliest recollections going forward in exact chronological order. His first memory had been at eighteen months. His mother had spanked him for closing the door on the cat. He remembered exactly what she had said, the shriek of the cat, the cat’s name—Charlie—the song being played on the radio when it had happened. Colors, smells, sounds. Everything. It had always been that way for him. Other people complained that they couldn’t remember where they had been yesterday, or that long-ago memories just wouldn’t come to mind anymore. Roy had the opposite problem. He had never been able to forget anything, no matter how trivial, no matter if he wanted to forget it or not. It was there. It was all there.
I can never forget anything.
Over the years he had come to terms with this ability. He had learned to compartmentalize it all in discrete places in his mind, which seemed to have limitless space, able to elasticize when he needed it to, like putting in another USB memory stick or a zip drive. He could recall it instantly if need be, but he didn’t have to think about it until he wanted to.
He had never sought notoriety for this special ability. Indeed, growing up he’d always been considered a freak because of the way his mind worked. Consequently, he’d tried to hide his special talents rather than flout them. Then, conversely, people who knew of his gifts had always called him an underachiever.
It was easy to label someone, he felt, until you walked in his shoes. But no one could ever truly walk in his shoes.
Since the camera was behind him he was able to move his eyes and alight on a different spot on the ceiling. He forgot about being eighteen months old, about the spanking and the shrieking cat.
His sister.
