Bill Connington perfectly counterfeits the experience of sitting in a room with a serial killer, which is even less comfortable than it sounds . . . [his] ingenious performance gives the skin-crawling piece such an authentic texture. Connington is not interested in performing a whodunit (he did it, after all) but in re-creating a truly evil character down to the last detail. Thus, for the entire play, the actor seems to be channeling the weirdness of an utterly amoral psychopath. When Quentin turns to speak to the audience, we really feel like we’re in the presence of someone morally empty. It’s hard to overstate the effectiveness of Connington’ unblinking gaze, weird cadence and surprising, and off-kilter swearing. Impressive, too, is helmer Thomas Caruso’s direction .