The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [174]
Vail’s gaze returned to the Dead Eyes killer, Samantha Farwell. Her twin sister.
The short red hair was parted to the side, the voice was deep and rough, and the actions were aggressive and consistent with male offenders she had faced in the past. In fact, everything in the killer’s behavior was consistent with that of a male. Above all, a true female serial killer was nearly unheard of. But it was now clear there was a great deal more going on.
Rudnick was back at the table facing Sam, who had calmed. The guards had left the room on Rudnick’s insistence. “Sam, I would like to talk with Samantha.”
“And what’s she going to tell you that I can’t?”
Rudnick shrugged matter-of-factly. “How she felt, what it was like growing up.”
“I can tell you everything you need to know.”
“I’m not here to hurt her, Sam, you know that. I realize you can answer my questions, but I’d really like her perspective. Please.”
Sam’s chin dipped a bit and his head tilted to the side. The brow softened, the face lost its hard edge—became more feminine—and the shoulders slumped inward.
“Samantha?” Rudnick asked. “Is that you?”
Her head remained still, but her eyes darted around the room before coming to rest on Rudnick’s face. “Who are you?” The voice was smooth and melodic, as different from Sam’s as the scent of a rose is from a clove of garlic.
“Whoa,” Sinclair said, watching through the mirror. “No offense, but your sister’s loony tunes.”
Manette whistled. “Man, she is definitely off her rocker.”
Loony. Off her rocker. Convenient colloquial terms, but inaccurate. “Samantha has classic DID,” Vail said. “Dissociative Identity Disorder. To understand what it is, you have to understand who she is, where she came from. Her father, Patrick Farwell, was a sadistic man; Samantha had to find a way of dealing with him. My guess is she was young and weak and ill equipped to handle his abuse. Eventually, her mind created a stronger personality, what psychiatrists call a protector persona. Sam, a male, was better equipped to withstand the abuse and probably found a way to fight back. He became dominant and Samantha remained tucked away, safe and sound.”
“Sounds like more psycho bullshit to me,” Manette said.
Vail spun to face her. “It’s a well-documented condition. It usually begins during childhood as a defense mechanism to severe abuse. And it mostly hits women. Don’t take my word for it, look it up in the journals. Hell, check the DSM-IV manual, it’s in there, too.” She turned back to the glass. “And I’ve seen it before.”
“So have I,” Del Monaco said. He had been standing in the background, engrossed in the interview. “Once. Absolutely blew my mind.”
“So Samantha was asleep for twenty-five years?” Bledsoe asked.
“Not asleep,” Vail corrected. “Dormant, probably for a little while. Patrick Farwell was arrested when Samantha was about thirteen. My guess is that when Sam felt it was safe, Samantha reemerged. When Farwell got out of prison eighteen months ago, he must’ve found Samantha. Sam reemerged, older and wiser, able to carry out the fantasies he’d created as an adolescent.” Vail continued to watch her sister through the glass. “Unleashed and unchecked, Sam acted on those fantasies. He set out to kill the woman he considered responsible for Samantha’s fate—her mother. He started killing. The first victim came easy. It was intensely satisfying, and he killed again. And again.”
Del Monaco nodded. “Each victim was similar in appearance to the way Eleanor Linwood looked as a young woman. To Sam, each victim was Samantha’s evil mother.”
“What keeps every killer from claiming they’ve got this ‘identity disorder’?” Manette asked.
“Nothing,” Del Monaco said. “Gacy tried to claim DID as a defense, but not once, in all the interviews I conducted with him, did I ever see evidence of an alternate personality.