18. The Gentleman Arsonist

18

The Gentleman Arsonist

 

Pre-perception is a perfectly natural thing. Most of the kids that come into my office share similar personality traits, moral values and aesthetics. Often ill groomed, usually impolite and it seems that tracksuits or oversized garments of various descriptions are the clothing of choice for my client demographic. After a couple of weeks one begins to expect it. I’d see a name on a form and pre-perceive �" with a high level accuracy, how that person will act, look and behave.

             Mark Barton walks into my office and smashes any perceptions I’d made of him to pieces. The building’s receptionist shows him in and his first act, though small is an immediate change from the usual. He smiles at me. He stands upright, his hair is styled to within an inch of its life and to top it off he’s wearing tailored linen trousers with a fitted shirt and corduroy jacket. He looks like a cross between a designer clothing model and one of the few cool teachers I had at school. It’s hard to believe from his appearance that he’s only eighteen years of age.

         “Good morning Dr. Evans, it’s a pleasure.” he says, his voice is calming and smooth. The only word that springs to mind for him is ‘gentleman’. He reaches his hand out in offer of a handshake and makes strong eye contact. I’m a little taken aback; the usual introduction is a sour faced kid with negative body language, slumping into the centre chair avoiding looking at me at all costs. I shake his hand “Good morning Mark, take a seat.” He unbuttons his crisp jacket as he sits down. “And please,” I continue “call me Stewart.”

         Mark’s sits with crossed legs, his fingers interlocked rest just above his knee and his entire being emits confidence and calm, before I’ve even begun a conversation with him I find myself fascinated. This young man in front of me is a convicted criminal as is every one of the people that sit in that chair but this one is different. I can’t yet tell precisely what it is but he has something different about him. “So Mark,” I begin “Do you understand what the purpose of you being here is?” He looks at me and with a polite tone says, “I believe so, you’re going to assess me psychologically.” As he finishes his sentence, he looks down and gently brushes some fluff from the linen covering his thigh, he then returns his gaze to me. Everything he does is slow and nonchalant. “That’s correct, now I know you’ve seen and spoken to other psychology professionals before your trial but I’m a little different ok?” As I speak I scan his body language and facial expressions, trying to form an early assessment of his current state. “The people you spoke to before you were convicted were interested in why you committed the crime, your motivations, situational awareness, those sorts of things.” He seems calm, emotionless. “Whilst I too am interested in these questions, my main analysis is done to assess whether you’re likely to do it again.” The words fall out of my mouth, like muscle memory. I’ve said them a thousand times before.

          I continue my usual spiel. “I want this to feel like a conversation, a two way thing, we’ll get to know each other rather than just me getting to know you. My aim here is to help you and at the end of our sessions I want nothing more than to be able to recommend that you need no further communication with the justice system.” As I’m speaking I open my notepad and ready my pen. “In order for that to happen though Mark, you need to convince me that you’re in excellent mental health and that repeat offending is extremely unlikely.”           

          There’s a pause as I wait for a response from him, an acknowledgement of what I’ve said. He simply smiles and quietly says “ok.”

           “So as this is the first session, we’re just going to spend the hour getting to know each other, we won’t even touch on it today… the arson.” The sentence is tailored; it’s a technique I use regularly. Referencing their wrong doing specifically and after a pause at the end of the sentence. Enables me to pinpoint their reaction to it, giving me small insight into how they feel about it now. Sometimes doing this evokes a change in body language, a pained facial expression or an itch. But on the word “arson” Mark doesn’t even flinch. I’ve only been with him for a couple of minutes but already I can fairly confidently rule out guilt as an emotional attachment to his crime.

          There’s another pause, “I’ll start, my name’s Stewart,” I smile and think about what else to tell Mark about myself. Before I can continue he butts in. “Stewart Evans, you’ve been doing this for just over two years. You lived in France when you were younger, where you worked as a chef �" quite the career change. You’re now happily married to Chloe Evans and have a daughter called Emma. A gorgeous little girl by the way” His face is expressionless and his eyes are cold. A chill creeps up my spine; an entirely new sensation comes over me, this is novel. I feel myself frown, “How did you…” I can barely finish my sentence such is my shock.

           Mark senses my discomfort and smiles reassuringly. “I Googled you, I hope you don’t mind.” He sits up slightly, “I just wanted to know a little more about the man that gets such a big say on my future… I only checked your social network pages,” He lets out a short nervous laugh. “I’ve not been stalking you or anything.” Despite what he says, my discomfort lingers inside me. I’m not the subject of interest in this situation, my client is. Mark has gotten the characters mixed up. I immediately attempt to steer the conversation “So it seems you have a pretty good overview of me, why don’t you tell me about yourself?” “You know it’s strange,” he says ignoring my question completely. “I have this tag on my ankle, I have curfews and have to be in certain places at certain times” His face has a quizzical look as though he’s asking me a question, or posing a riddle. “Yet I can use the internet with only a minimal amount of monitoring.” He leans forward almost menacingly, “Don’t you think the justice system is a little behind the times in that sense? I can do more damage on a computer than by physically being anywhere.” He sits back again; his body language and facial expressions reverting back to the calm gentleman that first entered the room. “That is of course if I wanted to… which I don’t.” He smiles a big phony smile as he says the word “don’t” he seems to see the whole thing as a game and he clearly backs himself to win.

