Crime Zero (3 page)

Turning back to Kathy, the lawyer asked, "Dr. Kerr, you have applied your battery of tests to my client and his immediate living family?"

"That's correct. I conducted a gene scan on Wayne Tice and a series of ancillary tests, checking serotonin, testosterone, and adrenaline levels. I also gave him a PET scan to probe brain activity on his frontal lobe. Tice's readings put him in the top five percent, in terms of propensity to violence. His male relations also have dangerous readings, although not nearly as high."

"So would it be fair to say that he and most of the menfolk in his family, through no fault of their own, carry a gene calibration that makes them predisposed to aggressive behavior and crime?"

"Yes, but--"

"But broadly speaking," interrupted the lawyer, eager not to let nuances of interpretation cloud his crucial point, "isn't it the case that Wayne Tice dances to the beat of a more violent drum?"

"Yes," said Kathy cautiously.

Latona smiled and turned to the judge. "So, Your Honor, Wayne Tice was born with a particular set of genes, calibrated in such a way that he had to commit murder."

"That's not what I said," protested Kathy. "I am talking about predisposition. No more. No less. Ultimately a person decides--"

"Excuse me, Your Honor." The lawyer deftly corrected himself before the frowning judge could intervene. "He was predisposed to commit violent crime. But the point is, How can Wayne Tice be punished for his actions? He should be counseled, not executed. He was doing only what he was born to do."

Latona paused and turned back to Kathy Kerr.

"How can we put a young man to death for simply doing what came naturally?"

Chapter 2.

After giving evidence to Latona and then the district attorney, Kathy Kerr retook her seat. Glad her session was over, she began to relax. Unless she was teaching, she always felt uncomfortable speaking in public, especially in court, where any words could be twisted to suit a purpose. After Latona had finished with her, the DA had given her a tough time, but she had expected that. Latona angered her, though, trying to use her evidence to shift all responsibility for the horrific murders from Tice. She had agreed to testify only because Tice was a classic case and would make an excellent research subject, if ViroVector received the expected FDA approval to begin the Project Conscience Phase 2 efficacy trials. Kathy didn't support the notion that Tice's genes allowed him to shirk all responsibility for his actions.

There was one other reason she had felt uncomfortable giving her testimony. She had known that Luke Decker was going to be here.

Watching the tall FBI agent take her place on the witness stand, she was surprised how much he'd changed. His appearance was similar, the lean physique a little broader perhaps, the blond hair shorter, and the face more defined, but those penetrating green eyes had lost none of their sensitive intelligence. It was his bearing that was different. He had more presence somehow; his gait was more confident, as if the hunted younger man she had once known had now become the hunter.

Like most of America, she'd seen the press coverage of Decker carrying Tammy Lewis from the graveyard near Oakland, his face a mask of rage. She'd recognized that look from years ago, when his night terrors used to wake her at three in the morning.

Back then they had been lovers. She'd known Luke Decker was different from that first time she'd walked into him in the Harvard library, knocking his pile of books all over the floor. Each book had been about the darker side of humanity, from biographies of Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy to textbooks on the criminal mind. But as she'd apologized, he'd just laughed and piled his books up under his chin, making a joke about how heavy a bit of nighttime reading could be.

Even then she had discouraged men's advances, refusing to be distracted from her work, but she could still taste the disappointment when those soft green eyes had examined her, smiled again, and then moved on. Decker had made no attempt to exploit the occasion, so she'd had to stammer something about helping him carry his books, the least she could do after knocking them over.

"If you like." He'd shrugged with a casualness that had both frustrated and delighted her.

They couldn't agree on anything they discussed, but within two weeks they made love, and for those precious, magical moments they were in total accord. After that they had become inseparable, but he always seemed to retain some small part of himself. Kathy felt she caught a true glimpse of his soul only during those terrifying nights when he would sit bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat, his eyes wide open. He would start speaking to some invisible presence directly in front of him, his voice angry: "You wanted control, didn't you? That was why you did it. You didn't actually want them dead. You only wanted slaves who would do whatever you wanted without ruining the fantasy. That's right," he'd conclude, having solved some puzzle troubling his subconscious. Then he would lie down again. At first she'd tried to soothe him, until she realized that he'd remained asleep throughout. In the mornings he would remember nothing, except resolving something that had been worrying him. It took her weeks to realize that he had an ability to understand man's baser desires that went beyond normal experience. And that this ability haunted him.

His mother told him his intuition came from his father, but Kathy knew Decker felt it was more than just intuition. He was scared that somehow he was tainted.

While still at Harvard, he would follow national cases and write in advice to the relevant police authorities or even the FBI. She always felt he was driven by some inner force, always trying to exorcise something deep within himself, something she could do nothing to reach, let alone soothe.

She could handle the arguments and the fact that they couldn't agree on anything, especially their views on the roots of crime. It was his reserve she found the hardest to take. He could never relax and just be. He always seemed to be on the defensive, always on guard against himself. As independent as she was, she needed at least one thing from their relationship: to be needed.

But now, as Luke answered the district attorney's questions, she found herself asking what might have been if the timing had been different.

When she returned to the States from Cambridge, she often heard of him through her dealings with the FBI. But on the few occasions she made halfhearted attempts to contact him he had been unavailable. In fact he seemed to be forever in transit around the country, helping solve crimes or teaching local police forces profiling techniques. Despite the new regime's reliance on hard science and biology, time and time again Special Agent Luke Decker had proved himself indispensable in solving the more intractable cases. She'd heard that his colleagues, no mean mind hunters themselves, called him Luke the Spook, a tribute to his ability. She only hoped that by hunting down the demons in others, Luke had found some respite from those warring inside himself.

