Page 2 of Aftermath
One mistake. That was all it took.
“Shouldn’t we be studying actual cases and learning useful things for being field agents?” the man asked, and I saw the woman who answered my question before blush, her cheeks turning a shade of light pink.
“You arrive on scene, and the unsub is holding a gun to the head of a woman. They are on the roof of an apartment building near the edge. It is clear the unsub is reckless and has aggressive tendencies,” I stated the case in layman’s terms.
I met the trainee’s stare, watching him devour each word.
“The unsub is a spree killer. When agents brought up the other victims, trying to talk him down, they identified a clear lack of remorse.”
Other students scribbled down notes, absorbing every detail I spewed at them.
“What would be your call?”
“I-” the student started, but he hesitated.
“He’s holding a gun to the woman’s head, he keeps moving sporadically, there is no time to wait. You have to make the call now,” I insisted, walking up the steps of the amphitheater closer to where he sat. My words came out fast, rushing.
“The unsub clearly presents signs of ASPD. It is likely he will not listen to reason and will act impulsively. If he moved the gun, I would have given the call to take the shot.”
I knew that was exactly where his mind would go. It was the logical point of view…for a narrow-minded approach. He needed to think bigger.
“Wrong,” I said, and pens stopped moving as everyone’s stare fell to me. “That’s what you would think if you solely looked at those signs and made a decision based on a narrow view. Thinking like that will have you working in a cubicle, not the field. The Los Angeles spree killer—who can tell me what the result of that case was two years ago?”
A man close to the ignorant trainee raised his hand. I spotted a tattoo snaking up his arm, a serpent wrapping the length of his forearm up to his biceps.
I nodded to him.
“The unsub had a brain tumor. He had been given the news the day prior to being caught that it was inoperable, terminal cancer. The news, combined with side effects of the tumor, sent him into a blind rage that ended with him taking the neurologist hostage on a roof the second day.”
“Correct,” I stated.“And do you know how we walked away from that hostage situation with not a single shot fired?”
The man shook his head.
“You all wouldn’t, because that’s not what you learn in Psychology 101, is it?” I muttered, glancing back at the arrogant trainee. I took a deep breath.“Because we used all the resources we had access to, our tech analysts were able to use footage from one of the shootings on the first day to identify the unsub. Mark Vizlo was only thirty-two, with no prior record, no pattern of behavior pointing to ASPD, happily engaged. We interviewed his fiancée and found out about the doctor’s appointment. When we went to speak with the doctor, that’s when we found him.”
The class was enraptured, even the trainee I corrected staring intently at me.
“Shooting the unsub would have been premature. With the information we gathered, our better option was to give him the validation and solution he sought. We played in to his desperation and told him we’d found a second opinion on his tumor, that the doctor would be willing to operate.”
“That worked?” a petite woman behind me called out.
“It planted enough doubt in his mind for him to reconsider, and it gave us a window to de-escalate the situation without further casualties.”
I heard murmurs throughout the room as I walked back down the steps toward my podium, catching a glimpse of the clock.
“If you hadn’t interrupted my lecture, I would have gone on to tell you all behavioral science can only take you so far. You need to learn the ins and outs of profiling using behavioral analysis, but you also need to factor in other evidence, utilize every part of your team. Otherwise, you will make the wrong call every single time.”
Less than a minute left.
If I couldn’t be out there protecting innocent victims, I would be damn sure these trainees knew what they were doing before leaving Quantico.
I spun to face the class again and saw the arrogant man glaring at me, his pen gripped tightly in his hand, his knuckles white.
“That’s all for today,” I said, taking another sip of my lukewarm coffee.I swallowed, wishing I had a fresh cup. I’d need it for the pile of work I had left to finish for the day.
Trainees rose from their seats, gathering their belongings and hurrying from the classroom to their next lecture. The FBI packed their days with trainings for twenty weeks straight.
The sound of approaching steps echoed off the stairs, trailing down the center of the classroom.
