CHAPTER FOURTEEN #3
"This is from a study I conducted three years ago," he explained, pointing to clusters of data points.
"These subjects—" he indicated one cluster "—scored high on standard empathy assessments and demonstrated consistent prosocial behavior in controlled scenarios.
Their physiological responses showed expected patterns of emotional resonance when exposed to others' distress. "
He swiped to another visualization. "But these subjects—" a different cluster, visibly separated from the first "—scored low on empathy measures and showed antisocial tendencies in behavioral tests.
Their physiological responses were markedly different.
Reduced heart rate variability when witnessing distress, minimal skin conductance changes, pupils that dilated in response to others' pain rather than constricting.
Patterns that suggest not just reduced empathy, but potentially even pleasure in others' suffering. "
Isla studied the graphs, her unease growing. The science might be questionable, but Pritchard's conviction was absolute. He genuinely believed he could identify defective human beings through biological measurements, could detect moral corruption beneath social masks.
"These people with 'empathy deficits,'" she said carefully. "What do you think should be done about them?"
Pritchard's enthusiasm dimmed slightly, and he pulled the tablet back toward himself.
"That's a complex ethical question. In an ideal world, early identification would allow for targeted intervention—therapy, education, social support to help compensate for their neurological limitations.
But realistically?" He set down the tablet.
"Many of these individuals are fundamentally unreachable.
They learn to mimic empathy and prosocial behavior when it serves their interests, but underneath, they remain. .. defective."
"Defective," Isla repeated, the word tasting bitter. "That's the term you used in your paper. What does it mean, exactly?"
"It means their internal experience of the world doesn't match the external presentation they've learned to perform.
" Pritchard's clinical tone had returned, the excitement replaced by something colder.
"They go through life pretending to care about others, pretending to feel guilt or compassion or remorse, but it's all performance.
Underneath, they're hollow. And worse, many of them occupy positions where they interact with vulnerable people—positions that give them power over others who need help. "
The silence that followed felt heavy, charged with implication.
Isla exchanged a glance with James, seeing her own thoughts reflected in his expression.
They were listening to a worldview that could absolutely justify murder—identifying people deemed morally defective, declaring them unreachable and fundamentally corrupt, suggesting they shouldn't hold positions of authority over others.
But as compelling as Pritchard's ideology was as a motive, Isla couldn't shake the disconnect between the man sitting before them—thin-shouldered, with trembling hands and an academic's sedentary build—and the physical demands of the crimes they were investigating.
"Dr. Pritchard," Isla said, choosing her words carefully. "When you learned about David Langford's death, did you have any theories about what might have happened to him?"
"I assumed it was an accident initially," Pritchard said, but something in his eyes suggested otherwise.
"The tunnels can be dangerous, especially if someone isn't paying attention or following proper safety protocols.
Given Langford's general carelessness about his work, an accident seemed. .. fitting."
"And now that you know it was murder? Now that you know Linda Graves was also killed in the tunnels?" Isla leaned forward. "Do you have theories about who might be responsible?"
Pritchard was quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving from Isla to James and back again. When he spoke, his voice carried a strange mix of caution and fascination.
"If I were investigating these cases," he said slowly, "I would look for someone with extensive knowledge of the tunnel system—obviously.
But more than that, I'd look for someone who understood these victims' fundamental nature.
Someone who saw past their professional facades to the defects underneath. "
"Defects," James repeated.
"Linda Graves presented herself as a social worker dedicated to helping families, but her actual behavior showed callous disregard for the people she was supposed to serve.
David Langford wore a city uniform and was paid to maintain critical infrastructure, but he treated every interaction as an opportunity to demonstrate his superiority over the 'stupid' civilians he encountered.
" Pritchard's intensity was building now, his clinical detachment slipping.
"They were hypocrites of the worst kind—people in positions of trust who used that trust to demean and harm others while hiding behind official authority. "
"So you think the killer is motivated by a sense of justice," Isla said. "Punishing people who abuse their positions?"
"I think the killer sees something most people can't see," Pritchard said.
"The disconnect between presentation and reality.
The gap between the role someone claims to fill and their actual impact on the world.
" He paused, seeming to catch himself. "But that's purely speculation, of course.
I'm a research scientist, not a criminal profiler. "
Isla stood, signaling that the interview was coming to an end.
She'd learned what she needed to know—Pritchard had both motive and ideology that aligned with the murders, and his professional encounters with both victims had clearly left deep impressions.
But they had no physical evidence, nothing that connected him directly to either death beyond circumstantial associations.
And more troubling still, he simply didn't seem physically capable of the crimes—too frail, too weak, too much the aging academic rather than someone who could wrestle unwilling victims to their deaths.
Beyond that, there was no indication he even knew about the tunnel system, let alone had the expertise to navigate it and use it as a weapon.
"Thank you for your time, Dr. Pritchard," she said, pulling out a business card. "If you think of anything else that might be relevant to our investigation, please call me."
Pritchard took the card, studying it briefly before setting it on the table.
"Of course. I hope you catch whoever's responsible.
Though I have to admit—" he hesitated, then continued with an expression that looked almost like a smile "—there's a certain elegance to using the tunnel system itself as the weapon.
The heat that cooked Langford, the water that drowned Graves—it's as if the infrastructure they were supposed to maintain and serve was turned against them. Poetic justice, in a way."
The comment hung in the air, disturbing in its appreciation for the killer's methodology. Isla maintained her professional mask, but she filed the reaction away as another data point in the profile that was slowly solidifying.