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Zusatztext “ An Evil Mind by Chris Carter is one of the most chilling psychological thrillers.” Informationen zum Autor Chris Carter Klappentext "A freak accident in rural Wyoming leads the sheriff's department to arrest a man for a possible double homicide, but further investigations suggest a much more horrifying discovery: a serial killer who has been kidnapping, torturing, and mutilating victims all over the United States for at least twenty-five years. The suspect claims he is a pawn in a huge labyrinth of lies and deception--but can he be believed? The case is immediately handed over to the FBI, but this time they're forced to ask for help from ex-criminal behavior psychologist and lead detective with the Ultra Violent Crime Unit of the LAPD, Robert Hunter. As he begins interviewing the apprehended suspect, terrifying secrets are revealed, including the real identity of a killer so elusive that no one, not even the FBI, had any idea he existed...until now" -- page 4 of cover. Leseprobe An Evil Mind 1 Morning, Sheriff. Morning, Bobby,” the plump, brunette waitress with a small heart tattoo on her left wrist called from behind the counter. She didn’t have to check the clock hanging on the wall to her right. She knew it would be just past 6:00 a.m. Every Wednesday, without fail, Sheriff Walton and his deputy Bobby Dale came into the unassuming truck stop, just outside Wheatland in southeastern Wyoming, to get their pie fix. Rumor had it that Nora’s Diner baked the best pies in the state, a different original recipe for every day of the week. Wednesday was apple and cinnamon, Sheriff Walton’s favorite. He was well aware that the first batch always came out of the oven at 6:00 sharp, and you just couldn’t beat the taste of a freshly baked slice. “Morning, Beth,” Bobby replied, brushing rainwater off his coat and trousers. “I’ll tell you, the floodgates of hell have opened out there,” he added. Summer downpours in southeastern Wyoming were common occurrences, but this morning’s storm was the heaviest they’d seen all season. “Morning, Beth,” Sheriff Walton followed, taking off his hat, drying his face and forehead with a handkerchief, and quickly looking around the diner. At that time in the morning, and with such torrential rain outside, the place was a lot less busy than usual. Only three out of its fifteen tables were taken. It was easy to match each table’s occupants to their vehicles parked outside. The couple in their midtwenties having a pancake breakfast probably drove the beat-up silver VW Golf; the obese, shaved-headed man and the tall, gray-haired guy by the window pensively toying with his cigarettes would’ve driven in the eighteen-wheelers, while the dark-blue Taurus to the diner’s side had to belong to the stylish, well-groomed forty-something flipping through the morning’s newspaper. “Just in time,” Beth said, winking at the sheriff. “They are just out of the oven. As if you didn’t know.” The sweet smell of freshly baked apple pie had already engulfed the place. Sheriff Walton smiled. “We’ll have our usual, Beth,” he said, taking a seat at the counter. “Coming right up,” Beth replied before disappearing into the kitchen. Seconds later she returned with two steaming, extra-large slices of pie, drizzled with honey cream. They looked like perfection on a plate. “Umm . . .” the well-dressed man sitting at the far end of the counter said, tentatively raising a finger like a kid asking his teacher’s permission to speak. “Is there any more of that left?” “There sure is,” Beth replied, smiling back at him. “In that case, can I also have a slice, please?” “Yeah, me too,” the large truck driver called out from his table, lifting his hand. He was already licking his lips. “And me,”...
