Chapter 16 #3
“So, you brought me here to answer your questions. Time for you to answer one of mine.”
Ask.
“Are you the person I named as The Auditor?”
The cursor blinked once. Then twice. When I counted six blinks, I began to wonder if I’d finally asked the one question he wouldn’t answer.
Not that he’d made a habit of actually answering anything directly. When the response finally came, however, it was the last one I’d expected.
No.
My pulse stumbled and my breath backed up in my lungs. I’d already wondered if I had a way of verifying if this was the right guy or not. Or whether I’d just been…
You named a pattern you’d identified.
“That’s not an answer.”
It is.
Touching my tongue to my teeth, I tilted my head back and stared upward for a long beat then said, “Incomplete.”
Touché.
However, you assigned the name of Auditor to behavior you observed. Yes or no?
Lips pursed, I considered the question. “Yes and no.”
Incomplete.
Yes, I laughed and I had to bite my lower lip to silence the inappropriate sound.
I am happy I could entertain you.
“Someone has to,” I responded in a dry tone. “I’m having a conversation with a computer. For all I know, you could be an AI chatbot.”
The screen went totally dark again and for a moment, even the cursor stopped blinking.
“Did I insult you?”
I didn’t have to wait long for a response.
No.
Nothing. Then.
You have a lovely laugh.
“Thank you.”
You’re welcome.
“So, you’re not the person I dubbed the Auditor, but you are the person behind a pattern of behavior that I associated with the bodies being dropped in a current investigation.” Not my best wording, but I would go with it. “Do I have that part correct?”
Behavior does not require a name to exist.
I leaned forward. “Semantics.”
No. It’s specificity.
I rolled my eyes and then leaned back in the chair, arms folded as I studied the ceiling. Was he being obstreperous on purpose or just specific? He split hairs, all the way down to the fine print.
Could it be an OCD response? Something on the spectrum? Or simply covering his ass?
…
…
…
…
Ms. McBryan?
I caught the words from the corner of my eye and held up one finger to ask for more time as I considered each exchange we’d shared up to this one.
After another deep breath, I dropped my folded arms and leaned forward.
“So, you’re saying the name is wrong?”
I’m saying the name belongs to you.
I blinked.
Not to me.
The second line came before I could really say anything.
“Okay. Then who am I speaking with?”
The cursor disappeared. It returned with four words.
Who do you think?
I stared at the screen then up at the ceiling for a moment as the cursor blinked. Then another line appeared.
You’re hesitating.
“I’m thinking,” I corrected and another smile quirked the corners of my mouth. “Since we’re being specific.”
Correct.
You also studied the ceiling for 6.3 seconds.
I laughed. The chuckle escaping before I could even consider the consequences of the humor. “You counted?”
I observed you.
I rested my elbows on the desk and even as I studied the monitor, I wished it was the man—or woman, though I was fairly certain the Auditor was male—sitting in front of me. There were no tells with a blank monitor. No way to measure responses.
“So, this really is an interview.”
It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway.
Yes.
“No games?”
No.
“I ask. You answer.”
Sometimes.
“And you?”
I ask.
I couldn’t stop my smile. “Equal opportunity interrogation.”
Another pause.
Reciprocity.
The word sat there, all alone, on the screen. Another correction to the terms. Language mattered to him. I could respect that.
I nodded once. “Fair enough.”
Then I will resume.
Who do you think?
“I think—“ But I stopped. He’d asked for my opinion on who he was and for the first time in this conversation, I really didn’t have one. That wasn’t good enough. So… “I think you're deliberately separating yourself from the identity I created."
Why?
“To avoid confirming anything.”
Incomplete.
I sighed dramatically. “You've become very fond of that word.”
Because you have become fond of conclusions.
“I resent that.”
Do you?
“Yes, I work from the evidence and build on the facts.” I pursed my lips. “I’m not leaping to conclusions. I’m also looking to prove or disprove theories regarding you and your alleged crimes.”
Yes. Then, using that, distinguish what you know from what you assume.
It was like being asked to defend a thesis. Irritating, but whatever. If this netted answers, real ones, I could do it.
“Fine. You want to know what I know…” I ticked off the items on my fingers. “The evidence I am working from. You contacted me. You know details not released to the public by anyone including me. You anticipate questions I haven’t asked yet publicly or privately.”
I paused for a breath. Then continued.
“You understand the crime scenes. You expected me to come to this meeting despite the hour and the location. Also, clearly… I’m here.”
I hated admitting to the next part.
“My assumption—you’re the man I call the Auditor.”
The cursor blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Better.
I hated how absurdly satisfying that single word was.