56 pages • 1-hour read
Chasing Evil: Shocking Crimes, Supernatural Forces, and an FBI Agent's Search for Hope and Justice
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Themes
Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of death, child death, animal cruelty, and animal death.
The Power of Intuition and Evidence Working in Tandem
Chasing Evil presents the partnership between psychic intuition and evidence-based policing as a tandem force for justice, arguing that supernatural insights become powerful tools when they are tested and translated into actionable, verifiable leads. The narrative follows FBI agent Robert Hilland’s journey from skepticism to collaboration with psychic medium John Edward, demonstrating that intuition does not replace physical proof but can effectively catalyze and direct traditional police work.
Hilland’s initial interactions with Edward revolve around his efforts to validate the psychic’s abilities. Before fully committing to their partnership, Hilland presents Edward with a mix of items belonging to the victim, Fran Smith, and unrelated “control” items from his colleagues. When Edward immediately separates the objects, identifying which ones are irrelevant, he passes the first of Hilland’s empirical tests. This act establishes a key principle of their collaboration: Intuition must be vetted.
However, Hilland’s default stance toward Edward’s claims quickly shifts from skepticism to faith as the psychic passes “tests” that Hilland could not have even thought to set up—for instance, referencing an uncle whom Hilland never knew existed prior to meeting Edward, but whom a conversation with Hilland’s mother subsequently confirmed as having died in childhood. The challenge then becomes to convert Edward’s abstract psychic impressions, such as seeing Fran’s remains “encapsulated in something” like “cylinders” (53), into a concrete investigative strategy that will yield evidence that can be used in court.
The memoir thus frames intuition as a starting point for conventional police work. In many cases, the book argues, the collaboration is highly fruitful. For example, in the case of Annie Le, a psychic vision communicated over the phone provides a virtual map, guiding Hilland through a complex university building to a specific utility room and the wall where her body is hidden. Similarly, the search for five-year-old Noah Thomas is guided by psychic cues, such as propane tanks and a Star Wars X-wing fighter toy. In both instances, psychic guidance narrows the focus of law enforcement, directing them to the precise locations where physical evidence can be recovered.
That said, the book also reveals the implicit limitations of this collaboration in the years-long, unsuccessful search for Fran’s body. Here, Edward’s visions generate a lead—the industrial plant where Smith once worked—that fails to yield results despite multiple searches. The book suggests that this is because Fran’s remains were at the plant at one point but were later moved, but this in and of itself speaks to the ambiguous nature of intuition; it cannot necessarily pinpoint precise details, like timing. Still, the memoir suggests that this weakness is not so different from the pitfalls of the typical investigative process; investigators frequently have “hunches” that cannot be corroborated but that can nevertheless motivate them to continue their work.
Coaxing Truth from Deception Through Psychological Insight
In Chasing Evil, coaxing truth from suspects is portrayed as a psychological art that hinges on understanding a suspect’s emotional world and personal identity. By binding the facts of a case to a suspect’s powerful emotions or self-perception, investigators create openings for confession where direct confrontation would fail and where physical evidence provides an incomplete or insufficient picture of what happened.
The power of emotional levers is apparent in the interrogation of suspected serial killer John Smith. After hours of nothing but denials, Hilland nearly secures a confession by shifting his focus from the crime to Smith’s grief over his recently deceased grandmother, Ethel. By invoking the pain his actions must have caused her, Hilland taps into a rare source of genuine emotion, causing Smith’s composure to crack as “actual tears […] stream[] down his cheeks” (127). Although Smith’s instinct for self-preservation ultimately pulls him back from the edge of confession, the moment demonstrates how emotional pressure points can be used to disrupt suspects’ defenses and create a pathway to the truth.
Hilland adapts this basic psychological approach for different suspects, showing its versatility. With quarterback Michael Vick, for instance, Hilland frames the interrogation not around Vick’s actions (involvement in a dogfighting ring) but around his public identity as a player who knows how to win under pressure. This appeal to his competitive ego successfully prompts Vick to confess his role in killing dogs, underscoring that unlocking the truth requires identifying and working with a suspect’s core emotions and sense of self.
That Hilland, trained to administer lie-detector tests, frequently prioritizes this kind of questioning over polygraph interrogation underscores its efficacy. Indeed, the memoir depicts several cases in which polygraphs were unreliable, with Hilland reflecting, “[W]hile the body never lied sometimes other things got in the way of a conclusive test result. Like life, polygraphs were not always black and white” (224). Here, Hilland frames polygraph administration itself as a procedure that requires emotional intelligence—for instance, the ability to discern when someone sitting for the test might be under physical duress, like the soldiers in Guyana. In this sense, the book’s depiction of truth-seeking in interrogations dovetails with its broader point about the synthesis of intuition and hard evidence: Neither emotional insight nor material proof is sufficient in and of itself, but each complements the other.
The Cost of Chasing Justice
Chasing Evil explores the profound personal sacrifices required in a life dedicated to confronting violence, illustrating how the same obsessive drive that fuels an agent’s success can also erode their family life and peace of mind. The narrative chronicles Hilland’s relentless pursuit of justice, framing it as a noble but all-consuming calling that exacts a significant toll and that ultimately requires learning to let go.
The corrosive effect of Hilland’s work on his family life is a recurring source of conflict. His wife, Alex, repeatedly voices her frustration over his physical and emotional absence, recognizing that his dedication to the case is eclipsing his role as a husband and father. Early in the investigation, she expresses her fear that he will “get too wrapped up in this one” (12), a concern that proves prophetic as the case deepens. Alex even comes to refer to the FBI as the “other woman” in their relationship, using the metaphor of an affair to suggest how deep Hilland’s emotional entanglement with his work truly is.
The memoir suggests that this tension between Hilland’s professional duties and his domestic obligations is in some sense inevitable, given his reasons for entering the field. Hilland traces the origins of his persistence and unwavering focus to his childhood. Growing up with parents coping with “unresolved trauma,” Hilland simultaneously sought to shield his younger siblings from any ensuing dysfunction and to win the approval of his parents—particularly his emotionally distant father. The result was a deep-seated sense of justice and a need for validation, both of which aided Hilland in his work: “I liked going into battle, fighting the good fight […] My work gave me […] the approval I never got from my parents” (8). Hilland’s career is thus deeply personal, not something he can easily set aside at the end of the workday.
The narrative punctuates this slow erosion with moments of crisis. For instance, Hilland’s discussion of his time in Afghanistan excerpts a letter in which he reflects on the pain of being separated from his family:
Being away from Alex and the kids is terrible. Time goes by too quickly…the kids have grown up so much. […] Alex, Connor, and Caitie…I love you so much and cannot tell you how proud you make me every day. Please forgive me for the separation and the times I could not be with you (308).
Here, Hilland acknowledges the impact that his work has had on both himself and his family, including the fact that he has missed crucial stages of his children’s development. Nevertheless, he cannot give up the work—he must merely ask for forgiveness. This internal conflict finds its resolution in the Epilogue, where Hilland reflects on his retirement and divorce. He explicitly links these life changes to a conscious decision to “let[] go” of the all-consuming pursuit that defined him for decades. By tracing this arc from domestic conflict to a final, bittersweet acceptance, the book suggests that the cost of chasing evil is not only the danger faced in the field but also the quiet and devastating loss of personal moments and relationships.
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