Chapter 1157: Antisocial Personality

"So the reason Barnes’ name was never removed from the website was to maintain its credibility, correct?" Clearly, Clay was displeased by the tactic.

"It’s also a form of protection," Jane said, recognizing the disapproval from the former SEAL and elaborating. "Dorian Hobart was arrested over two months ago by ATF, but we kept it quiet. The joint task force wanted to use his website to monitor extremist activity."

"I can assure you, there’s been no recent threat flagged against Commander Barnes or his family. If there had been, we’d have intervened immediately."

"So you believe Commander Barnes’ wife’s death had nothing to do with terrorists or extremists?" Jack quickly interjected before the discussion could escalate.

"Of course not," Jane replied firmly. "To those people, killing isn't the end—it's the publicity that matters. Don’t you agree, Agent Spencer?"

Clay wanted to counter, but ultimately said nothing.

Emotionally, he had a hard time accepting such methods. But Jane wasn’t wrong—if this had been the work of extremists, someone would have already claimed credit.

With tensions cooled, the lunch atmosphere turned friendly again. Jane was, after all, on their side, and the fugitive task force was merely supporting NCIS.

Aside from Clay’s discomfort as a SEAL veteran, the others understood the rationale.

After the meal, Jane volunteered to help with the investigation. As she put it, the joint task force’s strategy—whether justified or not—had put Commander Barnes and his family at risk, and they had a responsibility to help eliminate possible links.

Of course, everyone knew the real reason she wanted to stay.

So when Jack said he had another lead and planned to visit the East Baltimore Psychiatric Research Center, only Aubrey was left to go with him.

Jubal and Clay were heading to Valerie Barnes’ counseling center to review all of her patient files, while JJ and Hannah generously offered to accompany Jane back to the station.

With a sharp, warning glare from Jack, Aubrey—grinning in the passenger seat—quickly raised his hands in surrender and switched to business.

"Okay, so... what exactly are we going to a psych hospital for?"

"Elise found that Valerie Barnes used to work as a forensic psychologist in Maryland. That old facial injury of hers likely happened during that period."

Jack activated the sirens as soon as they hit the highway. The round trip from Richmond to Baltimore would take most of the day—they had to move fast.

"You think she was injured by a patient back then? That would explain the absence of medical records—probably sealed for legal or security reasons."

Before he could finish, Aubrey instinctively grabbed the handle above the window—Jack’s driving style often felt like a high-speed pursuit.

"Not a patient—I already know who. George Bolton. That name ring a bell?"

"Serial killer and cannibal. I’ve read his file—chilling stuff."

Aubrey nodded, then frowned. "I thought he was deemed unfit for trial and sentenced to life in a psych facility. So he attacked Valerie during a pre-trial assessment?"

"And that should’ve been a solid alibi, right? You think he escaped and came back for revenge?"

"No. I’ve already confirmed with the facility—Bolton’s still in his solitary cell. But I asked for his visitation records. Guess what?"

Jack handed over his work phone. Aubrey flipped through the files: documentation of the attack, photos of Valerie’s facial injuries.

"Two weeks ago, Valerie visited George Bolton... and spoke with him privately for nearly an hour?" Aubrey’s expression twisted, clearly imagining all kinds of unsettling scenarios.
——
Psychiatric facilities housing violent criminals aren’t much different from high-security prisons—in fact, their safety measures can be even more stringent. The patients there are often more dangerous than hardened felons.

Aside from the full restraints, George Bolton seemed oddly polite. When Jack and Aubrey sat down across from him, he even smiled in a friendly manner.

According to his records, he had been arrested at age 36—over a decade ago. Despite the white, shoulder-length hair, he didn’t look like someone nearing fifty.

A refined-looking middle-aged white man—in a suit and glasses, he could pass for a college professor.

"What a surprise," he said, eyes darting between the two men. "I didn’t think I’d have visitors today. May I ask who you are?"

"Special Agent Jim Aubrey. This is Agent Jack Tavore. We’re with the FBI."

Aubrey looked noticeably uneasy—despite past encounters with serial killers, this was his first face-to-face with a cannibal.

Before they could explain further, Bolton’s expression darkened.

"Ah... that’s a shame. So she’s dead, then?"

Jack and Aubrey hadn’t even spoken, but he continued anyway.

"You’re here to ask about Valerie, aren’t you?"

"Who told you she was dead?" Despite their prep en route, Bolton’s bluntness caught Aubrey off guard.

