Jenna stared after them. “I wonder what Jo has up her sleeve?”
“Whatever it is”—Carter smiled and stood slowly—“you can be assured she knows exactly how to handle psychopaths. I just sit back and watch her play them like a fiddle.”
Fifty-Nine
Thinking on Carter’s advice, Jenna paused to speak to Jo and Kane outside the interview room. “Would it be better for me to remain outside with Carter? We don’t want to crowd the suspect. He might get defensive.”
“No, I think it will work to our advantage.” Jo opened her notebook and scanned the pages. “If he thinks he intimidates us, I can use it against him. Just give me a chance to crack him open and then you can move in with your questions. But remember, play to his cunning side. We don’t want the monster coming out. If that happens, he’ll shut down—or try to kill us all.”
“Fat chance of that.” Kane slid his weapon into the drawer along with everyone else’s and locked it. “He might be crazy but he’s not going to hurt anyone. Not on my watch.”
They moved inside, leaving the dogs in the hallway and took seats opposite Grayson. Jenna set the video recorder, gave the date and time, and let everyone in the room identify themselves. She looked at Bexley Grayson and indicated to Jo. “Mr. Grayson, we tested your DNA against a woman by the name of Diane Tate and you came up a match. We have reason to believe you are her son, Paul Tate. Is that correct?”
“So what?” Grayson shrugged. “I was adopted after my mom died. I’m sure that is on the record somewhere.”
Realizing at once she’d already put Grayson on the offensive, Jenna pulled back and gave Jo a nod.
“But you kept it a secret, didn’t you? When Deputy Kane asked you if you knew Paul Tate? I can understand why you lied.” Jo looked up from her notes and smiled. “I’m conducting research on early childhood behavior patterns following a traumatic event. You may have blocked that period of time from your mind.”
“I remember everything.” Grayson stared at Jo with cold eyes and an expression that chilled Jenna to the bone.
“I do know something about your life in Black Ridge.” Jo’s expression was guileless. “We’ve spoken to your old friend Peter Burrows. He explained to us how you loved to sing in the choir, never missed mass, and spent many weekends sleeping over at his house. He was concerned for you and wondered why you’ve never contacted him.”
“Peter was the means to an end.” Grayson made a dismissive gesture with one of his secured hands. “I needed to get away from my mom at
the weekends and he was a convenience is all. When I left, I forgot he existed.”
So, the classic lack of empathy had started at a young age. Jenna exchanged a meaningful look with Kane. It was unusual for psychopaths to admit they didn’t care or had no feelings for the people they’d hurt. He’d explained only recently how although the lack of empathy was the primary trait of many underlying psychoses in a psychopath, but, being so smart, faking empathy was quite usual. It hid them in plain sight and many, even with the most antisocial behavior, could charm and cajole people.
“I see.” Jo turned to Kane. “Can we have Mr. Grayson’s restraints removed? It’s difficult speaking to him when he’s hunched up over the table.”
“Sure.” Kane stepped forward and removed the cuffs.
A prickle of apprehension raised the hairs on Jenna’s arms and, as if he’d felt her concern, Carter stood and went to lean against the wall closest to the prisoner. She held her broken arm and waited with bated breath for Kane and Jo’s plan to unfold.
“I understand where you’re coming from.” Kane sat down and looked at Grayson. “No father in the picture, a kid looks to a priest or other male figure for guidance. They trust and love them as a father figure. Sometimes things happen and when you tell your mom they get mad. I’ve been there. You’re not alone in this problem.”
Trying not to gape at the crock of lies falling from Kane’s lips, Jenna opened her notebook and smoothed the pages. Her attention moved to Grayson, who blinked a few times and inclined his head as if assessing the man before him.
“You’re like me, aren’t you?” Grayson’s forehead creased into a frown. “Yet, how come you’re on that side of the table and I’m chained to the darn floor?”
“Yeah, I’ve killed.” Kane shrugged. “I figure everyone in this room has killed apart from your lawyer. We just have different reasons to kill, don’t we, Paul? What happened to the choirboy that made him kill? Tell us what happened way back then and you’ll be immortalized in Agent Wells’s book.”
“Why should I do that?” Grayson opened his hands wide. “I’ll walk free.”
Jenna looked up from making unnecessary notes. “No, you’ll go to jail. Ask your lawyer. At this point in time, you should be considering if we’re going to suggest or oppose the death penalty. We have enough evidence to charge you with the murder of your mother, and as it occurred in this state, if you were over the age of seven, you knew you were committing a crime.” She shrugged. “All this crap”—Jenna waved a hand to encompass the room—“is to give you the chance to tell your side of the story, for as sure as hell, once you get to court it will be lost in the process.”
“Paul…” Jo glanced around the room and everyone went quiet. “That is your name, isn’t it? Look, we understand how lonely kids are tricked into trusting adults. They’re young and vulnerable, but soon they come to realize something isn’t right. They confide in their moms or friends and are ridiculed. Then bad things happen. No one would blame you, a kid of ten, for wanting it to stop.”
“Tell them what happened, when you were a kid.” Sam Cross stared at his client. “We’d have the jurors on our side if you suffered abuse as a child.”
“This is what we call grooming.” Kane flicked a glance at Jo and then stared at Grayson. “You see, the adult lies to the kid, tells them they love them, and the kid believes them. They enjoy the attention until it becomes abuse.”
“Yeah, it was like that at first.” Grayson clasped his hands before him on the table and stared at them. “I loved being in the choir and the priest told me I had the voice of an angel. When he asked me to stay back and help him, I thought I was special. Later, I told my mom what he’d asked me to do to him and she thrashed me for speaking about such things.” He rubbed both hands down his face. “I refused to go back to church, but then the priest would visit my home and it all started again.”
“How did the other man become involved?” Jo placed her notebook on the table and folded her hands in her lap.
“Uncle Bob would visit as well on the weekends.” Grayson looked wildly around. “I fought and screamed so much that Mom had Uncle Bob take me into the woods. From then on, I went to stay with Pete to avoid them. I knew Mom would put a stop to it soon and I needed to do something.” He suddenly smiled as if recalling a sweet memory. “I made plans to meet Uncle Bob in the woods. I snuck out of Pete’s house late one night to meet him. I knew what he wanted, but this time I had the knife I’d stolen from Pete’s house on my belt.” He chuckled. “The moment he dropped his pants, it was easy. The knife was so sharp, it was like cutting off the head of a chicken. Uncle Bob ran about like a crazy man, clutching his groin, and then just died. I covered him with leaves and branches. They didn’t find him for weeks.”