electronics store to obtain an attachment to his phone, so he could record conversations. This was followed by a second trip to an office supply outlet to acquire several legal tablets of yellow lined paper and a box of Number 2 pencils. He would tape. He would take notes.
The recording device was a stick-on suction cup that picked up both voices in a telephone conversation. It attached to a microcassette recorder. The advantage to the setup was simple: It would not make the ubiquitous beeping sound that legal recordings made.
He wasn’t sure what purpose would be served by making a recording. But it seemed like it might be a wise move, and in the absence of any other forms of protection, it seemed to make sense. Perhaps he’ll make some overt, obvious threat and I can go to the police …
Jeremy doubted he would be so fortunate. He assumed the caller would be too smart. And anyway—what could the cops do to protect me? Park a cruiser outside? For how long? Tell me to get a gun and a pit bull?
He knew he had great ability to extract information from a subject. This capability had always come easily to him. But he also knew that his examinations had been after the fact—crimes had been committed, arrests made.
He understood crimes from the past. This was the promise of a crime in the future.
Predictions? Impossible.
Regardless, when he sat down at his small desk in his upstairs office, he had a feeling of confidence as he worked out some questions for that inevitable second call. This was frustrating, slow-paced work. He knew he had to do some rudimentary psychological assessments—he had to ask some questions that would ascertain that the caller was oriented to time, place, and circumstances in order to make sure he wasn’t schizophrenic and getting homicidal command hallucinations. He already knew the answer to that particular question was no, but the scientist in him demanded that he still make certain.
Rule out as many mental illnesses as you can.
But what dragged out his preparation was the realization that he was in uncharted psychological territory.
Danger assessment tools were really designed to help social service systems assist threatened wives to avoid abusive husbands. Situational context was crucial—but he also knew that he could comprehend only half of this equation: mine . The part that he needed to know was: his .
Jeremy Hogan sat in the near dark, surrounded by papers, academic studies, journal copies, textbooks that he hadn’t opened in years, and computer printouts of various web pages devoted to risk understanding.
It was night. A single desktop light and his computer screen were the only illumination in the room. He glanced outside his window to take in the sweep of inky isolation that surrounded his old farmhouse. He could not recall whether he’d left any lights on downstairs in the kitchen or living room.
He thought: I have become an old man. The steady gray fog of aging turns to deep night darkness.
This was far more poetic than he usually was.
Jeremy returned to his research. At the top of a blank sheet on one of his legal pads he listed:
Appearance
Attitude
Behavior
Mood and Affect
Speech
Thought Process
Thought Content
Perceptions
Cognition
Insight
Judgment
Under ordinary circumstances, these were the emotional domains he would probe before returning a psychological profile. Of the accused, he told himself. But now it’s me who stands accused.
There would be no way to assess appearance or anything else that required him to observe the caller in the flesh. So he would be limited to what he could detect from the caller’s tone, the specific words he used, and the way he constructed his message.
Language is key. Every word must tell you something.
Thought process is next. How does he construct his desire to kill me? Look for signals that will underscore the meaning of murder to him. When does he laugh? When does he lower his voice? When does he speed it
The recording device was a stick-on suction cup that picked up both voices in a telephone conversation. It attached to a microcassette recorder. The advantage to the setup was simple: It would not make the ubiquitous beeping sound that legal recordings made.
He wasn’t sure what purpose would be served by making a recording. But it seemed like it might be a wise move, and in the absence of any other forms of protection, it seemed to make sense. Perhaps he’ll make some overt, obvious threat and I can go to the police …
Jeremy doubted he would be so fortunate. He assumed the caller would be too smart. And anyway—what could the cops do to protect me? Park a cruiser outside? For how long? Tell me to get a gun and a pit bull?
He knew he had great ability to extract information from a subject. This capability had always come easily to him. But he also knew that his examinations had been after the fact—crimes had been committed, arrests made.
He understood crimes from the past. This was the promise of a crime in the future.
Predictions? Impossible.
Regardless, when he sat down at his small desk in his upstairs office, he had a feeling of confidence as he worked out some questions for that inevitable second call. This was frustrating, slow-paced work. He knew he had to do some rudimentary psychological assessments—he had to ask some questions that would ascertain that the caller was oriented to time, place, and circumstances in order to make sure he wasn’t schizophrenic and getting homicidal command hallucinations. He already knew the answer to that particular question was no, but the scientist in him demanded that he still make certain.
Rule out as many mental illnesses as you can.
But what dragged out his preparation was the realization that he was in uncharted psychological territory.
Danger assessment tools were really designed to help social service systems assist threatened wives to avoid abusive husbands. Situational context was crucial—but he also knew that he could comprehend only half of this equation: mine . The part that he needed to know was: his .
Jeremy Hogan sat in the near dark, surrounded by papers, academic studies, journal copies, textbooks that he hadn’t opened in years, and computer printouts of various web pages devoted to risk understanding.
It was night. A single desktop light and his computer screen were the only illumination in the room. He glanced outside his window to take in the sweep of inky isolation that surrounded his old farmhouse. He could not recall whether he’d left any lights on downstairs in the kitchen or living room.
He thought: I have become an old man. The steady gray fog of aging turns to deep night darkness.
This was far more poetic than he usually was.
Jeremy returned to his research. At the top of a blank sheet on one of his legal pads he listed:
Appearance
Attitude
Behavior
Mood and Affect
Speech
Thought Process
Thought Content
Perceptions
Cognition
Insight
Judgment
Under ordinary circumstances, these were the emotional domains he would probe before returning a psychological profile. Of the accused, he told himself. But now it’s me who stands accused.
There would be no way to assess appearance or anything else that required him to observe the caller in the flesh. So he would be limited to what he could detect from the caller’s tone, the specific words he used, and the way he constructed his message.
Language is key. Every word must tell you something.
Thought process is next. How does he construct his desire to kill me? Look for signals that will underscore the meaning of murder to him. When does he laugh? When does he lower his voice? When does he speed it
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