The Truth Lies Beneath - Part One

[mangacat201]

Masterpost

The metal door opened with a loud clang that echoed through the dimly lit corridor. Slow, calculated steps could only be identified by the rattling of chains that went along with them, bright silver links clinking against each other with every movement. The sound clashed with the rhythm of hard-soled boots hitting the floor, loud and oppressive in the building that consisted of metal, concrete and wired glass.

“Prisoner walking.”

The announcement was only ever made to shake up the incoming a little and give them a taste of how the pecking order worked around there. Immediately, the corridor was filled with noise, metal cups rattling against the bars, insults flying, cat calls when the men in their cells got the first good look. However, when that look was returned, a hush suddenly fell over the first cell, a disconcerting quiet rippling on like a wave in that secluded community. Whispers started up instead, and with every clinking step, the atmosphere in the enclosed space became more oppressive. Suddenly the loud and raucous crowd was blanketed with stillness, and the distinctive stench of sweat and anxiety replaced the sound. These were all men that had seen and done their share of very bad things in their time, and it made them wary of the newcomer to a point where the guards began to flex their fingers around their batons and lengthen their strides unconsciously. Because the man they’d just led to his new dwelling of a few square feet between bars and concrete was different from all the thieves, and dealers and killers they also hosted in these walls.

He had hell in his eyes.

Gillian walked through the familiar hallways of the building, heels clicking minutely on the polished stone floor. She continued down the corridor with a purpose, unheeding of the expressive pictures on the wall or the bustle in the offices, thick file clutched tightly in her manicured fingers. Ever since she’d put her foot down as a real partner in their business, Cal had been quite accommodating about the way she chose their cases, but the one she was about to bring up now made her apprehensive. First, the request for their assistance had come from the Attorney General’s office, and there would be need for some trouble-shooting just on the basis of that – Cal was notoriously fickle about government work since he’d cut all ties with the FBI. On the other hand, this case was so far down his alley that Lightman was going to sink his teeth into it like a pit-bull.

She sighed, lips pinched in a frown and looked down onto the sealed file the courier had handed her just a couple of minutes ago as she stopped in front of Cal’s office. The young man whose life was documented in this file was either a deeply troubled, delusional individual, warped by a seriously messed up childhood, or he was an ice-cold psychopath, manipulating the court into ruling in favour of his insanity plea. Either way he was a consummate liar who knew how be a lot of different people very convincingly, and now their expertise on lies and human deception would be the only thing that could tip the scales between death row in Supermax or a closed high security mental facility. Both options were not exactly stellar for the defendant, but the question they’d have to answer was whether he deserved to die for his crimes. It would be a challenge to figure out this man no matter how you looked at it, and that was what worried her most.

“Are you going to come in already, or do you want to stand there all day? I could feel you hovering from twenty feet away.”

Cal had thrown open his office door and leaned against the doorjamb looking up at her with that customary squint that always made her wonder how much he got off her face and just… dropped it. She knew from professional experience as a psychiatrist that it was an occupational hazard, this difficulty keeping your brain from processing certain things, cataloguing certain reactions, but Cal Lightman had no off-switch at all. The only differentiation he made was the question of whether he respected the person well enough to just file things without using them.

“I’ve got a new case for us, but it’s going to take up a good part of our capacity. This is a big one, Cal.”

Gillian could feel the vibrating curiosity turn into downright hostility when Cal looked at the file she was brandishing and recognized the FBI seal on the back of the cardboard. But he said nothing as he turned in the doorway and walked back to the desk with his rolling gait. He knew that she wouldn’t have accepted the case against his wishes if she didn’t think it worth their while. She barely had time to sit down, before he had thrown himself into the desk chair with his feet up on the shiny wooden surface and motioned for her to hand him the file. Gillian felt inexplicably lighter when she handed over the thick folder, as if a shadow had been lifted now that it was out of her hands.

She watched Cal open the file and scan the papers cursorily before he took his feet from the desk and spread it out on the surface, police reports, interrogation records; a blow up of his mug shot. Gillian contemplated Dean Winchester’s face for a moment, smooth and classically handsome features, big, expressive eyes, visible even with the ridiculous Blue Steel impression, charming. He probably could mould his expression into anything from rugged bad boy to a mother-in-law’s dream; no wonder he was so easily trusted in all his impersonations of law enforcement. Probably had his way with the ladies – liked to tie them up and slash them up pretty good too if she remembered correctly. Gillian already knew they were taking the case; she was just waiting for Cal to start firing away. This would be one of the toughest psych evaluations they’d ever had to do, but she wouldn’t settle for anything less than one hundred percent, so they could help put this one away forever.

