“But-why?” Ben asked. “What would be this… organized nonsocial’s motivation?”
“That could vary,” Bennett explained. “Some of them simply like to inflict pain. They get a charge out of it-literally. Some delude themselves into believing they are scientists-conducting research into the levels of pain tolerance or some such horrid thing. For others, it’s purely a power trip; they do it because they can. And for some, it’s an intellectual challenge. What can I get away with? How long can I go without being caught?” Her eyes drifted to her butterfly wall. “And for some, it’s purely sexual. They have a preoccupation that society doesn’t condone-little girls, little boys, whatever.”
“Any common denominators?”
“Just one. People who commit crimes like this can’t help themselves. It’s not that they lack self-control or they’ve consciously decided to indulge themselves. They just can’t stop.”
“How horrible,” Christina said.
Bennett agreed. “Modern medicine has made some important strides. There are drugs now that can suppress some of the more malevolent urges. But it’s always a tricky thing. Drugs can be unreliable. And if the patient forgets to take his pill one day-”
“Another family is obliterated.”
“That’s possible, yes.”
“This may sound crazy,” Christina said, “but I have a theory that there was more than one person involved in the crime. That there was a second person present. A second person with… well, for want of a better word, a conscience. More than the principal killer, anyway. Does that fit with your theory?”
Bennett considered for a moment. “Well, it would be extremely unusual for an organized nonsocial to take a partner. He would want to do all the planning and killing himself. But I suppose I can’t totally eliminate the possibility of some kind of… procurer. Someone who didn’t participate in the killings but was still essential in some way. Someone who suggested the crime or facilitated it.”
“You expressed some doubts about Ray Goldman being the murderer,” Ben said.
“Well, he doesn’t really seem the organized nonsocial type, does he? I mean, I haven’t met him personally, but from what I’ve read, he was a high-functioning, professional, highly educated man with no apparent psychological problems.”
“Exactly,” Ben said. “That’s what I’ve been telling people for seven years. Would you be willing to take the stand and say that?”
“To be honest, I don’t care much for the expert-witness scene. It’s all a little tawdry, isn’t it?”
She’d get no argument from Ben, but he could still use a medical witness at that hearing next week. “I’m fighting for a man’s life here. I won’t ask you to say anything you’re not comfortable saying. Just tell it straight.”
Bennett pondered. “Well… I’ll think about it. But you must also remember-it’s not unheard of for an organized nonsocial to be able to disguise his illness. To hide his aberration. Lots of people knew Ted Bundy-and liked him. No one thought he was a killer. Until he’d knocked off about forty people.”
Ben nodded. A sobering thought.
“If there’s nothing else, Ben…” She smiled. “I hear a rare lepidoptera calling me.” She picked up her pins and stiletto.
“Of course.” He and Christina headed for the door. On first arrival, he had thought the butterfly business a rather unusual hobby. Maybe even a little sick. Killing the pretties. But after hearing about what she did, what she knew, what she dealt with on a regular basis-he could see why she enjoyed her butterflies. He could see why she needed them.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Chief Blackwell bellowed.
Mike drew himself back into the armchair. He felt about two feet tall. Like he’d been called into the vice principal’s office. “I can’t work with her, Chief. I just can’t.”
“You can if I say you can.”
“No, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
Mike gripped the arms of the chair. “It’s impossible, sir. She’s got a chip on her shoulder the size of Sand Springs. She’s bullying and domineering. A real harpy.”
“Don’t start with the sexist remarks.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“No? I suppose you meant to say something about her panties?”
Mike closed his eyes. “I should’ve known she’d go running to you.”
“For your information, Major, she did not report the incident, although pursuant to departmental regulations, she should have. Happily, I got reports from about twelve other eyewitnesses who heard the whole thing. You’re the talk of the department.”
“Chief, it was just me and Frank and some of the boys shooting the breeze.”
“I don’t care what it was. And I don’t want to hear any excuses!” Blackwell pounded his fist against his desk. “I don’t understand this, Mike. Hell, you’re supposed to be the sensitive one on the force. The college man with the graduate degree. The English major, for God’s sake. And you’re behaving worse than the worst of the old-guard male chauvinists. The difference being-they don’t know any better. You do.”
Mike’s mouth felt dry. “Chief, you know I don’t have a problem with women working on the force-”
“I don’t know that I do, Mike. I used to. Now I’m not so sure.” He leaned across his desk. “What do you think would happen if word got around about this? What if the press got a hold of your ‘panties’ remark? What if it got back to the mayor? Huh? I can assure you she would not find it amusing.”
“Sir, I have absolutely no objection to women police officers. Or even personally working with women. It’s just… this woman. Baxter. I can’t work with her.”
“Why? Are you hot for her?”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“It hasn’t escaped my notice that Sergeant Baxter is quite attractive. And I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice, either. Is that the problem? Do you have feelings for her? Are you suppressing your sexual frustration with open hostility?”
“Sir, I can assure you that isn’t the case.”
“Yeah, I hear your mouth working. But I’m not sure your brain is along for the ride.” He rapped a pencil on his desk. “That would explain a lot. I’m aware that your personal life has been totally screwed up ever since your divorce. Rarely a date, from what I hear. Hanging out with defense attorneys. Perverse stuff like that.”
“Sir, I give you my personal guarantee. There is no sexual attraction. If the rest of the female population were covered with pustulant weeping boils, there would still be no sexual attraction.”