Death Match

A

A flash of something — irritation, or perhaps suspicion — flickered in Alicto’s eyes. As quickly as it had come, it was gone again.

“You seem angry,” he said. “What is it about my questions that makes you angry?”

It occurred to Lash this very line of questioning could already be providing the responses Alicto was searching for. He fought back his a

“Actually, most candidates appreciate the lie detector, once they’ve gotten over the initial surprise. They find it reassuring to know that any partner they are matched with has been as honest as they’ve been.”

Alicto’s calm voice added to the unreality of the situation. Lash’s anger faded and grogginess again took its place. “Why don’t we get on with the evaluation?” he asked.

“What makes you think all this isn’t part of the evaluation, Dr. Lash? I’m evaluating you as a complete person in real time, not as the faceless body that completed those tests this morning. But very well, back to the personality inventory. While your scales for falsehood and median response are good, your remedial skews abnormally high.”

Lash remained silent.

“As you know, that implies you are limiting disclosure of negative information about yourself: trying to make a good impression, or trying to minimize personal problems.”

Lash waited, cursing himself for completing the tests candidly.

“Some of your clinical scales are most unusual for an Eden candidate. For example, your social introversion scale is high, as is your individual control scale. Taken together, these indicate a loner personality; someone who has perhaps had bad experiences in relationships. Such a person would not be motivated to take such a complete — and expensive — step as coming to us.” He glanced up from the folder. “Understand, Dr. Lash, that I would not usually share such technical details with a candidate. But your being a fellow psychologist… well, it’s a unique opportunity.”

A unique opportunity to watch me squirm, Lash thought.

“Such items alone would be of concern to me as an Eden evaluator. But there are also elements of the test — may I be frank here? — that reveal distinct pathonomonic signs. Red flags, if you will.” Another turning of pages. “For example, your amorality and self-alienation scales are unusually high. Your depression scale, though not exactly high, is well above modal. Your vulnerability scale — that is, your degree of sensitiveness to surrounding events — is also high, despite your individual control scale: an anomaly I can’t immediately explain. This all seems like a dangerous cocktail, Dr. Lash. Something I would urge you to have looked at and, if necessary, treated in a clinical setting.”

Alicto closed the folder with an air of finality and turned to the laptop. “Just a few more questions, Dr. Lash. I promise you this won’t take long.”

Lash nodded. Weariness threatened to engulf him.

“How long have you been in private practice?”

“Almost three years.”

“And your specialty?”

“Family relationships. Marital relationships.”

“And your own marital status?”

“I’m single.”

“Widowed?”

“No. Divorced. As you know.”

“Just another control question for the lie detector. Your heartbeat is accelerating, Dr. Lash. I would advise you to breathe slowly. When were you divorced?”

“Three years ago.”

“What was that like for you?”

“I was married. Now I’m not.”

“And you left the FBI for private practice around the same time.” Alicto looked up from the screen. “It would seem that quite an interesting nexus of events took place three years ago: a divorce, a highly dramatic career change. Would you care to elaborate on why the divorce took place?”

Lash felt himself tense. Does he know about Wyre? Is he just baiting me? Aloud, he answered, “No.”

“Why is it so difficult for you to talk about?”

“I just don’t see the relevance.”

“No relevance? For a potential client?”

“I’m here about my future, not my past.”

“One is shaped by the other. But very well. Let’s stay in the past a little longer. Elaborate a little on what you did for the FBI, if you please.”

“I was with the Investigative Support unit out of Quantico. I examined murder scenes, drew up psychological autopsies of the victim and unsub — the perpetrator. I’d look for commonalities between them, look for cause, draw up a profile of the killer and coordinate with NCAVC.”

“How did you feel about doing that kind of work?”

“It was challenging.”

“And were you good at your job?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you leave?”

It seemed an effort just to blink. “I grew tired of trying to figure out what had gone wrong with people after they were dead. I thought I could be more useful helping them when they were still alive.”

“Understandable. And, no doubt, you saw some terrible things.”

Lash nodded.

“But they didn’t affect you?”

“Of course they affected me.”

“What kind of a toll, exactly, did they take on you?”

“Toll?” Lash shrugged.

“So they didn’t disturb you in any pathological way. They ran off your back, so to speak. They didn’t affect your work or yourself.”

Lash nodded again.

“Could you answer aloud, please, Dr. Lash?”

“No, they did not.”

“I ask because I’ve read a few studies on agent burnout. Sometimes, when people see terrible things, they don’t address them as they should. Instead, they bury them, try to ignore them. And, in time, they come to live in a constant state of darkness. It’s not their fault: it’s the culture of the workplace. Showing pity, weakness, is frowned upon.”

Lash said nothing. Alicto glanced over at the laptop screen, made a notation on the folder. He paused, glancing over the sheets. Then he raised his head again.

“Was there any particular assignment in your prior job that precipitated your decision to leave? Some unusually unpleasant case, say? Some error or lapse of judgment on your part? Something, maybe, that spilled over into your private life?”

Despite the weariness, this question sent an electric twinge through Lash. So he does know, after all. He glanced quickly at Alicto, who was regarding him intently.

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, no.”

“I see.” Alicto glanced at the screen again, made another notation. Then he leaned back from the laptop. “That concludes the interview, Dr. Lash,” he said, coming around the table and removing the cap and the finger clips. “Thank you for your patience.”

Lash stood up. The world rocked slightly and he steadied himself on the chair.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Alicto asked. “Because I’ve observed you seem to be more than usually tired.”

“I’m fine.”

But Alicto was still looking at him closely, with what — now that the interview was concluded — seemed to be genuine concern. “You know, sleeplessness can be common in cases of—”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Alicto nodded slowly. Then he turned away, raised his hand toward the door.

“What now?” Lash asked.

“You can put on your clothes. Vogel will see you out.”

Lash could hardly believe his luck. After what had gone before, he was sure the psychological interview would take hours. Most lie detector tests were protracted affairs, the same questions repeated over and over in slightly altered form. But this had taken just thirty minutes. “You mean, I’m done?”