She took another pull of coffee and waved her hand. “Of course, now there are tons of businesses open twenty-four hours a day. Not just convenience stores, but gas stations, restaurants and grocery stores. Everybody has twenty-four hour service.”
“Not banks,” Tower said.
“Not so. ATMs.” She shook her head. “No, John, we’ve seen a very radical shift in the last half-century. The era of convenience is firmly entrenched in our social structure.”
“So cops eat donuts because it’s convenient?”
She took another sip and rolled her eyes at him. “Are you purposefully being obtuse?”
“Yes. But it’s not much of a stretch for me.”
“I don’t doubt it. Do you want to hear my theory or not?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She leaned forward. “Back in the times before 7-11, when everyone closed down at a reasonable hour and went home, we still had cops out on the beat, right? Graveyard shift had to be unbearably long. By two or three in the morning, I’ll bet you that the officers out there thought they were the last people alive on earth. They’d welcome human contact. They’d be looking for it. So who was open at that time of night?”
“Bars?”
“Yeah, all right, until two in the morning. If it were a weekend. But how long would a bartender want to stay after a long night? Not long. He’d be wanting to tally up the receipts and get home to bed. By two-thirty, even the bars were dark back then. But who comes to work about three, three-thirty in the morning?”
Tower shrugged.
She smiled. “The baker. The baker comes to work early and starts baking. He throws on a pot of coffee for himself and for his friend, the local cop. The cop swings by, has some fresh coffee, some conversation and a donut. The sugar and caffeine give him a boost through to the end of his shift. The baker doesn’t have to worry about getting robbed when he opens his shop. Both parties benefit from the arrangement.”
“No doubt.”
Renee leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “And that, detective, is how I believe the cop and the donut stereotype came to be.”
Tower set down his Styrofoam cup on her desk and clapped. “Brilliant. And all these years, I just thought it was because donuts tasted good.”
“That’s why you’re a detective and not an analyst.”
Tower nodded, letting a more serious look seep into his face. “You’re right, actually. That’s why I’d like to talk to you about those questions you wrote last time I was here.”
She held up a finger. “You’re forgetting something.”
Tower sighed and hung his head. “The donuts aren’t enough?”
“Do you have any experience with women at all, Detective Tower?”
“Apparently not.”
“Apparently so,” Renee replied. “Because you know exactly what you need to do.”
Tower looked up and met her eyes. “Yes, I do.” He took a deep breath and said in a sincere tone, “I’m sorry, Renee.”
She paused, as if savoring his discomfort. Tower waited in silence until she finally gave him a quick nod. “Apology accepted.”
“Thank you. Let’s get busy, then.”
Renee poised her fingers over the keyboard. “Just speak the word, master.”
Tower smiled. “Actually, I was thinking more about those questions you wrote down.”
Renee reached into a file on her desk and removed the slip of paper. Without a word, she handed it to Tower. He glanced down at the neat feminine script.
Why does he rape?
Who does he hate?
Is he evolving?
Tower sighed. “I know I was frustrated before, so that was why I snapped at you. But, truly, I have no clue what the answers to any of these questions are.”
“It’s like I said, John. You have to use your imagination. Why would a man rape?”
Tower shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know.”
Renee chuckled and shook her head. “Sure you do. Every man knows.”
Tower cocked his head at her. “Are you saying every man is a rapist?” he asked. He’d heard about some kooky women’s libber saying something like that once upon a time, but he thought it was stupid. He’d seen plenty of rapists since being assigned to the Sexual Assault Unit. Most of them were scumbag pieces of-
“No,” Renee said, “of course not. But every man can imagine why a rape might occur.”
“Sex?”
“Give the man a prize.”
Tower shook his head. “But I thought rape was about power, not sex. That’s what all the advocates say. That’s what most of the training I’ve gone to says, too.” He shrugged. “I even heard one statistic where something like forty percent of rapists can’t even get an erection.”
Renee nodded. “I heard that one, too.”
“So?”
“So what?”
Tower cocked his head the other direction. “Are you trying to frustrate me on purpose?”
“It is fun,” Renee said. “And so easy.”
“I’m glad I amuse you.”
Renee smiled. “Back to the question at hand. Power or sex? Sex or violence?”
“Easy,” Tower said. “Power and violence.”
“I think you’re right,” Renee said. “I think all the advocates and the experts and so forth are right, too. It is about power and it is about violence. But sex is the vehicle for all that power mongering and violence.”
“So…?”
“So, in a very real way, it is also about sex. It sure as hell isn’t about badminton.”
Tower paused, thinking about her words. Then he said, “So he rapes for power, but it is still important to him that sex is the way he gets the power?”
“I think so. Not just with this guy, but with most of them.”
Tower shrugged. “Okay, could be. How does that help us?”
Renee returned the shrug. “I don’t know if it does help a whole lot. But it’s a start. Move on to the next question.”
Tower glanced back down at her list. “Who does he hate?” He looked up at Renee. “Do you mean groups of people? Like immigrants or women or something?”
Renee shook her head. “Not really. I mean something more specific. If he hates women in general, for example, it is usually because of a specific hate for a specific woman. Or women.”
“Someone who hurt him?”
“Yes.”
“Like a girlfriend.”
“Or a mother.”
Tower raised his eyebrows. “Oh…I see. Mommy issues.” He twirled his finger at his temple and stuck out his tongue sideways.
Renee wagged her finger at him. “You shouldn’t make fun, John. Our parents have a huge impact on who we become. Messed up parents usually create messed up kids.”
“Maybe he was an orphan. Maybe he hates his mother for giving him up for adoption.”
Renee peered closely at him.
Tower raised his palms up in a placating gesture. “Seriously.”
Renee considered. “I suppose it could be. But I wouldn’t think that a sense of abandonment would result in such a powerful reaction.”
Tower chuckled, shaking his head slowly.
“What?” Renee asked.
“Listen to us,” Tower said, “a couple of junior psychiatrists.”
Renee shrugged. “You don’t need a degree to figure out bad guys. This is a sick guy, John.”
“Duh.”
“I’d be willing to bet this all came from childhood.” Renee looked down at her notepad and traced the letters absently. “I can imagine some young kid with an absent or abusive father, or a domineering mother. Or someone else and something else. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that through alternately neglecting and inflicting pain on this child, who only wanted love and protection, someone who was supposed to care for this little boy created a monster instead.”
Tower looked at her askance. “You’re…sympathizing with him?”
Renee nodded. “You bet. As a child, I sympathize with him from here to Cleveland.”
“He’s a violent rapist,” Tower reminded her.
“Yes, he is, John. As an adult.” Renee tapped the tip of her pen on the pad in front of her for emphasis. “As a child, I cry for this person.”