“Since his arrest has made such a great splash in the news, all kinds of sensationalists have come out of the woodwork. The public defender’s office has turned his case over to McCreedy, who of course came up with the insanity plea the minute he got his hands on the file.”

“McCreedy’s an opportunistic bastard. He’ll milk the case for whatever press he can get out of it, no matter whether a serial killer as good as walks at the other end of it or not. I want the whole dossier digital, get Loker and Torres to analyse whatever footage we have. This one’s not going to get out again if we can help it.”

“There’s one more thing though…”

Cal flicked her eyes at her face for a fraction of a second.

“Don’t tell me… we’re getting a watchdog.”

“A member of the Attorney’s office will be here throughout the evaluation to make sure the results will hold up in court.”

Cal huffed and went back to the file, completely engrossed within seconds. Gillian took the DVD’s with the interrogation tapes and the digital reports and left for the media centre. In the doorway she hesitated and looked back. Last time Cal had encountered a high functioning psychopath, he had nearly died from the stupid risks he’d taken, baiting the man like he had. Of course the stakes were different now that his opponent was in federal custody. Still, Cal was good at what he did, the best, but he was also a man continually searching for his match. And she was afraid of the day he might find it. Find the person that was able to lie to him.

Loker and Torres had the silent treatment still going when she stepped into the media centre. Gillian could tell by the jump and swivel they both did when they heard the door. Part of her wanted to roll her eyes at them, but someone needed to keep up being professional here, and, since the other senior partner was anything but at the best of times, it fell to her to make sure that the personal squabbles their employees had with each other didn’t affect their work and otherwise let them sort it out themselves. Gillian dropped the DVD’s on Loker’s desk and went to brief them about their new assignment.

“I trust you’ve heard about the big arrest and upcoming trial that’s been making waves in the news lately.”

“Right, that nutty serial killer guy, … Winchester, was it? What do they need us for on this case?”

Torres answered Loker before Gillian had the chance: “Because with a notorious case like that, it never stays with the public defender’s office. Some upscale lawyer takes it pro bono, because the press coverage alone is enough to save you a year’s worth of advertising.”

“That’s right, McCreedy took up the case, and he’s already fabricated an insanity plea based on previous interrogation reports and background. The District Attorney wants our profile to contest the claim, since he believes that Winchester pretends to be delusional to get his sentence carried out in a closed mental institution instead of federal prison…”

“… which is of course a lot easier to break out of for a guy who has escaped custody multiple times by even appearing dead to the authorities, twice.”

“It’s strange though, isn’t it? I mean, he’s pulled the Houdini on law enforcement so many times and flew under the radar for the better part of his life, and then he gets busted for drunk driving and punching the police officer in the gut when he tries to take him in? It seems a lot sloppier than...”

Gillian nodded at the young woman and then pointed at the material.

“We’ll take all these things into account. I want you to approve the video material as objectively as you can at first though. The FBI agent who compiled this file was very thorough, but I want you to search for anything he might have missed. A lot about Winchester’s profile and background is contradictory, and I want the results straight, no matter what we’ll actually find out.”

Gillian left them to their work while she returned to her office where her own copy of the file was waiting for her, whispering of shadows and pain.

When the reception called her with the announcement of an important visitor a few hours later, she gratefully gathered the reports and closed the file, amazed at how much time had passed. Gillian rose from her chair, looking forward to stretching her legs, but her mind was still racing from what she’d learned so far. The records of the Winchester family were spotty at best, and the picture they made felt like a puzzle that had all the right edges at all the wrong angles. And it made less sense the more information she browsed through. When the reception came into view though, she was greeted with a different kind of distraction. Anna gave her a somewhat strained smile, and then their receptionist pointed to a young woman studying the pictures on the wall next to the entrance.

“Excuse me? Hello, I’m Dr. Gillian Foster. I understand you work with the DA’s office?”

