William Bernhardt - Dark Eye

He had to bite his lip. Even given the vagaries of modern psychiatry, it was absurd. The whole world divided into four lame labels. And these people called themselves experts.

“So which is this pervert?” Spencer had asked.

“Keep in mind that we’re working with precious little information,” the partner said, an obese man in an unseemly green tie. He was making excuses for himself in advance, as they always did. “But all indications are that he is very organized. Three crimes so far-that we know of-and he still hasn’t left behind any determinative trace evidence.”

“And we can safely assume that he has some social skills,” Horn-rims intoned. “Since he appears to have been able to capture his victims without the use of force. So far as we know.”

“All right,” Spencer said, holding up her hands. “So he’s an organized social. What does this get us?”

Despite his profound dislike of this contemptible woman, she did have a knack for cutting through the balderdash.

“Well,” Horn-rims said, “once we’ve made our diagnosis, we can get a fix on who the killer is.”

“I don’t care who he is,” Spencer shot back. “I don’t want to know his inner child. I just want the bastard to fry.”

“Right, right. So we must create a profile-”

“Forgive me for saying so, but this is starting to sound like the same bullshit I got from the police department’s so-called expert. I’m not laying out all this money to get more of the same.”

“Of course not. I’m probably not explaining myself clearly.” He licked his lips and tried again. “Once we know who the killer is-what kind of person he is-we can begin to anticipate his moves. Perhaps even trace him to his lair.”

His lair. He stifled his laughter. It was like something out of a comic book.

“Now we’re talking.” Spencer’s interest level markedly increased. “So how do we do that?”

“Well, Doctor, one salient fact we have observed is that all the victims have been women.”

Bravo, Auguste Dupin. How much was she paying these fools?

“According to the group consensus, our killer is driven by a psychosexual hatred of all women.”

Still pretending not to listen, he stifled a yawn. Wrong.

“He is physically unattractive, or at the least not handsome. Because he is unable to attract women, he came to hate them.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Every bit of it.

The partner cut in. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he focuses the sublimated anger he bore toward his mother figure on randomly chosen women.”

Randomly chosen? Now that was truly offensive.

“This speculation is all well and good, I suppose,” Spencer said, “but where does it get me? How do I catch him?”

“By keeping a close watch on all the places it would be easiest for an organized social to find women alone,” the partner answered. “The streets, obviously, especially downtown. Strip clubs, casinos. We’ve prepared a list.”

Spencer took the proffered paper. “I don’t see this hotel listed.”

Horn-rims nodded. “Our feeling is that he’s unlikely to strike at a place already associated with him. Plus, since organized socials tend to follow the media coverage of their crimes obsessively, he must be aware that you’ve set up shop here. He won’t come anywhere near this hotel.”

It was all he could do to keep from laughing.

Until the woman stood beside him.

“So… your name is Ernie?” Spencer said, reading his badge.

He stiffened. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Keeping an eye on things?”

He was on loan-lease from the hotel to Dr. Spencer and was currently assigned to watch one of the side doors. “Doing my best. Lot going on here.”

“Yes, there is. Try not to be distracted by it all.” She leaned in closer. “I’m probably safe here, but, still my experts say there is… some reason to believe the killer might lash out against me.”

“Surely not, ma’am.”

“I know, it seems incredible. But I’m being extra careful, just in case. There’s more than one way to skin a rabbit.”

She was so close to him. Mere inches away. In his coat pocket, he had a hypodermic, loaded and ready. In the wink of an eye he could have it in her throat.

But then there would be the difficult matter of her escorts, getting her to his truck on the other side of the casino, removing her from a ballroom teeming with people…

“I’ll make sure nothing happens here, ma’am.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“And if I may say so…” His southern accent came trippingly off his tongue. “Speaking on behalf of all the security officers here at the Transylvania, we very much appreciate and admire what you’re doing. We’re behind you one hundred and ten percent.”

Her eyes went slightly out of focus, glistening. “Thank you, Ernie. That… that means a great deal to me. I hope we can talk again sometime.”

“I feel certain we will, ma’am,” he said, smiling sweetly.

“Seriously, Darcy, I think it would be better if you stayed in the car.”

“But I do not want to stay in the car. I cannot help you if I stay in the car.”

“You can. I’ll tell you all about it.”

“I want to go in with you.”

We were parked outside Nighthawks, still in my car. Truth was, I would rather he came in, too-you never knew what he might notice. But I had a feeling it might not be a good idea. “You see, Darcy… this place… this is a grown-up place.”

“All those places where girls died were grown-up places.”

“Yeah, but this is… this is…” I took a deep breath. “Darcy, has your dad ever… had that talk with you?”

“My dad talks to me all the time. Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t talk to me so much.”

“Yeah, but has he ever talked to you about… the birds and the bees?”

His eyes widened. “I’ve read lots and lots of books about birds and bees. Did you know that the hummingbird is the fastest-”

“That’s not what I mean, Darcy.” I took a big breath. “See, Darcy… this is a sex club.”

He looked at me, then at the building, then back at me. “Do you mean-they do sex in there?”

“Yes. I mean, probably not. Certainly not all the-”

“I have never seen anyone do sex. Can I go in with you and see it?”

I pressed the palm of my hand against my forehead. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with this, Darcy?”

“Of course. This is not like gong to all those places where people got killed. Killing is bad. But I think doing sex is a good thing. Do you think doing sex is a good thing?”

I popped open the car door. “C’mon, Casanova.”

“Good afternoon,” the woman in black said as I stepped through the door. “I am the mistress of pain.”

“Stow it,” I replied, flashing my ID. “I’m the mistress of pain in the ass.”

She blocked my path, pressing up against me. “You prefer to be dominant?”

“I prefer to get what I need without any hassles.”

Her fingers toyed with my collar. “You should open yourself to new experiences. I could-”

I slapped her hand away. “Let’s get one thing straight from the start. If you think you’re going to intimidate me with your lesbian chic bullshit, forget it.”

Darcy was behind me, staring with a total absence of subtlety. But of course subtlety was a personality quality he didn’t have. The mistress was wearing brown riding pants, very tight, and a black leather bustier top. Not hard to guess where Darcy was staring.

“Do you have trouble breathing?” he asked. “Because it looks like you might have trouble breathing.”

The mistress pointed her riding crop at him and winked. “Breathing is overrated.”