Autopsy of a Mind

"You beat them up?" She nodded. "How many women did you save, you think?" I asked. This was the best method to make him confess to the most violence without making him think I was pinning a crime on him. He was saving people, that was what my words conveyed.

"Not enough," he sighed, aggrieved. "I once beat up a group of four guys. Made them remember what it feels like to be tormented." He scoffed. "Do you know about it?" he asked, looking up curiously. 

"I'm not sure I do," I played it safe. I didn't know if my knowledge would make him stop speaking or not. "Tell me. Do you get angry when women are assaulted?" 

"Yes, it makes my blood boil. Those fuckers need to be taught a lesson. Our justice system and police force are so inefficient that they can't even punish people. Someone needs to!" He banged his fist on the table. 

"Why are you so passionate about this? Most men are stumbling over their feet trying to talk about how not all men are predatory. Why are you so different?" I asked. This was a question I needed answers to. What was his motivation? 

"I had a crush on this girl in high school. A couple of jocks thought she was ignoring them. They killed her after raping her. It went on for hours..." he trailed off, tears prickling in his eyes. 

I sat stunned. He said someone else did it. He didn't mention he did it. Was this evasion of truth or... I looked at his expression and grew more confused. 

"You sound like you saw it happen," I whispered. I leaned forward, reaching out and placing my hand over his fist. "You can tell me." The conviction in my voice must have made him feel comfortable. 

"No, I wasn't there. I just know... that's how it happened." A sob ripped through him. 

"And what happened to those boys?" I asked. He was not lying. He was not lying, but he was definitely present at the scene of the crime. He wasn't a very good liar, but these words he was saying... he truly believed them. He really thought he was not there at the scene. But he also knew the details. 

"Nothing," he spat. "Their daddies got them a free card out of punishment."

My mind wandered. Should I keep pressing him to understand why he didn't mention being at the scene or get a confession about the serial killings? 

"That must have hurt. Did you get to tell her that you liked her?" I asked. My hands were slightly trembling and I tried to control them as best as I could. 

"No, I couldn't." He retrieved his hand from under mine and pressed it against his face, hiding as tears poured out. 

"You should call him by his name. Earle Desmond," Dean said firmly. "When you don't say his name with the crime he committed, you let him get away with it."

"You're right. Earle... how did you talk to him without feeling anger and disgust?" I scrunched my nose to imitate the emotion. 

"It was hard... it was really hard. Whenever I saw him, I wanted to puke. He was so charismatic and carefree. He acted like it was no big deal and I had to smile and stay silent." He shook his head in disbelief. 

"Why did you stay silent?" I asked. "If it were me, I would have turned him away. I wouldn't be able to stand being near him. You're really a strong and excellent person. You didn't deprive him of your services even though he was a horrible person." Dean looked up and then smirked. 

I felt like a breakthrough had happened. I had confirmed that he was above average. That was what he was looking for. To appease me and make me think more highly of him, he would brag. Only, I would have to coax him a little. That was okay. 

"Do you think I wanted to talk to him? I was hoping someone would end him." Okay, that was progress. He admitted that he wanted Earle dead.

"Why didn't you beat him up, though? Like those other guys? You could have punished him." Dean stiffened slightly and he stared at me, trying to find something. "You're admirable. You aren't scared that these scumbags will press charges against you. How can they when they were the ones doing the wrong?" I looked up at the ceiling. "When you have the job that I do, you see people worse than you can imagine. It makes you look at people differently. When you dive into the swamp, it is hard to resurface. Sometimes..." I trailed off. I glanced at him and realized that he was fascinated. 

"I..." he trailed off. It had been a long time since Detective Nash had left. As if on cue, he entered. 

"I'm back. I've been working late nights so I have stomach flu, I think," he chuckled. I remained silent as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Dean looked at me with confidence that I wouldn't reveal anything much. 

Now, I was wondering how we would bring out the actual news. I was too amateur to make him confess following procedure, which was why Detective Nash had intervened, probably. 

"Did you guys talk about anything fun?" Nash asked casually and Dean shook his head. 

"We were just talking about life in general. I would love to grab a coffee with Detective Lewis after I tell you everything I know. Detective, you're single, right?" My heart skipped a beat but a smile bloomed on my face.