            “How was your upbringing Mark?” I ask, undeterred by his musings. I want to get him talking about himself, want to start reading him but he’s making it difficult so far. He seems happy to talk about anything but himself. He leans back in the chair and as he answers me inspects his fingernails. “Fine… privileged even. From the outside looking in you’d say perfect.” His delivery is slow and calculated as though every word is being carefully chosen, he’s talking about himself I think that’s a start. “What about from the inside?” I prompt. Mark looks at me and gives a hint of a wry smile. “Fine, the odd…” he pauses for thought, “mishap. But what family doesn’t have those?” “How’s your relationship with your parents?” I’m already looking for the links between his life and the crime he committed, it feels natural to start with the family �" after all it was their home he destroyed. “My mother and I” He replies emotionlessly, completely devoid of warmth. “We’ve always had a good relationship, she was home a lot when I was growing up and we have a bond.” I jot down a note of this on my pad. “And your dad?” Mark sighs and looks up at the ceiling after a short while he simply mutters “Fine.” His words contradict the silent messages he’s sending out prompting me to write ‘daddy issues’ on my pad, underlining it numerous times. It’s something to dig into in a future session.

        Our hour together passes with a seemingly breathtaking speed. Mark is fascinating, frightening and challenging in equal measure and when the time comes it irks me having to end the session. I want to spend longer with him, come closer to cracking this case and as he says his goodbyes and leaves, I feel a strong sense of frustration, one that stays with me throughout the day.

        “How was your day?” Chloe asks as I arrive home, kissing me on the cheek and handing me my daughter. “Yeah it was ok, got a new one today.” I reply smiling at Emma as I carry her in one hand and stroke her hair with the other, her beautiful cheeks rise as she smiles back at me. “Thief?” Chloe guesses. “Arsonist, a really unique case actually.” I reply, before I can go into detail Chloe, clearly preoccupied with something else changes the topic. “You remember the big company in Hong Kong that I told you about?” “Sure, the super rich one that like your work.” She looks a little stressed, the look is dramatized by the frantic way she is moving around the living room. “Well,” she says hurriedly “I have a video call with them early tomorrow morning so I’m going to need you to get Emma up and fed and ready ok?” I smile “That’s fine honey.” Looking at Emma and touching her nose “Daddy can look after his little girl.” Emma giggles at me and I can’t help but feel happy, I love my little girl more than I can possibly describe. “Why so early?” I ask looking back at Chloe. She gives me the ‘don’t be stupid’ look and in a slightly patronizing way says “Because of the time difference, it’ll be normal office hours in Hong Kong.” “Makes sense.” I mutter.

           Later that night, I find myself reading Mark’s file. The reports submitted by his three previous psychologists. Two of the three have noted that Mark shows strong psychopathic tendencies. The third has a statement consisting of the words ‘Mr Barton shows no ability whatsoever to feel empathy’ which is a trademark of psychopathy. The fascinating thing however is that whist these notes are present in his medical file, the reports written for the case �" the reports that the judge will have read have no mention of this at all. They all share a similar theme, that Mark Barton is a perfectly normal, functioning member of society and that his mental state is not a factor in the crime and therefore the arson should be treated as a unique case with an extremely low risk of happening again. It doesn’t make sense, what makes three psychology professionals omit such an important thing from their legal reports? The way this happened suited Mark a great deal and everything has worked out ideally for him. It’s hard not to think he manufactured it somehow, but how? How would a boy not fifteen years old and being held in custody have threatened, manipulated or persuaded three separate men to put their careers in jeopardy? None of it makes any sense to me and I’m so wrapped up in it that I lose track of the time. “Stewart.” Chloe brings me back to reality “It’s midnight, I have this call in the morning. Come to bed.” She sounds tired herself and slightly agitated. “Yeah, sorry.” I say, standing and following her upstairs.

          I lie next to my wife, wide-awake for what feels like hours. I hear her breathing change as she drifts off to sleep. Leaving me alone with my thoughts, there’s something bothering me something big.

           I glance at the alarm clock at three in the morning, when I’m struck by what it is that’s bothering me. Clear as day it hits me, I quietly get out of the bed. Trying hard not to disturb Chloe and walk downstairs. It’s dark and eerie, still trying to be quiet; I walk over to the sofa on virtually tiptoes and sit down picking up my laptop as I do. My mind is whirring, I type in the password and log onto my social media page.

           In the session with Mark today, he’d told me information about myself. He knew where I used to live, my wife’s name and my daughters name, Emma. He’d even described her as a ‘gorgeous little girl’ implying he’s seen her. He’d explained this invasion with monitoring me on social networks, which didn’t sit well with me at the time and still doesn’t now. I hardly use my social network and I never update my page. In the shock and confusion of his words I’d not thought clearly about it.

         My page loads and I begin to scroll down looking for my last update. A chill runs up my spine and I feel myself shudder slightly. A feeling of sickness envelops me. I’d never put a picture of Emma on my page, not posted a single update since before she was born. According to my social network she didn’t exist. Mark was lying.                   

                   

 

 

Reviews

[AprilRN1210]

Love the cliffhanger as always.. nice job there.. you maintain your character's likeability here, still not sure exactly where this story is going though. I did enjoy this chapter, the dialogue and introduction to the new character were done very well. He was interesting, added mystery and excitement. I also liked that you included Chloe and his daughter again. I think a little more of that is needed to keep him well-rounded in the story line.. few little things.. I noticed..

1. Mark’s sits with crossed legs, his fingers interlocked rest(ing) just above his knee and his entire being emits confidence and calm, before I’ve even begun a conversation with him I find myself fascinated.

2. The words fall out of my mouth, like muscle memory. (doesn't quite sound right, I don't know should this be "muscled memory"?)

overall awesome chapter, like I said I am just having trouble seeing where it fits in to the workup of the first chapters...