The Conspiracy Club by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online

pretty charts for his book. He gave a try at the introduction but his mind impacted and the words crumbled. He switched topics, began an outline for the chapter he’d have to write:
Time/Space Disorientation Secondary to Pediatric Gnotobiotic Isolation.
    The only analogues in the literature were studies of scientists stranded in the Antarctic or some such hellhole.
    Jeremy’s mind wandered from bottomless glacial rifts to blue ice that could kill you if you kissed it, to the hackneyed horror of falling endlessly, a million ice violins scratching out a tundra symphony. A hard, confident knock on his door shook him upright, and Arthur Chess stepped in, beaming.
     
8
     
    T he pathologist made himself comfortable in an uncomfortable chair. “Have you given any more thought to the question I posed?”
    “The origin of evil,” said Jeremy.
    Arthur turned one hand palm-side up. “Evil is a . . . weighty word. Theologically burdened. I believe we’d settled upon ’very bad behavior.’ ”
    We.
“No, I haven’t thought about it. As I mentioned, there’s a database — sparse but suggestive. If you’re really interested.”
    “I am, Jeremy.”
    “I’ll get you some references. But the conclusions might be uncomfortable.”
    “For whom?”
    “An optimist,” said Jeremy. “A humanist.” He waited to see if Arthur would place himself in either category.
    The pathologist smoothed his beard and said nothing. Jeremy’s desk clock ticked the hour.
    “The bottom line, Arthur, is that certain people seem to be born with a hard-wired propensity for impulsiveness. Of those, a few turn to violence. Males, mostly, so testosterone may be part of it. But there’s more than hormones at work. The significant variable seems to be low arousability. Slower than normal resting heart rates. A cool nervous system.”
    “Preternatural calm,” said Arthur, as if he’d heard it before.
    “You know the research?”
    Arthur shook his head. “However, what you’re saying makes perfect sense. A stranger to fear is a stranger to conscience.”
    “That’s one theory,” said Jeremy. “Fear’s a terrific teacher, and those who don’t learn from it miss out on valuable social lessons. But there’s another way to look at it: adrenaline addiction. A congenitally understimulated central nervous system leads to a need for progressively stronger thrills. The everyday term is ‘excitement junkies.’ ”
    “I’ve seen that in Army snipers,” Arthur agreed. “Fellows who lived for the thrill, registering heartbeats so slow one thought one’s stethoscope was malfunctioning. Had one fellow could sit for hours at a time, a veritable statue. Would you say, then, that military service is a form of sublimated criminality?”
    Jeremy recalled Arthur’s own military history. The old man had enjoyed the service. “Thrill-seeking by itself isn’t the issue. Mountain climbers and sky divers are all hooked on the adrenaline high, but most of them don’t commit crimes. It’s the combination of recklessness and cruelty that leads to your very, very bad behavior. And that’s where environment comes in: Take a child with the biological markers, expose him to abuse and neglect, and you’re likely to create a . . . problem.”
    Arthur smiled again. “A monster? Is that what you were going to say?”
    “Monsters,” said Jeremy, “come in all forms.” He stood. “I’ll pull those references for you, send them over by tomorrow.”
    A rude gesture, but Arthur was unfazed. Plinking a vest button, he sprang to his feet with the vigor of a much younger man. Those same pale pink stains speckled the left cuff of his lab coat. Identical color, different stains. “One more question, if you don’t mind?”
    “What’s that?”
    “Abuse, neglect — your assumption that those factors are environmental. Could it be that what you term family dysfunction is inherited as well? Violent parents passing on their proclivities toward their