The slender woman turned, blond curls rustling on her back and a bright smile adorning her face when she took Gillian’s proffered hand. She didn’t look like she finished law school more than a couple of years ago, but such things meant little here in the capital.

“Yes, pleased to meet you, Dr. Foster, I’m Marylou Saunders and here to oversee your profiling work on Dean Winchester. I’m sorry about the bother, seeing as the Lightman Group has had its… altercations with the government, but you’re still excellent at what you do, and we want this case to stand as solid as we can possibly make it.”

Gillian smiled at her pleasantly while they shook hands and nodded graciously. Lightman was going to have her for breakfast and spit her out chewed to the bones.

“I’m sure we can work around any difficulties, if you’re prepared to accept that Dr. Lightman has… unorthodox methods sometimes. Still, he pursues the truth, and he will not let a criminal get off with anything less than justice for the crimes he committed.”

“Oh, certainly, the DA’s office expects nothing less of him. I’m not here to get in your way, I will simply be observing the steps of your work and make sure that all documentation for the trial is sound.”

Gillian wanted to believe her, but she couldn’t help the shudder that ran down her back when she let go of her hand.

“I’m sure we’re not going to have any problems. Would you like a tour to get better acquainted with the layout of the offices?”

“Oh, please, I would like that. If you don’t mind me asking upfront, what is it with these pictures?”

She pointed at the gallery of portrait photos on the wall.

“Oh, well, our method of lie detection is based on the fact that we read facial expressions. Microexpressions that only flit over people’s features for a split second, but cannot be hidden, because they’re reflexive reactions to our emotions. There is a certain number of basic emotions underlying all human interaction, surprise, anger, happiness, contempt, fear, and so on.”

Gillian indicated the corresponding pictures to clarify her explanation. Saunders studied them for a moment with interest in her eyes that was laced with boredom in the lilt of her voice.

“So you watch their faces to be able to tell if a person is lying, and, by twitching muscles, they give themselves away?”

Gillian fixed her with a slightly strained smile.

“That is what it comes down to, yes. But of course there are many more factors that play a role in our profiles, behavioural and psychoanalysis, body language and more. If you come with me I’ll show you the media centre and introduce you to our analysts.”

The groove in her cheek deepened for a moment and the muscles around her eyes tensed. Doubt and scepticism was written all over her face. Well, at least she had promised not to be in the way even though she was obviously not convinced of their scientific approach, small favors. Gillian caught Anna rolling her eyes when she turned to show the DA’s assistant around the office and silently agreed with her.

When they arrived in the centre a few minutes later, it was to find Lightman standing in the middle of the room while Loker and Torres sat at their desks, watching video footage on the panorama screen at the far wall. It was their suspect sitting at a desk in a dreary interrogation room in Baltimore, looking unwaveringly at the camera while he started what was supposed to have been a confession and ended up being revealed as a diversion.

<”Hi, my name is Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach… and frisky women. And I did not kill anyone. But I know who did.”>

Cal motioned with his hand and the video stopped at these words, freezing Winchester’s calm and open face on the big screen. He kept looking at it with intense scrutiny, eyes flying in rapid movements over the features and frowning in thought. Gillian didn’t want to interrupt, but she knew from experience that she would have no chance to introduce their company once he was too engrossed in his analysis.

“Cal? This is Marylou Saunders from the DA’s office. She’s here to follow our investigation.”

Lightman turned his head slightly and sized her up out of the corner of his eyes, paying little attention to her after a calculating second as she stepped forward with an outstretched hand.

“Dr. Lightman, pleased to meet you.”

He barely took the time to reach out for her hand, before his eyes swivelled back to the screen, and Gillian kept the indignation that clearly showed on Ms. Saunders face from her own features. If she was still put out by his gruff manners, she wouldn’t have been able to work with him for years now. Sometimes it was irritatingly endearing, at other times… well. Cal nodded and Locker started the tape again, drawing her attention back to the young man on the screen.

“What do you see?”

Gillian followed the next words closely. The video was perfect for a reading because Winchester looked directly into the lens and the camera was close enough to show even minute movements on this face.

<”Or, rather, what did. Of course, I can’t be sure, because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory is that we’re looking for some kind of vengeful spirit.”>

Gillian looked at Cal for a moment and confirmed that he had reached the same conclusion that she had come to. Now she understood why the DA had requested their services over all the personal and professional squabbles of the past year. She elaborated her assessment for the benefit of Saunders.

