Chapter 48
PENDERGAST GAVE A LIGHT knock on the partially open office door. When he heard a pleasant “Come in,” he eased the door open and stuck his head in. “Dr. Telligren?”
The gray-haired man behind the desk looked at him. “Yes?”
At this, Pendergast slid out his wallet and opened it to the badge. “FBI,” he said, without entering, standing at the threshold.
“FBI? Oh yes. You were here once before. And I recognize you from the ceremony. Magnus’s friend, I guess—I don’t see how you could have gotten into the faculty offices otherwise. But never mind that—come in.”
Pendergast came in and waited.
“Sit down.”
Pendergast sat down, his hands clasped almost submissively in front of him.
“So what can I help you with now?” Telligren asked, a note of impatience in his voice.
Pendergast fumbled out a tape recorder. “May I?”
“No.”
Pendergast put it away. “I had a few more questions,” he said, “about Parker Wickman.”
When Telligren didn’t reply, Pendergast added: “His name came up the last time I was in this office. A student in the medical school. Studying neurological psychology.”
“What about him?”
“Perhaps you read about the serial killer who himself was murdered and his house burned, off the Chef Menteur Highway?”
“There were some reports about it in the papers.”
“That was Wickman.”
“As I told you already, I don’t recall much about him.”
“But you should. He was a student associated with the PSI lab.”
At this Telligren seemed to go quite still. “Ah yes,” he said. “But that was years ago. As I told you, he dropped out.”
“Eight years ago.”
“If you say so. Agent Pendergast, may I ask where is this interview going? You’ve taken up my time once before, and we’ve already gone over this.”
“Tell me about the PSI research.”
“Not much to tell. Nothing came of it. It was eventually an embarrassment to the university and it was canceled, the lab closed.”
“But you were in charge of it.”
A silence. Then Telligren sighed. “I don’t like to think about it, much less admit it.
I was young and green, and eager like most research MDs.
I believed there might be something to it.
There wasn’t. Sometimes that’s how it works in science.
Thankfully, my career survived that youthful scientific misadventure. ”
“Do you recall what Wickman’s proposed dissertation thesis was?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Or why all the course files are missing from the archives?”
At this, Telligren leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers.
“They were tossed. As I said, the research field of PSI was discredited and the Tulane lab closed. Look, Agent Pendergast, I’m trying to be patient and cooperate, but these questions don’t seem to be going anywhere.
Is there something specific you want to know? ”
Pendergast’s voice changed timbre. His whole demeanor and body language altered.
He stood and loomed over Telligren, invading his personal space, and spoke so quietly his voice could barely be heard.
“What happened to Wickman? Because something happened to him during the PSI research he did under your tutelage. It turned a fine young student into a serial killer. And you, Dr. Telligren, know all about it.”
“I know nothing of the sort. I hardly remember the fellow, and I resent your accusation. Now, I’m through talking to you. If you want to question me further, find yourself a judge who will sign a warrant. Good day.”
Pendergast straightened up. “But, Doctor, I’m not yet done.
I’m certain you have much to tell me about your experiments, possibly even PSI surgeries.
And, no doubt, how they went awry—with poor Wickman and who knows how many others?
You did something to his brain, did you not?
And that something turned him into what he eventually became. ”
At this, Telligren rose from his chair, gripping the arms with white knuckles. In a voice of barely suppressed rage, he said: “Get out.”
Pendergast replied, in a voice so abruptly cheerful it was chilling, “Of course I’ll leave. But I shall be back.” He paused, lowering his voice once more. “And I will find out what you know, Dr. Telligren. All that you know. I will break you.”