anger this time.
‘The reality is, life doesn’t treat everyone equally, my friend. I’m sure you know that.’
Hunter was uncertain of what Lucien was really talking about, so he waited.
Lucien’s gaze quickly moved to the cameras on the ceiling, and then to the large two-way mirror just behind Hunter. He knew he was being recorded. He knew that nothing he said would be private to only Hunter and himself, and for the briefest of moments he looked embarrassed.
Hunter picked up on his friend’s sudden discomfiture, followed his stare, but there was nothing he could do about others listening in. This was the FBI’s show, not his. He gave Lucien a moment.
‘After I left Stanford, I made a few mistakes,’ Lucien said. Paused. Rethought his words. ‘Actually I made quite a few mistakes. Some of them very bad.’ He finally looked back at Hunter. ‘I guess I should start from the beginning.’
Seventeen
For some reason, Lucien’s words had an atmospheric chilling effect, as if all of a sudden someone had switched on an air-conditioner unit inside the interrogation room.
Hunter felt the awkward chill trickle down his neck and travel down his spine, but held steady.
Lucien had another sip of his water, and as he did so, the look in his eyes became melancholic.
‘I met a woman during my second year at Yale,’ he began. ‘Her name was Karen. She was British, from a place called Gravesend, in southeast England. Have you heard of it?’
Hunter nodded.
‘I hadn’t,’ Lucien said. ‘I had to look it up. Anyway, Karen was . . .’ He considered what to really say. ‘. . . different from what most people would expect a Yale PhD student to be like . . . or look like.’
‘Different?’ Hunter asked.
‘In every aspect. She was a free spirit, if you believe people can be such things. You remember the kind of girls I used to go for, right?’
Hunter nodded again, but said nothing, allowing his old friend to carry on uninterrupted.
‘Karen was nothing like any of them.’ A timid smile parted his lips. ‘When we met, she was forty-two. I was twenty-five.’
Hunter had started taking mental notes.
‘She was five-foot-one. A whole twelve inches shorter than me . . . and curvy.’
Hunter remembered that Lucien used to be attracted only to tall, slim women – five-foot-ten or over, with a lithe, dancer’s body.
‘She also had quite a few tattoos,’ Lucien continued. ‘A lip piercing, a nose piercing, her left ear was stretched to a full centimeter, and she had this Bettie Page-style fringe.’
This time it was hard for Hunter not to show surprise.
‘I thought you didn’t like tattoos.’
‘I don’t. And I don’t much care for facial piercings either. But there was just something about Karen. Something I can’t really explain. Something that grabbed hold of me and didn’t let go.’ Another sip of his water. ‘We started dating just a few months after we met. It’s funny how life is always full of surprises, isn’t it? Karen looked nothing like any of the girls I used to go for, she didn’t act like them either, but nevertheless, she was the one I fell head over heels for.’ Lucien paused and looked away. ‘I guess I can say that I was truly in love.’
Hunter saw a muscle flex on his friend’s jaw.
‘She was a very sweet woman,’ Lucien said. ‘And we got along fantastically well. We did everything together. Went everywhere together. Spent every second together. She became my haven, my heaven, my heart. I was living a dream, but there was one problem.’
Hunter waited.
‘Karen had gotten involved with some very bad people.’
‘What kind of bad?’ Hunter asked.
‘Drugs bad,’ Lucien said. ‘The kind of bad you don’t mess with, unless you’ve grown tired of this life and feel like exiting it in a very violent way.’ He finished the rest of his water in three large gulps before crushing the paper cup in his right hand.
Hunter took note of his friend’s silent angry
‘The reality is, life doesn’t treat everyone equally, my friend. I’m sure you know that.’
Hunter was uncertain of what Lucien was really talking about, so he waited.
Lucien’s gaze quickly moved to the cameras on the ceiling, and then to the large two-way mirror just behind Hunter. He knew he was being recorded. He knew that nothing he said would be private to only Hunter and himself, and for the briefest of moments he looked embarrassed.
Hunter picked up on his friend’s sudden discomfiture, followed his stare, but there was nothing he could do about others listening in. This was the FBI’s show, not his. He gave Lucien a moment.
‘After I left Stanford, I made a few mistakes,’ Lucien said. Paused. Rethought his words. ‘Actually I made quite a few mistakes. Some of them very bad.’ He finally looked back at Hunter. ‘I guess I should start from the beginning.’
Seventeen
For some reason, Lucien’s words had an atmospheric chilling effect, as if all of a sudden someone had switched on an air-conditioner unit inside the interrogation room.
Hunter felt the awkward chill trickle down his neck and travel down his spine, but held steady.
Lucien had another sip of his water, and as he did so, the look in his eyes became melancholic.
‘I met a woman during my second year at Yale,’ he began. ‘Her name was Karen. She was British, from a place called Gravesend, in southeast England. Have you heard of it?’
Hunter nodded.
‘I hadn’t,’ Lucien said. ‘I had to look it up. Anyway, Karen was . . .’ He considered what to really say. ‘. . . different from what most people would expect a Yale PhD student to be like . . . or look like.’
‘Different?’ Hunter asked.
‘In every aspect. She was a free spirit, if you believe people can be such things. You remember the kind of girls I used to go for, right?’
Hunter nodded again, but said nothing, allowing his old friend to carry on uninterrupted.
‘Karen was nothing like any of them.’ A timid smile parted his lips. ‘When we met, she was forty-two. I was twenty-five.’
Hunter had started taking mental notes.
‘She was five-foot-one. A whole twelve inches shorter than me . . . and curvy.’
Hunter remembered that Lucien used to be attracted only to tall, slim women – five-foot-ten or over, with a lithe, dancer’s body.
‘She also had quite a few tattoos,’ Lucien continued. ‘A lip piercing, a nose piercing, her left ear was stretched to a full centimeter, and she had this Bettie Page-style fringe.’
This time it was hard for Hunter not to show surprise.
‘I thought you didn’t like tattoos.’
‘I don’t. And I don’t much care for facial piercings either. But there was just something about Karen. Something I can’t really explain. Something that grabbed hold of me and didn’t let go.’ Another sip of his water. ‘We started dating just a few months after we met. It’s funny how life is always full of surprises, isn’t it? Karen looked nothing like any of the girls I used to go for, she didn’t act like them either, but nevertheless, she was the one I fell head over heels for.’ Lucien paused and looked away. ‘I guess I can say that I was truly in love.’
Hunter saw a muscle flex on his friend’s jaw.
‘She was a very sweet woman,’ Lucien said. ‘And we got along fantastically well. We did everything together. Went everywhere together. Spent every second together. She became my haven, my heaven, my heart. I was living a dream, but there was one problem.’
Hunter waited.
‘Karen had gotten involved with some very bad people.’
‘What kind of bad?’ Hunter asked.
‘Drugs bad,’ Lucien said. ‘The kind of bad you don’t mess with, unless you’ve grown tired of this life and feel like exiting it in a very violent way.’ He finished the rest of his water in three large gulps before crushing the paper cup in his right hand.
Hunter took note of his friend’s silent angry
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