“His demeanour shows confidence and little concern with his situation, which is surprising, considering that he was in custody for being caught literally red-handed at the scene of a homicide, simultaneously making him the prime suspect and blowing his cover of faking his death to evade the allegations of multiple attacks in St. Louis. His choice of words indicates that he’s familiar with law enforcement procedures and regards himself not as a suspect, but more like a fellow officer on the case. It matches with the obvious profile of a vigilante killer augmented by a combination of a paramilitary background and what seems to be paranoid schizophrenia with religious delusions. The previous statement of facts gives us a baseline for when he’s telling the truth off of which we can base further readings. There is no change of posture or a sign of tension in his facial muscles when he talks about the vengeful spirit which indicates that he believes what he says is the truth. It’s not unusual for patients with elaborate religious delusions to read as being truthful. However, that’s when Winchester’s case gets complicated.”

Saunders looked like she wanted to ask how a high-functioning sociopath with tendencies to religious vigilantism and a rap-sheet that ranged from grave desecration to torture was not complicated yet, but what came out was:

“How so?”

“Because he’s a cocky bastard, is what he is.”

Saunders looked even more confused at that statement and Gillian took it upon herself to translate Lightman to Human once again.

“Normally, mission killers like him, who are subject to illusionary misjudgement – like mistaking those women in St. Louis for something evil that needed to be eliminated – either regard the authorities as part of the conspiracy, which leads to aggression towards them, or as unfortunate collaterals that have to be persuaded to see the truth of the perceived threat, but Winchester does neither. On the contrary, he seems to be fully aware of how the police will react to his statement, even counts on it as a logical reaction to draw out the ruse in order for his brother to make an escape. For a subject to show such an amount of awareness towards their delusions to the point of being able to use them in such an elaborate set up is nearly unheard of; it requires an immense intelligence and mental control.”

“What does that mean?”

This time it was Loker how chimed in.

“It means that he might either be another one of those really screwed up religious nuts or a stone-cold killer who can lie so well that even we will have trouble telling whether he actually believes what he says or concocted the whole scheme to get off on an insanity plea if he ever gets caught. That he maybe even does it for kicks. To mess with people’s heads just because he can.”

Gillian let her gaze wander between the handsome face on the screen and Cal’s fixated stare. She knew it was too late to beg off, he had already dug his teeth into the case and was not going to let go again until they had proof either way, but Winchester’s file read like an exercise in contradictions, and she wasn’t sure if anyone should be allowed to delve into the man’s head deep enough to figure out what made him tick. She wasn’t at all surprised at Lightman’s next words even though dread settled heavy in her stomach.

“There is no way for us to get this one just from watching this age-old footage. I need to see him, up close and personal.”

Saunders immediately protested.

“That’s not possible, he’s in an ultra-high security facility, and you don’t have clearance anymore since your FBI contract was terminated…”

“Then you’re going to GET me clearance. The DA said to tell him what we need to make this case airtight, and this is it – we can watch all the footage we want and analyse it to death, and it still won’t change that the only way to reach a conclusion with any kind of certainty is by having him face to face. Either that, or we’re out.”

Cal leaned back with his arms crossed and looked at Saunders down the bridge of his nose, even though she stood at least an inch and a half taller than him. Gillian knew she would cave well before she reached for her cell, closed fists and that little tick below her left eye a perceptible tell.

“I’ll have to make a few calls.”

“Do that. In the meantime we’re going to do something useful here by devising a strategy on how to break this fucker, because he likes torturing and killing people, apparently and deserves to stay behind bars for a long time.”

While Saunders stalked off in a huff, accompanied by irritated mutters into her sleek cell phone, Gillian threw one more look at Winchester’s open and handsome face staring down from the screen, before she turned to Cal and inclined her head to indicate they should find somewhere more private to talk. He rolled his eyes, but followed her out of the lab anyway. When they were in the corridor out of earshot she prepared to lay down the law:

“You know you can’t let this one get to you, not like Martin…”

“I’m not, you won’t see me going off to dangle myself as bait for this particular psycho; he’s already behind bars after all.”

“You know what I mean. I’m talking about his ability to get under people’s skin. He’ll have an answer to counter everything you throw at him, and you’ll rise to the bait as you always do.”

