𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

XXII

Henrys pov
Being a killer studying criminology-based psychology has its perks. I study the mind of murderers, study all their tricks. In doing so, I know exactly how to act to seem innocent. I know how to trick the mind, to beat them at their own game. Not a good mix.

The human brain fascinates me. The way it works, the way it can be tricked. I've studied it so well that I've been able to control the way the world sees me. Anyone can become a killer, given the right story and tools. Some are just smarter than others. My father, his underground employees, and his friends in this secret society that maintain their rich lifestyles with dirty money; They all know me as the weapon, a chess piece in their game of money and success. They know me as a killer that does what he's told. My peers in school, the business world, and the other rich kids; They know me as a Vitiello, the Russian heir of a long history of electricity and Microsoft. They know me as a silent, narcissistic rich boy with one of the highest IQs in the world. They know me as power hungry, and they fear me for it. Jane, however, is the only one that truly knows me. Even if she wishes she didn't.

The first mind trick they use on me is isolation. I'm in a room surrounded by one-sided windows, in a dark room, away from others to make me feel like I'm alone. What they don't realize is that I've been trained to be unaffected by anything they try on me.

The second trick they use on me is maximization. One of the two detectives interrogating me acts as though he knows for a fact I'm the killer. As if he already has the evidence. He's playing bad cop, but I know he's full of shit because, well, I don't make mistakes. I'm smarter than that. "Imagine killing all those innocent people. Young students, with so much ahead of them. They didn't even get to graduate. Their family will never see them again." He gives me a pointed look. "How could someone live with themselves? What a freak."

The third trick is minimization.  The second detective has given me a cup of water, asked me about my day, and pitys me for my heart attack. She reminds me that if I just simply confess, my sentence will shorten. She tells me this is just protocol. She's playing good cop. "Sorry if the chairs are uncomfortable." She smiles, "You must want to get out as much as I do. I think that if you just tell us what you know, we could pull a few strings and send you home."

As for my tricks, the very first I use is self-preening. Most believe that if you comply, if you're a participant and patient with the police that you'll get out faster. This is amateur psychology because truthfully, it's the quite opposite. If you're being interrogated about a crime you didn't commit, you're bound to be frustrated. To be combative. The two cops investigating my body language will think that I'm not trying to get on their good side, which is rare for most in authority, and will see my frustration as raw.  Which it is. I did commit the murders, but I know they couldn't have anything on me. No witnesses, no cameras I hadn't hacked, no evidence, no weapon of choice or trace of me. No fingertips, either. "I have to wake up early for classes tomorrow, why am I still here?" I lean back, a tactic that makes me look honest. "I didn't kill those people, so there's nothing to discuss."

"You knew the suspects." The bad cop tells me.

"Everyone knows everyone in Hendrix. We're spoiled rich kids, college is just a social climbing opportunity for us." I lean back, rub my shaved jaw and run a hand through my hair to buy into the annoyed act.

"One of the victims, Simon Lee, was last seen walking out of your family-owned bar, Death&Company. You were seen there as well."

I let out a dry laugh. "You think I killed him? Just check the cameras." That I altered.

"We have." He tells me.

"So you see I have an alibi." Xander, who was there helping me kill the witness.