The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) (39 page)

Epilogue

“Are you comfortable talking about it?” Braden’s question followed a few minutes of silence as Lance sat with eyes closed. They had just debriefed the details of the Baghdad mission. He told the CIA psychologist about killing 12 people in less than two hours, the frustration of missing Saddam by inches and the need to be alone when he broke away from the team heading to the pick-up spot.

Lance was appropriately emotional about the entire experience. He exhibited remorse at taking human lives and the finality of his violent acts.

He mentioned shooting Marta, but not the feelings she stirred in him. He also didn’t mention seeing her this past week or spending several days walking and talking with her, even holding her hand a few times. And he certainly did not confess to Braden how difficult it had been to tear himself away from Marta. Her haunting eyes and surprisingly warm smile. That was personal, private.

Usually, the psychologist let this particular patient break the silence. But Braden was excited about finally getting to a certain subject after three years and multiple sessions with Preacher.

“About what?” Lance knew full well what the question meant.

Braden tiptoed in. “I think you know. The subject we have skirted for years. You were never comfortable discussing it.”

“I’ve been willing to discuss any and every subject in these sessions Stu. I think any lack of comfort on a particular topic was yours.” Lance smiled, an innocent grin.

Braden took his time. He wanted to work through this difficult topic and not lose Lance in the process. “Do you know what I was doing the week before your oral assessment in Dallas back in ‘87?”

Lance considered the question with a surprised look and thought for a moment. “I assume reading my file and doing your psychoanalysis voodoo.”

“Aside from that.”

“No idea.” A boldfaced lie. Lance never, not ever, had no idea about any subject. Basically impossible for him.

“Believe it or not, I was in Fort Worth that week. I was hunting down information on the unfortunate incident that occurred while you lived there.”

“As I recall, several unfortunate incidents took place during those four years.” Lance was noncommittal. Waiting for Braden to maneuver into his line of questioning.

“I’m referring to the accident, the suicide of your mother’s boyfriend in 1978. I think you know that.” Braden’s voice was smooth velvet. He wanted this to work this time.

“So what brought this up?” Lance wanted him to work a little harder.

“I’ve brought this up several times before, but you have successfully switched subjects, told a joke, insulted me in your most gracious manner or created any number of diversions to get around it.”

“So what makes you think I want to talk about it now?”

Braden smiled and nodded. “I guess, I was thinking since you had been through the Baghdad assignment and seen,” he struggled for the next words, “A number of deaths. I hoped that maybe discussing the suicide would be easier for you now. Maybe put it in perspective.”

Now it was Lance’s turn. “Stu,” He was the only person who called the psychologist Stu. Seibel even called him Stuart. “I don’t see how my mother’s boyfriend committing suicide when I was 12 can be related to the murder and mayhem I saw and participated in over in Baghdad. The two have literally, and I mean absolutely, literally nothing to do with each other. Nothing.”

“I know they are not connected in the sense that they took place thousands of miles apart and more than a decade separates the two events. But I believe you have never come to terms with the suicide; seeing a dead person for the first time.”

Lance just looked at him. Nothing.

“Am I right?”

“I think you think you are right.” Preacher replied.

Braden laughed at that. “There you go again, saying the absolute perfect thing at the exact right time. I swear you have this stuff rehearsed, but-” the psychologist bit his lip to shut his mouth. Lance had taken him off topic with one statement. He centered himself and took a deep breath. He wasn’t thrilled that Lance took the exact same deep breath, made it look like Braden was looking in a mirror. “Come on. Don’t do this.”

“What? Am I supposed to make this easy for you?” Lance increased his smile to full toothy grin.

“This isn’t about me. Why don’t you let me help you? Just this one time.” Braden pleaded.

“I’m sorry. I just needed to be sure you were ready for this since you have obviously been thinking about it for more than three years.” Lance smiled.

“This is not about me.” Braden repeated himself, almost a mantra.

“Well it’s not about me either. I don’t spend any time thinking about that suicide or its repercussions. It happened a long time ago.”

Braden was glad they were back on the topic. He knew Lance had steered them back to it for some perverse reason, but he was still glad. “I can see how a bloody scene like that could make a lasting impression on a boy. I’ve seen it hundreds of times in talking with soldiers, operatives and others. Adults who have witnessed far less graphic incidents are often deeply affected.”

“So go ahead and ask me your questions. I know you have several.” Lance leaned in closer to Braden to make himself appear more open.

“I only have a couple, really.”

“Shoot. Bad pun, I know. But go ahead.” Lance smiled a perfect smile.

Braden brought his pen to his notepad. “Can you describe the scene for me?”

Lance sat back. He knew Braden wanted honesty here so he put on the full display. “We came home, Mom, Eric and I. It was a Friday night I think. George’s truck was in the driveway so we knew he was there. I walked in first and the smell hit me. I didn’t know what it was. Of course, I’ve since learned it was the after affects of the sphincter and other muscles relaxing following death.