"I don't know whether Tice should be executed or not," she suddenly heard Decker say. His voice wasn't raised, but from his tone she could tell he was angry. "That isn't my province. My only concern is that he isn't allowed out on the streets again--ever." For all his faults and distrust of the genetic revolution, Decker had one quality that she admired above all others: an almost naive integrity.

But when Latona took his turn to question him, the defense lawyer soon realized that Decker was no patsy. "Surely after hearing Dr. Kerr's evidence, you must concede that Tice needs help? That he's genetically programmed to do what he did?"

Decker smiled, a wide, disarming smile that seemed to say, "Surely you don't expect any reasonable human being to believe that." Then he turned toward her. "Dr. Kerr and I disagree on the relative importance of genetic predetermination. Genes may well be a factor, but they are only that, one in a series of factors. And they certainly aren't an excuse. Yes, I believe your client does need help, but I'm also convinced he will always remain dangerous whatever treatment he may or may not receive. Let me tell you something about how he came to be the way he is." At that moment Decker turned toward Tice. Decker was still smiling, and his smile was genuinely compassionate. For the first time in the glare of the court's attention Tice looked self-conscious, his cocky, defiant grin frozen on his face.

"Wayne Tice is now twenty-one and until his arrest lived at home with his parents. His elder brother, Jerry, is a successful manager for a major insurance company. Jerry attended UCLA and had a string of girlfriends. He has recently married and has a beautiful wife. Both parents doted on Jerry, whereas they told Wayne not to expect too much from life. His mother continually reminded him that he wasn't as smart or good-looking as his brother."

Still looking at Tice, Decker began to address him directly, sounding as if he were Tice's best friend and confidant. There was no judgment or censure in his voice. "Your first overtures with girls weren't happy, were they, Wayne? They couldn't look beyond your crooked teeth, freckles, and red hair, could they--"

Latona interrupted, his voice betraying a sudden slip in his slick composure. "Excuse me, Special Agent Decker, but I don't believe that manipulative questioning of the defendant--"

Decker's eyes remained locked with Tice's, oblivious of Latona, of everything except his connection with the killer. He continued to talk. "And you felt shy. You wanted them to like you, but they were unkind. They laughed at you, didn't they?"

Tice looked uncertain now.

"Your Honor, this line of leading interrogations is outrageous," said Latona.

The judge looked from Tice to Decker as he considered. "This isn't a trial, Counsel. This is a hearing, and I want to hear where this goes."

Decker continued. "So every day you went to the gym to get stronger and stronger. How much can you press now? One-fifty, one-sixty?"

"Two hundred," said Tice without thinking.

Decker raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That's more than me, and I'm about three inches taller than you. That's pretty impressive."

Tice smiled.

"You do martial arts too, don't you, Wayne? Karate, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"What belt?"

"Black."

Again Decker looked impressed, and this time he smiled the smile of a proud elder brother. "Only ever got to brown myself."

Kathy saw Latona start to object, but the judge waved him down, watching the exchange. "Must have really made you mad to have achieved all that and still be regarded as a loser by your mother," said Decker. "I would have been pissed."

Tice said nothing, just stared at Decker, as if he were the first guy in the whole goddamn world to understand his shitty life.

"But you loved your mother and couldn't hit out at her. So you thought you'd teach one of the girls a lesson, one of the pretty girls who'd laughed at you. One day a young girl about the same age as the ones who used to dis you at high school came into the pizza parlor, and although she was real nice, you knew she was mocking you. She didn't even realize that you'd grown up, that you'd improved. You could now press two hundred and had a black belt at karate. But she was still giving you the brushoff like you were some geek at school."

Tice looked white, his eyes wide.

"Am I right?"

Tice didn't actually nod, but Kathy could tell he wanted to.

"Killing her and the second girl felt good, didn't it? You got what you wanted: the control. You taught them that you weren't some loser. You taught them respect, and then you killed them. But the third girl was different, Wayne; you covered her head when you killed her. You felt bad about Sally Anne Jennings, didn't you? She liked you. Came to visit you at the pizza parlor and talked to you--really talked to you, like you were a regular guy. Am I right?"

Kathy saw Tice's Adam's apple bob in his throat; then he gave a definite nod.

"But you killed her anyway. Mistaking her kindness for something else, you made a pass at her, and when she got scared, you killed her. You felt bad about it, so you covered her face, tried to depersonalize her. But you still felt bad about it afterward, couldn't get her out of your head. You thought she was judging you. So when the next girl came along, Tammy Lewis, you decided to take her to Sally Anne's grave. You wanted to show Sally Anne that she didn't have any hold over you." Decker shook his head then. It was a gesture of sadness. "But I was waiting for you. If it's any consolation, Wayne, it wouldn't have worked. You still would have felt bad about killing Sally Anne, however many girls you raped and killed on her gravestone. In fact it would have got worse."

Tice sat slumped in his chair, shaking his head. He looked as stunned as the rest of the silent courtroom.

Then Decker turned quickly to the judge and gestured at the chart of Tice's family tree. "This isn't about genetics. In fact, Tice's own brother is in many ways a model citizen. This is about a man whose programming came from the screwed-up signals of sex, violence, inadequacy, and love he received from his family and his peer group. Tice, like all of us, is a creation of his past. But ultimately he chose to do what he did, and the responsibility rests with him. Tice is a very dangerous man. He has acquired a taste for controlling women he can't win through normal mating rituals. And the risk is very high that he will revert to this behavior in the future. It's not in his genes; it's there in his head."