Read Online Crime Zero by Michael Cordy - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Cordy
Tags: Fiction, Medical, Thrillers, Espionage, Technology, Technological, Free Will and Determinism, Criminal psychology
Ads: Link
Sausalito, just to take his mind off things.
He was still reeling at Axelman's claim. What the hell was he playing at? Decker had tried to challenge him afterward, but he'd begun screaming again and frozen up, so Rosenblum had stopped the interview.
Obviously it couldn't be true. Axelman was either demented or playing stupid mind games. Killing time before his killing time. But however much Decker tried to dismiss what he'd been told, the notion still stirred something deep and disturbing within him.
Eighteen months ago, when his mother had died, he had been working simultaneously on six particularly gruesome cases. He had been in Buffalo, New York, when his grandfather Matty Rheiman called to give him the news. Apparently his mother had died quickly, but her last words had been "I want to see my son before I die." It was only when he touched her cold face in the mortuary the next day that he realized how late he was. Decker had been so busy he hadn't made time to see her for almost nine months. He still wore the guilt like a cold vest.
His grandfather, a mild man, had reproached him at the time. "What's with you, Luke? Your mother needed you, yet you never visited. It's like you prefer to spend time chasing after your killers."
Matty had immediately apologized, but his words had struck home. The idea that he might enjoy inhabiting the minds of murderers terrified Decker. The notion that he empathized with the evil in others because he possessed it too was abhorrent. Combined with physical overwork and guilt, this thought had contributed to a breakdown. It had taken being institutionalized and more sessions than he cared to remember with the gentle Dr. Sarah Quirke at the Sanctuary to soothe his frazzled brain. Until then Decker had always believed there was a mental firewall between his own mind and the inflamed minds he hunted, that the evil he pursued in others was somehow separate from him.
When he was younger, he'd challenged his mother about his fascination with the darker side. But she had quickly reassured him, telling him that he was perfectly normal and that his father had been just like him. That was why Captain Richard Decker was such a good interrogator, his mother used to say. He knew the questions to ask the enemy because he could think like them.
But what if Richard Decker hadn't been his father? What if his inherited gift for understanding the darker side in others came from a more sinister source?
Even though he tried to dismiss these thoughts, they remained. He kept thinking of Wayne Tice and his family tree and remembering how he'd scoffed at Kathy's theory of inherited evil.
After getting out of the car, Decker approached the house. He wondered if he should have phoned ahead to let Matty know he was coming, but there was something almost childlike in his grandfather's enjoyment at seeing him when he least expected it. He seemed delighted that Decker had taken to dropping by since his mother's death, as if this house were still his home rather than some hotel where he needed to make reservations in advance. As he neared the front door, he heard the sound of the sweetest music coming from a room upstairs. Decker could picture his grandfather standing in the music room on the middle floor, violin on his shoulder; his gnarled fingers shaped by years of playing curled around the instrument. The large windows would be wide open, a breeze blowing in from the bay as if summoned by his playing.
Opening the front door, which was rarely locked, Decker entered the spacious hallway. Rhoda, the live-in housekeeper who looked after Matty, greeted him from the living room. She was a large woman with a larger smile and had been with Matty ever since his wife died twelve years ago.
"Luke, what a great surprise," she said, coming over to give him a hug. "He's upstairs," she whispered with a conspiratorial wink. "Come, give me your things."
"Thanks, Rhoda. Good to see you."
Decker handed over his old tote bag and
He was still reeling at Axelman's claim. What the hell was he playing at? Decker had tried to challenge him afterward, but he'd begun screaming again and frozen up, so Rosenblum had stopped the interview.
Obviously it couldn't be true. Axelman was either demented or playing stupid mind games. Killing time before his killing time. But however much Decker tried to dismiss what he'd been told, the notion still stirred something deep and disturbing within him.
Eighteen months ago, when his mother had died, he had been working simultaneously on six particularly gruesome cases. He had been in Buffalo, New York, when his grandfather Matty Rheiman called to give him the news. Apparently his mother had died quickly, but her last words had been "I want to see my son before I die." It was only when he touched her cold face in the mortuary the next day that he realized how late he was. Decker had been so busy he hadn't made time to see her for almost nine months. He still wore the guilt like a cold vest.
His grandfather, a mild man, had reproached him at the time. "What's with you, Luke? Your mother needed you, yet you never visited. It's like you prefer to spend time chasing after your killers."
Matty had immediately apologized, but his words had struck home. The idea that he might enjoy inhabiting the minds of murderers terrified Decker. The notion that he empathized with the evil in others because he possessed it too was abhorrent. Combined with physical overwork and guilt, this thought had contributed to a breakdown. It had taken being institutionalized and more sessions than he cared to remember with the gentle Dr. Sarah Quirke at the Sanctuary to soothe his frazzled brain. Until then Decker had always believed there was a mental firewall between his own mind and the inflamed minds he hunted, that the evil he pursued in others was somehow separate from him.
When he was younger, he'd challenged his mother about his fascination with the darker side. But she had quickly reassured him, telling him that he was perfectly normal and that his father had been just like him. That was why Captain Richard Decker was such a good interrogator, his mother used to say. He knew the questions to ask the enemy because he could think like them.
But what if Richard Decker hadn't been his father? What if his inherited gift for understanding the darker side in others came from a more sinister source?
Even though he tried to dismiss these thoughts, they remained. He kept thinking of Wayne Tice and his family tree and remembering how he'd scoffed at Kathy's theory of inherited evil.
After getting out of the car, Decker approached the house. He wondered if he should have phoned ahead to let Matty know he was coming, but there was something almost childlike in his grandfather's enjoyment at seeing him when he least expected it. He seemed delighted that Decker had taken to dropping by since his mother's death, as if this house were still his home rather than some hotel where he needed to make reservations in advance. As he neared the front door, he heard the sound of the sweetest music coming from a room upstairs. Decker could picture his grandfather standing in the music room on the middle floor, violin on his shoulder; his gnarled fingers shaped by years of playing curled around the instrument. The large windows would be wide open, a breeze blowing in from the bay as if summoned by his playing.
Opening the front door, which was rarely locked, Decker entered the spacious hallway. Rhoda, the live-in housekeeper who looked after Matty, greeted him from the living room. She was a large woman with a larger smile and had been with Matty ever since his wife died twelve years ago.
"Luke, what a great surprise," she said, coming over to give him a hug. "He's upstairs," she whispered with a conspiratorial wink. "Come, give me your things."
"Thanks, Rhoda. Good to see you."
Decker handed over his old tote bag and
Similar Books