“Anyway, I walked down the hall into the living room and saw him sitting in the chair with the blood splatter on the wall behind him. I turned around to stop Eric and push him back toward the front door. Mom had just walked in and I remember looking at her not knowing what to say. She saw something in my eyes and started to walk by me. I tried to stop her. I said something like, ‘Mom don’t go in there.’ I didn’t want to say anything more with Eric right there, he was only 9.”

“What did she do?” Braden asked.

“She pushed me aside and rushed into the living room. She screamed ‘oh my God’ and then came back down the hall to make sure I moved Eric outside onto the porch. She told him there had been an accident and for me to keep him outside. She went back inside and called the police. They showed up in less than ten minutes.”

Lance’s telling of the story was factual, no embellishments. It was without emotion. And he could tell by Braden’s face that the psychologist didn’t like it. Too easy.

“That’s it really. The police came and we gave them our statements. The hearse showed up and they wheeled him out on a gurney. He was completely covered. My mom’s boss sent the cleaning crew from the office over to clean up the mess. They took the chair away as well. We stayed at some friends’ house that night and the next, and we moved to Tulsa a month or so later.”

Braden just looked at him. No comments.

“I can tell by your reaction that you were expecting more. Maybe for me to tell you how the image was seared into my brain. Maybe that I cried myself to sleep at night or had to console my mother as she wept for days and weeks. I’m sorry your disappointed Stu, but none of that happened. I never cried. My mom cried a couple of times and then never again and we have never really talked about it since.”

“So it was unresolved.” Braden wrote a note on his pad of paper.

“Yah, like life. Unresolved.” Lance responded.

“You seem defensive.”

“Only because you want to make it a big deal. You want this single event in my life to play some important role in my development. It didn’t. I didn’t really mourn George’s passing. He was not a nice guy. He was not a good person, everyone knew that. My mother had learned it too. She knew she had made a mistake getting involved with him, especially since she had two boys to take care of.”

“How was he not a good person?” Braden’s question was leading.

“What did the police say about him when you looked into it?”

Lance’s reply caught Braden off guard. He furrowed his brow and responded, “What do you mean?”

“You said you went to Fort Worth the week before the oral assessments in Dallas. What did the police say when you asked them about the suicide? I assume you spoke with the responding officer, the investigating officer, maybe a neighbor or two still living on the street.” As usual, Lance was ahead of Braden.

“I did. I spoke with the police, neighbors, family members and coworkers of your mother and George.” Braden tapped his pen on his notepad.

“Why would you talk to all of them?” Lance tapped his foot on the floor because Pink Floyd had started playing a stoner classic between his ears.

“Seibel and Wyrick and I all had competing theories on the incident. I was doing a little bit of detective work in addition to psych evals.” Braden was a little chagrined. He had told more than he planned to.

“What does that mean, competing theories?” Lance put a look on his face that was equal parts shock and surprise. It was also fake. “Theories about what, the death?”

“Yes, the cause of death.”

“Oh,” Lance rubbed his chin and opened his mouth. He leaned his head back to look at the popcorn ceiling of Braden’s peaceful office. He could see Mona Lisa’s smile in a pattern. “So am I to assume someone thought George’s death was not a suicide?”

“That would be a fair assumption.”

Lance smiled and sighed. “Let me guess. Seibel thought it might have been me who did it. Wyrick thought it might have been my mom, right?” He got no reply from Braden, which was a confirmation. “And I’ll bet you were the one who believed it was just a suicide.”

Braden shook his head. “As usual, you nailed it.”

“So for the past three years, you have been waiting for me to tell you the truth about the incident. Doesn’t that seem somewhat naïve?”

“How so?” Braden furrowed his brow again.

“Me? Tell you the truth. When have I ever done that?” Lance grinned.

“More than you think you have Lance.”

“Hah! Now that’s naïve. You should know at least as well as Papa that anything you get from me is suspect at best and most likely a lie.”

“So, your telling of the story a few minutes ago, was that true or nuanced?” The psychologist prodded.

“That’s for you to decide Stu.” Lance turned his hands over palms-up. The epitome of innocence.

“Do you want to know what the Fort Worth police said?” Braden asked.

“Sure.”

“They said it was textbook suicide. No doubts from the investigating officer. Case closed.” Braden sat back.

“And what did the others say?” Lance prodded.

“It was all variation on the same theme. George was a rough guy. He had a history of violence. The police had been called to his home several times in years past. His coworkers said he was a hothead. His family knew he had serious anger issues.”

“And?” Lance could see that Braden had more.

“Did you know he had threatened your mother just a few days before he killed himself?”

Lance squinted. His procerus muscle did its thing. “How so?”