"Come now, my case has been closed for years. Why else would the FBI visit me? Your face says it all—you think I had something to do with her death."

Bolton became animated. "A fair suspicion, but you’re missing one tiny detail..."

He held up his shackled wrists, rattling the chains.

Aubrey composed himself and took the lead, as planned.

"Psychopaths often befriend other psychopaths, don’t they?"

He shrugged, switching to a casual tone.

"Look, we’re in a rush. Haven’t even had time to go through your recent records. So how about a deal? Tell us who among your freak-pen-pal friends might be the killer.

And in exchange, I’ll talk to the staff here—get you better food, a nicer room, maybe more time outside. Sound good?"

"Ha!" Bolton burst out laughing. "You really think I’d sell out like that?"

He quickly clarified, "I mean, I wouldn’t hurt Valerie. She was one of the few people I respected. I would never manipulate anyone to hurt her either."

Aubrey glanced at Jack. When Jack stayed silent, Aubrey pulled out a printed photo—Valerie, younger, her right cheek black-and-blue.

"Oh, that?" Bolton’s tone turned dismissive. "Just an unfortunate incident."

Seeing their focused stares, he actually looked embarrassed.

"Well... at the time, I thought a bit of emotional outburst might, uh, help demonstrate my mental state. It wasn’t personal."

Bolton noticed Aubrey’s disgust and added, "I swear, if I’d wanted her dead, she wouldn’t have stood a chance. You’ve read my file. If I had meant to kill her, she’d be gone."

He tapped his finger beside the photo, a flicker of madness in his eyes.

Jack, meanwhile, had been quietly reading Bolton’s file—a low-budget Hannibal Lecter. Three known victims of different ages, races, and genders. The only commonality: they had all crossed him.

"Why?" Jack finally spoke.

"Why what?" Bolton asked, then lit up with understanding. "Oh—you mean how I knew Valerie was murdered?"

"A simple deduction," he said smugly. "She was the only one who’s visited in years. We talked about some fascinating things. Then, less than two weeks later—FBI shows up. What else could it be?"

Jack slid a bottle of orange soda across the table. "Tell us what you talked about. Why you think she was murdered."

"Now we’re talking, boss."

Bolton took a long drink, then flashed Jack a servile smile.

"She said she had a problem... with a patient. Someone whose behavior reminded her of me."

"You mean another serial killer?" Aubrey sat upright.

"No, no, no. Much worse." Bolton leaned forward conspiratorially.

"You mean someone with antisocial personality disorder," Jack said.

"Oho! Did your homework, huh?" Bolton took another swig. "I like you. I could tell—even though you're younger, you're in charge."

Jack ignored the flattery. "I’m not ‘in charge.’ But I did work for the BAU, so I’ve met plenty of people like you. And I know how to talk to you."

He leaned forward slightly. "Let’s make a deal. Tell us everything you know, and I’ll get you into the BAU psychological study program. After all these years, I’m sure you have things to share."

Even Aubrey could see Bolton’s feigned restraint was paper-thin.

"Fine, you win, boss."

He finished the soda, shaking the empty bottle wistfully.

"Here’s the thing: people like me—antisocials—we’ll do anything to get what we want. Lies, manipulation, whatever it takes.

And anyone in our way—accidentally or not—is a threat that must be removed."

"You’re saying Valerie realized she had become a threat to someone with antisocial tendencies, and came to you for advice?" Aubrey asked, finally catching on.

Bolton frowned, hesitating. "At first, I think she was just suspicious. You shrinks are so unprofessional—always pretending to consider ‘all possibilities’ just because you’re unsure."

He rattled his chains again. "I helped her. Thanks to me, she finally realized she was in danger. She’d made a mistake—a serious one.

She was terrified. Even more afraid than she was being in a room with me."

"Keep going," Jack said, closing Bolton’s file and slipping it back into the folder.

"If that’s all, our deal is off. You can wait for your next visitor."

"No, no, boss, wait—she didn’t say the patient’s name, but I know they were close."

Bolton’s grin twisted. "Like when a dog bites its owner. The only reason? Abandonment. I ate mine, you know. Alive."

He delighted in Aubrey’s disgust, even licking his lips. "Ah, the memories. Childhood bliss, huh?"

"Alright, thanks for your help. Someone from BAU will be by with paperwork. Now give me the bottle," Jack said, standing and extending his hand.