Colin Wilson - Ritual in the Dark

But… is it sense? Do you… do you know what the Hamburg report said?

Yes. He is well known to the prostitutes who cater for sadists. And he is suspected of murder.

Murder?

Of a young male prostitute. There is no definite evidence. He is one of a dozen suspects.

Sorme said with sudden indignation:

But hell, father…! That's no reason to suspect a man… of mass murder, I mean, is it? Is that all? Is there anything else?

No, that's all.

But in that case, it's not so serious. Austin might be one of a hundred suspects. And he has one great fact in his favour. He's queer. You say he's suspected of killing a male prostitute. Surely that…

Quite. The evidence is slim. But there is evidence. If Austin is the murderer… and it is just possible, after all… if he is the killer, then he stands no chance of escaping detection now. The police are clever. They know there is no point in alarming him. If they had any evidence at all, they'd make an arrest. As it is, they will watch him to see if he provides evidence. If he drove to Whitechapel tonight and walked around the streets — even if he did nothing more- they might arrest him.

After a silence, Sorme asked:

Suppose he is the killer… what'd happen to him if they caught him?

The priest said softly, with precision:

They would hang him.

Are you sure, father?

Quite sure.

No chance of Broadmoor?

None whatever. Even if he was declared insane, he would be hanged. He has no past record of mental instability — no periods in asylums, or past convictions that might be interpreted as pathological. They would have to hang him, as they hanged Heath and Haigh and Christie — because the newspapers have headlined the murders until there is a widespread neurosis about them.

Sorme knew suddenly, without needing to ask, why the ' priest had confided in him. He felt an urgency of anger rising in him, a protest against the unreasonableness of it all, the stupidity and unfairness that was a force of nature, not a human failing, and was therefore somehow unchallengeable. He asked quietly.

What am I to do, father?

That is difficult. I want to ask you one thing: please do not tell Austin. There are other ways. If you see him often…

I've just had lunch with him!

Good. Well, there are ways. You might pretend to notice that you are being followed. You might invent someone who has asked you questions about Austin. But if you tell him, and he is finally caught and tried for murder, then you are an accessory. Do you understand?

I see… You think he might tell?

He would, eventually. Sooner or later, he would feel the need to confess fully. I am assuming now that he might be the murderer.

Sorme said:

Father… I promise I won't tell him outright

Good.

But… I dunno quite how to put it… have you any idea of whether it's likely… of whether Austin might be…?

The priest shrugged.

How can I tell? I haven't seen Austin for a long time.

His reply left Sorme baffled; he could feel himself become inarticulate as he tried to explain himself. He said:

But I don't think it's likely, you know! It's just not likely!

Why?

Because… well, because one's friends don't usually turn out to be murderers, I suppose.

The priest smiled.

Mine have.

Really?

On two occasions. However, that's beside the point. After all, it can hardly come as a surprise to you that Austin should be suspected. You have spoken to me about your own suspicions.

Yes… but I think I know him better since then. He's mixed up, I know. He's almost the original crazy mixed-up kid. But he's also gentle and good tempered and generous. These qualities just don't go with a killer.

The priest said:

And yet you showed no surprise when I told you of the Hamburg murder. Were you certain that was not Austin either?

I… I don't know. I don't think… it's likely. But… well, how can I tell? I don't know the circumstances. It's possible. A foreign city, an attempt to con him or rob him in the night… and Austin's enormously strong, I'd guess. It could happen and still not mean a thing…

And supposing it was not like that? Supposing it was ordinary sadistic murder? How would you feel about it then?

I don't know, but it wouldn't necessarily make any difference. I'd still want to know why before I decided. I mean I'd want to get inside Austin's skin and feel as he did when he… did it.

Why?

Because… you can't judge anything otherwise. Besides, it's not so hard to understand. Sometimes you don't really do things — another part of you does them, and you're only a spectator. I could put myself in the skin of a sadist all right.

Could you?

I… think so.

Have you ever caused suffering… physical suffering?

I suppose so. I used to kill chickens at Christmas when I was a boy. But I didn't particularly enjoy doing it. And I once drowned a mouse that I found in my waste bucket, and poured boiling water on it as it swam around. But that was because I was afraid it'd take hours to die. I wouldn't do that now.

Why?

It'd make me feel sick. Besides, there's an instinct in me that hates killing.

The priest said quietly and conclusively:

Then you could not place yourself in the mind of a sadist, could you?

That doesn't follow. A sadist's a sexual killer, isn't he? That makes it different. Most people can sympathise to some extent with a sex crime.

Can they?

I… think so. I can, anyway. I think many people have a permanent feeling of being sexually underprivileged. But I'd have to think about it. It's not easy.

Do you think of yourself as sexually underprivileged?

Yes, but that's only the negative side of it. I think it's a kind of vision… of complete fullness of life that underlies it. After all, the sexual impulse isn't so important. I sometimes wish I could outgrow sex altogether… I know that sounds odd, but it's true.

It doesn't sound at all odd, especially not to me. A man doesn't have to be a saint to rise above sex. A great many scientists and mathematicians have done it, and a large proportion of the philosophers.

I know, father, I know. But it's not as simple as that. You can't just decide to exchange sex for the life of the mind or whatever it is. I used to have a Freudian friend whose favourite phrase was 'Everybody's neurotic'. I used to think he was a fool, but I'm beginning to see his point. What's a neurosis, after all? It's a pocket of unfulfilled desire — any kind of desire. And human beings work on unfulfilled desires — there's nothing else.

Except habit.

Yes; but habit only keeps us living. Desire keeps us moving forward. And we all want to keep moving, so we all cultivate our desires. You know something, father. I've been so confused for the past five years because I didn't want enough. I thought I could live off Plato and Beethoven, and found I couldn't. But it's not because there's anything wrong with Plato or Beethoven. It's me — I'm not ready for them. But don't you see, father, I shouldn't be aware of sexual problems if I hadn't tried to leave them behind. And I'm sure it's the same with Austin. If he's a sadist, it's because he's torn in two. I don't know Austin as a sadist. I know him as a rather generous dilettante who likes ballet and music and philosophy. I think it's the same with him as with me. You know, father, Shaw said we judge an artist by his highest moments and a criminal by his lowest. But what happens when a man's a mixture of the two? You can't sentence the criminal half to death and let the artist go free, can you? Especially when you know he wouldn't be a criminal if he wasn't an artist.

You think the criminal should be allowed to kill other human beings?

No, father. God forbid! I just think that…