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the room, though, the man napping on the couch decided to make himself heard. From under his baseball cap he announced, “Embarrassing the family name is no reason to kill a man.”
    Rapp wasn’t surprised by the comment, but it still pissed him off. He’d been arguing with Mike Nash about this entire mess for the last few hours.
    “How about committing treason, boy genius?” Hurley asked.
    “Definitely a capital offense, but then again it doesn’t exactly fall under our jurisdiction.”
    Hurley’s eyes scanned the surface of the desk, his hands beginning to tremble with rage. He skipped the stapler, grabbed a ceramic coffee mug, and whipped it across the room. The mug hit the concrete wall just above the leather couch and shattered into a thousand pieces, shards raining down on Nash.
    Nash jumped off the couch shouting, “What the hell?”
    “You wanna argue with me, sport, you do me the courtesy of getting off your ass and looking me in the eye!” Hurley turned to Rapp and snarled, “What kinda shit show are you running? If I wanted personal opinions I’d join a fucking book club.” Hurley set out across the room, growling and cursing under his breath. When he reached the steel door he banged on it several times with his cane and then punched in the code to release the lock.
    Rapp looked at Nash and mouthed the words, What in the hell is wrong with you?
    Nash didn’t bother to reply. He was too steamed at Hurley to deal with Rapp.
    A moment later Dr. Lewis joined them and the door to the interrogation room was closed and locked. No one took a seat. Rapp and Hurley faced Lewis while Maslick stayed behind the desk to keep an eye on the monitors and Nash stayed on the other side of the room, still stewing about his rebuke.
    “Give it to me straight,” Hurley said to the shrink.
    Lewis started to speak and then paused as if deciding where to begin. He ran a hand through his curly blond hair and said, “Classic narcissistic personality disorder.”
    “That’s it?”
    “No, it’s quite a bit more complicated than that.” Lewis hesitated and then asked, “You knew his parents?”
    “Yep.”
    “Dad not around much?”
    “None of us were. That’s how it was back then.”
    Lewis nodded in understanding and studied Hurley with his blue eyes. “He was in the clandestine service with you?”
    “Yep.”
    “So he was around even less than the average dad?”
    “I suppose so.”
    “Was his mother detached?”
    “Marge,” Hurley said, as his eyes became unfocused, as if trying to remember some distant memory. “She wasn’t exactly the warmest person.”
    “Not very affectionate?”
    “About as affectionate as that desk over there.”
    Lewis nodded. “It all fits the profile. Adams has an overinflated sense of worth and that carries over into a sense of entitlement. The flip side is that his self-esteem is very fragile. It would be extremely difficult for him to take criticism. To deepen the problem, he lacks empathy, which enables him to be extremely exploitative of others. He feels that he is special… and can only be understood by brilliant people. That he should only associate with others whom he deems talented enough, while at the same time he needs their real talent to validate his underlying insecurities.”
    “Martyr complex? Always thinks he’s getting screwed by someone and needs to let everyone know it?”
    “Very common. When he comes across someone like Mitch, for instance,” Lewis gestured to Rapp, “someone who is strong-minded, independent, results-oriented, not prone to handing out compliments, someone who is acknowledged as being at the top of their game. When that happens,” Lewis winced, “he feels that person is the enemy and has to be knocked down to size. It is not uncommon for people with this disorder to become lawyers. It makes them feel smarter than most other people, and they can use their knowledge of the law to bully those who do not validate their imagined