Cal clutched his chest as if in pain.

“You wound me, love, you know that I’m never anything but a cold-hearted, calculating bastard in search for the truth.”

Gillian sighed and wrote it off as a lost cause. They were already knee-deep in the most controversial and outlandish case that had ever come across her desk.

“Fine. Go, find the truth.”

Cal gave her an insincere salute and strode off. A few seconds later, Saunders turned around the corner and approached Gillian with rapidly clacking footsteps.

“I’ve made arrangements for Dr. Lightman to go in tomorrow, but only tomorrow and only him. Any staff that he decides to bring will remain in a strictly observational position. And this doesn’t change the deal about my supervision. I reserve the right to object to any of Dr. Lightman’s methods on the grounds of my authorization from the DA’s office.“

Gillian looked at her and wanted to point out that the appointment had been made awfully quickly for her supposed objections and posturing to carry any weight, but for the sake of diplomacy she held back.

“Of course, we will work to close the investigation and put together our findings as fast as we can.”

Cal radiated restless energy on the two hour drive to the prison, but he barely said a word, clearly combing through all the information he’d soaked up on Dean Winchester during the previous day, cataloguing facial expressions and background details into a comprehensive profile. Gillian was anxious too; the more she had read about the Winchesters, the less the whole case made sense. And there was also the question of the younger brother; after all they were famous for evading custody in the most original of ways. This might be a Supermax prison, but the dangerously volatile co-dependency of their relationship would make it impossible for Sam Winchester not to try and break his brother out. The fact that no sign of him had surfaced by now didn’t bode well. He was an unknown in an incredibly unstable mix, and that made her nervous.

The thick, steel-barred doors closed with a reverberating clang behind them as they passed the double door system that led into the holding area of the prison. Gillian wasn’t intimidated by the bleak walls and the heavily armed guards, but that sound always made it difficult for her not to flinch. Cal was pressing forwards, barely staying half a step behind the guard that was supposed to lead them to the interrogation room. They arrived to find a run-of-the-mill holding facility with a reinforced door, high barred windows to the outside that let in the sluggish morning light and a polished one way mirror to the attached observation room. Gillian and the rest of the team, including Saunders, were ushered into that room, while Lightman was shown into the interrogation room. It was outfitted with a bolted-down table and two chairs, one facing the mirror with a bolt in the table for securing chains and one with its back to it. Cal dragged the visitor’s chair away from the table and into a corner with a deliberate screeching noise that made the guards look at him incredulously, before he plopped down into an undignified sprawl, but exactly across from the door where the prisoner would step through in mere minutes.

Gillian took in his carefully nonchalant disposition, but she knew him well enough to realize that he was highly alert underneath the outward, devil-may-care attitude. They had only one shot at this, and under the time constraints it was crucial that Cal managed to steer Winchester where he wanted him as fast as possible. She watched the minutes tick by slowly until a shuffle could be heard, and the silhouette of a person appeared in the smoky wire mesh window inserted into the door. A guard opened the door and stepped through leading a man in a non-descript khaki jumpsuit and bound with wrist and ankle chains into the room. Gillian drew a sharp breath at the appearance of Dean Winchester. The latest images of the brothers had been the booking photos of most recent run-in with the law that had ended in the spectacular but ultimately exaggerated news of their deaths some three years ago. Since then, the Winchesters had been successfully flying under the radar, but still, a few more years for a man in his prime didn’t account for the way Dean looked right now. His face was drawn and gaunt, even if still exceptionally handsome, a mutinous streak turning the corner of his mouth down into a slight frown. His movements were awkward in the chains that kept him from taking bigger strides than a shuffle, but listless and resigned all the same. There was little to see of the expected charm and bravado, and Gillian wondered what had happened to him to so drastically alter his whole demeanour. While Winchester was seated at the table, wrist chains threaded through the bolted ring to make him unable to reach over the whole length to attack, Gillian saw Cal stare at the mirror out of the corner of his eyes as if he was searching for a glimpse behind the reflection. She could read his thoughts clearly enough – they would have to rethink the whole strategy to account for this situation, but that was, after all, why Lightman had insisted that he needed to meet Winchester face to face in the first place.

Part Two

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[insane-songbird.livejournal.com]

Hehehe. Let the games begin! Dundundun!