Diana slumped against the back of her chair.
“You can’t let yourself simply react emotionally to anything Dryden says. You’ve got to recognize the strings he’s pulling.”
This time Diana looked anything but confident. And Bobby had to admit, any confidence he might have conjured up before this meeting was eroding as well.
“Back to his comment about you making him feel like a god.”
Diana nodded. “Please.”
“Serial killers often struggle with conflicting feelings of inadequacy and superiority. Dryden is a perfect example of that. He’s a narcissist. He craves superiority. He strikes out at people who make him feel inadequate. From Dryden’s point of view, the way you and your sister reacted to him verified what he is desperate to believe about himself. That he is superior. His mother didn’t tell him this. She abused him and scorned him. His wife didn’t tell him this. She controlled him and had affairs with other men behind his back. Dryden had poor grades in school. He was bullied as a teen. He had trouble holding a steady job.”
Burnell glanced down at the papers in front of him, yet Bobby had the impression he knew most of the facts of Dryden’s life by heart.
“Then along came his twin girls. Little girls who adored their daddy and looked up to him. Little girls who gave him what he saw as his due.”
Unease trekked up Bobby’s spine. “Where are you leading with this?”
Burnell didn’t take his eyes off Diana. “Dryden wants you to look at him the same way you did as a toddler. More to the point, he is going to insist you make him feel the same way.”
Diana nodded.
Bobby had a little more trouble. “And if she doesn’t?”
“Best case scenario? He’ll get bored and no longer want to talk.”
“Worst case?”
“He’ll want to destroy you.”
The conference room fell silent.
Diana finally broke the stillness. “That’s what happened with your wife Risa, wasn’t it? She didn’t give him enough reverence.”
Burnell paused a moment before answering. “She interviewed him for a university study. It made him feel important. But when she published her findings in an academic journal, even though she never used his name, Dryden didn’t appreciate it.”
Bobby didn’t have to know all the details to be sure that was an understatement.
“Listen,” Burnell continued. “I’ve spent my career profiling killers, interviewing them, studying their behavior in order to understand what’s important to them, how their minds work, what they might do next. But without a lick of training, Dryden figured me inside and out within days. He profiled me.”
“So what kind of a chance does Diana have of learning anything?” Bobby knew she wouldn’t be happy with him for weighing in again, but he couldn’t help it.
“Don’t react emotionally, stick to the truth, and you should be fine,” Burnell said. “The fact that you need him to find the missing woman should make him feel powerful.”
Bobby didn’t like the idea of Dryden feeling powerful. Not one bit. He turned to Diana, praying to see hesitation in her eyes, second thoughts poised on her tongue.
Instead, her lips pressed into a determined line. “If he’ll help find Nadine Washburn, it’ll be worth it.”
Diana
Diana looked up at the camera in the corner of the prison interview room. It stared back at her and Dryden with its dark eye.
She knew Bobby was watching them, listening to every word. He’d done better than she expected during the meeting with Trent Burnell. And when she’d walked into this interview room alone to face Dryden, he’d merely wished her good luck. But in his eyes, she could see how much those two little words had cost.
“Your boyfriend is watching.” The low murmur of Dryden’s voice ripped through her body like an electric charge.
She met his emotionless eyes. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Then you shouldn’t look at the camera that way, or you will.”
Diana sucked in a breath, trying not to react. She was supposed to be controlling her emotions, and already she was off to a bad start. She focused on where the conversation had left off before she’d gotten herself off track with thoughts of Bobby. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m sorry. I was too busy watching you.” His smile reached across the distance between their chairs and burrowed under her skin.
“I asked about this copycat. Have you known him a long time?”
Dryden let out a sigh. “I’m here to talk about father-daughter things. Not sit through endless queries from the police.”
“When I was here yesterday, you said you would tell me more. About the copycat. About the woman he kidnapped.”
“But you’re not doing the asking. Your mouth might be moving, but Bobby Vaughan’s questions are coming out.”
She didn’t like hearing him say Bobby’s name. She didn’t like him thinking about Bobby at all. “They’re my questions too.”
“You really want to know about this… Oh, what did the media call him? The Copycat Killer?”
“Yes.”
Dryden arched his graying brows. “After what you went through with that professor, I would think hearing the details would be traumatic for you.”
And he was right. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that to him. “I want to know.”
He offered another cold, knowing smile and nothing else.
“You said he was like a son to you,” she prompted. “Is he your son?”
“You mean, do you have a brother?”
She leaned forward before she could stop herself. “Do I?”
“Would you like that? To have a brother?”
A brother who was like Ed Dryden? The thought pressed down on her chest like a physical weight. She managed a weak nod.
“Not sure?”
She couldn’t lie. “I wouldn’t like to have a brother who kills people, no. But I’d like to know if I have a brother. Do I?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“That’s all the answer I’m going to give. At least today.”
“I’m here now. I don’t know if I can make it tomorrow.”
“You can. And you will. Now tell me about Sylvie’s wedding. What kind of music played when she marched down the aisle? Wagner?”
He wanted her to react to the reference to Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.” Wanted to see how she felt about the music boxes she and Sylvie had received.
Diana caught herself before she raised her fingers to the heart-shaped pendant Sylvie had given her for being part of her wedding. She folded her hands tightly in her lap. “Let’s say I do have a brother. Does he have the same mother as Sylvie and me?”
“Back to that again.”
“Humor me.”
“Are you worried that I was”—he hesitated, as if searching for the word—“screwing around on your mother?”
“Were you?”
He tilted his head to the side, looking at her as if he suspected she was an idiot. “You realize your mother was a whore, don’t you?”
She forced herself not to react. “Did you?”
His eyes drove into her, piercing like icepicks. “Not once. Not a single time.”
“Then how might I have a brother?”
“Your mother wasn’t my first.”
So it was someone in his past. Or at least it might be. She had to remember Dryden couldn’t be trusted. Any word from his lips could be a lie. But at least Sylvie and Bryce wouldn’t be wasting their time in Oshishobee.