“You said your father found a home for you, that he wanted you to be raised by good and loving people. Psychopaths don’t act out of empathy or goodwill.” She paused. “It can sometimes appear that way, but they’re really just doing something that benefits their ego, or makes them appear empathetic. They’re very manipulative.” She furrowed her brow. “But I can’t see how putting forth the effort to find you a good home would benefit him. I would expect someone with a psychopathic mind to rid himself of what would be more of a problem for him than anything.” She delivered the last sentence hesitantly, as though gauging his reaction.
“You’re not wrong,” he said. “My biological father suffered a traumatic background, not unlike what you experienced.” He held her gaze for a moment. “But does it matter? Is it some sort of solace to his victims’ families that he was really, really sad, and that’s why he took their daughter, or sister, or friend away from them as he went on a sadistic killing spree?”
“No, of course not. Just like what you said to me about my brother, I’m not saying you need to feel sympathy for him, or anyone who victimizes others. I’m just saying that in trying to solve a crime, it will be helpful to understand his motivation. And I imagine that you’ve spent some time studying your own father, trying to understand why he did what he did.”
“There’s no understanding what he did.”
“That’s what I’m saying though. Not to you. But to him, there was a very clear and logical reason. He was twisted, but what he did made perfect sense in his mind. It drove him. It gave him meaning and purpose. Control. Just like this killer.”
Reed ran his finger over his bottom lip as he studied her, his brow knitted. “Okay. You’re right. I don’t know this killer, but I do know my biological father. I’ve studied him, even tried to follow his sadistic reasoning. I have empathized with him, and I’ve never said that to another living soul.”
“Because you’re an empathetic person,” she said softly.
He considered how much he’d thought about Hartsman’s crimes, about who exactly the man who shared his DNA was, even who he might have been if not for his past, which frustrated Reed to no end because it was an exercise in futility. “All right,” he said. “Yes, I’ve waded into my father’s mind.”
“So, wade into this killer’s mind too. Use your father for reference. You’re not him, but you’ve already set foot into his psyche. You’ve examined the twists and turns his mind made, the choices that resulted.”
“Use my connection to Charles Hartsman for good,” he murmured.
“Yes. Just like you encouraged me to do with my patients. Use it for good.”
Reed sighed, letting his mind drift, trying to make connections that weren’t there logically. Attempting to reason this person out.
“Okay,” he said, relaxing back in his chair. “This killer. He’s telling a story. There’s a whole cast of characters and they’re all playing roles for him.” He paused, thinking, letting his gut lead him. “From the considerable effort he’s putting into removing the eyes of some victims, and using death by falling for others . . . the black paint, the brand . . . it all means something. It all makes perfect sense to him. It’s . . . justice. Depraved justice, but justice nonetheless.”
“Justice for whom?”
“For himself?” Reed wondered. “Or maybe for a collective group—the mentally ill who are so often taken advantage of.”
Liza shook her head. “It might be collective,” she said. “But I’d bet that it’s mostly specific. Personal.”
“Which means that one person could be at the center of all of this,” Reed said. “That’s what we have to figure out. Who connects all these people.”
“I agree,” Liza said, her eyes bright, expression full of purpose, and as he watched her, he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth.
“We’re discussing serial killers on our first date,” he noted.
She grimaced, shaking her head as she leaned back. “I’m sorry. This is probably the last thing you want to talk about after thinking about it all day.”
Reed smiled. “Actually, no. It’s good to get a different perspective. And I appreciate your insight. I was just sort of hoping to romance you a little.”
Liza let out a small laugh on a breath, color blossoming in her cheeks. “The night is young,” she said softly. There was meaning in her voice, even though nervousness skittered