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“I’ve yet to ascertain whether the suspect and the person who’s been messaging me are one and the same.But among the messages I’ve received is his request to be called Lawgiver.”
“I don’t like it.I’ve never liked the whole business of giving them names in the first place.It turns them into a kind of media commodity; it divorces people from the reality of what these monsters do, and from the hard work we put in, trying to catch them.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, ma’am, but I think this could be one valuable exception.Can I explain?”
Winters rubbed her eyes.“You’ve got two minutes before I have to go on a conference call with Director Gladesmuir.”
“I discussed the matter with Gabe Levine.He thinks the killer is expecting us to stand firm on the matter, ignore his request.If we subvert his expectations, it could bring about a significant shift in the power dynamic.If he perceives us as dancing to his tune, he may get over-confident, make a slip.And at the end of the day, we risk very little by giving it a try.”
Winters gave her a long, unblinking look.“I hardly need to remind you that Gabe Levine hasn’t worked for the FBI for the past three decades.”
“So, if I’d presented it to you as my idea…”
Winters and Levine had some kind of beef stretching back years.Kate kicked herself for even mentioning Gabe’s name.
“Don’t get cute, Agent Valentine.” Winters let out a long, weary sigh.“I’m sorry, I’m not prepared to risk it.”
Kate was actually surprised by that answer.In her experience, Winters usually sighed before she okayed something.As if you’d worn down her resistance.
“It’s got nothing to do with you.Or Gabe Levine,” she added pointedly.“I just can’t go against decades of Bureau policy.No, I’ll put it another way.I aren’t, frankly, the way things are.Sorry.”
“I understand, ma’am.”
But she didn’t.Afterwards, Kate thought she’d never seen Winters looking and sounding quite so tired.She could only assume that she was under a lot of pressure from above.She thought again of the King of Tarshish.The Bureau was a similar affair – a tiny part of a beast much bigger and more complex.You thought your boss was mad at you for consulting outside help.In reality, your boss was mad because… who knows?“The way things are,” apparently.Budgets, targets, internecine politics, wheels within wheels.Kate could only guess.And be grateful she wasn’t a boss.
Was that what the killer was saying?That this whole thing was way, way bigger than she thought it was?But how so?More victims.Victims already dead but not yet found, or not yet identified as victims?Or victims to come?
There was something of the fox about Mercer: the sharp features, the bushy red hair, the way his eyes glittered under the harsh light of the interview suite.His clothes were frayed and shabby, but his fingernails were clean and he smelled of soap.And above all else, the guy was wired; Kate couldn’t tell if it was drugs or sheer adrenaline.He fidgeted in his seat, rubbed imaginary patches of dirt on the table and on his jeans.His gaze flickered over everything: her face, up to the strip lights, down to the floor tiles.
“Why did you attack my colleague?”
“I was going to comply.I didn’t need him pushing me about and shouting.A little Hitler.”
“I read your blog.You talk a lot about Hitler, don’t you?Historical figures and events as manifestations of God’s will, is that right?”
“What else would they be?”
“Random.Long chains of cause and effect.The coming together of multiple factors.”
“The arrogance of the Unbeliever!”He leaned across the table, so close she could tell exactly what soap he used.“You would substitute the most complex and improbable arguments rather than accept the simplest.For example, while being totally unable to explain how, you argue that on a given day, at a given time, there was nothing, and from that nothing, a collision of gases causes a pinhead-sized fragment of something to appear, and the universe came to be.And you would place your trust in that least improbable of arguments – something from nothing - rather than accept the far simpler one of the universe being the work of a highly intelligent Creator.”He leaned back, folding his arms.“The arrogance of it.The sheer dumb-witted arrogance.”
“You accused Father Thomas and Professor Whitman of being arrogant.You said they deserved to die.”
“And?”
“So I’m curious to know – were you the agent of God’s will?Did He use you to exact revenge?”
“I’m a prophet,” Mercer replied.“Like Isaiah.One of His seraphim visited me in a dream and placed a burning coal on my lips.He said all the lies and sin have gone from you, and now you will only speak God’s truth.”
One of the first messages she’d received was a quote from Isaiah, describing exactly that: the birth of his prophetic powers, thanks to a burning coal.
“So, fire purifies.Is that why you start fires?”
“I set men’s souls ablaze with the fire of truth.And fire illuminates – it is a beacon in the darkness of ignorance and folly.”
She’d guessed he might not own up straight away.She changed direction.“Why did you quit Brantley after a year?”
“The Lord told me to,” he said, simply.“Like many of the prophets, I abandoned one life for another.”
