chimes, running five minutes late. In accompaniment, the wind fluted
musically through the eaves just above the kitchen windows.
“If you find it hard to accept the idea of two psychopaths working so
smoothly together,” Enderby said, “then consider the possibility that
they aren’t psychopaths of any sort we’ve seen before.”
“Now you sound like Graham Harris.”
“I know.”
“The Butcher is mentally ill, Harris says. But you wouldn’t know it to
took at him Harris says. Either the symptoms of his mania don’t show,
or he knows how to conceal them. He’d pass any psychiatric exam, Harris
says.
“I’m beginning to agree with him.”
“Except you say there are two Butchers.”
Enderby nodded.
Preduski sighed. He went to the nearest window and drew the outline of
a knife in the thin gray-white film of moisture that coated the glass.
“If you’re right, I can’t hold onto my theory. That he’s just your
ordinary paranoid schizophrenic. Maybe a lone killer could be operating
in a psychotic fugue. But not two of them simultaneously.
“They’re not suffering any psychotic fugue,” Enderby agreed.
“Both of these men know precisely what they’re doing. Neither of them
suffers from amnesia.”
Turning from the window, from the drawing of the knife which had begun
to streak as droplets of water slid down the pane, Preduski said,
“Whether this is a new type of psychotic or not, the crime is familiar.
Sex murders are-”
“These aren’t sex murders,” Enderby said.
Preduski cocked his head. “Come again?”
“These aren’t sex murders.”
“They only kill women.”
“Yes, but-”
“And they rape them first.”
“Yes. It’s murder with sex associated. But these aren’t sex murders.”
“I’m sorry. I’m lost. My fault. Not yours.”
“Sex isn’t the motivating force. Sex isn’t the whole or even the
primary reason they have for attacking these women. The opportunity for
rape is there. bo they take it. Going to kill the women anyway. They
aren’t adding to their legal risks by raping them first. Sex is
secondary. They aren’t killing out of some psychosexual impulse.”
Shaking his head, Preduski said, “I don’t see how you can say that.
You’ve never met them. What evidence do you have that their motives
aren’t basically sexual?”
“Circumstantial,” Enderby said. “For instance, the way they mutilate
the corpses.”
“What about it?”
“Have you studied the mutilations carefully?”
“I had no choice.”
“All right. Found any sign of anal mutilation?”
“No.”
“Mutilation of the genitalia?”
“No.”
“Mutilation of the breasts?”
“In some cases he’s cut open the abdomen and chest cavity.
utilation of the breasts alone?”
“When he opens the chest-”
“I mean has he ever cut off a woman’s nipples, or perhaps her entire
breasts, as jack the Ripper did?”
A look of loathing came over his face. “No.
“Has he ever mutilated the mouth of a victim?”
“The mouth?”
“Has he ever cut off the lips?”
“No. Never.”
“Has he ever cut out a tongue?”
T i “God, no! Andy, do we have to go on like this? It’s morbid.
And I don’t see where it’s leading.”
“If they were maniacal sex killers with a desire to cut their victims,”
Enderby said, “they’d have disfigured one of those areas.”
“Anus, breasts, genitalia or mouth?”
“Unquestionably. At least one of them. Probably all of them.
But they didn’t So the mutilation is an afterthought. Not a sexual
compulsion. Window dressing.”
Preduski closed his eyes, pressed his fingertips to them, as if he were
trying to suppress unpleasant images. “Window dressing? I’m afraid I
don’t understand.”
“To impress us.”
“The police?”
“Yes. And the newspapers.”
Preduski went to the window where he had drawn the knife. He wiped away
the film of moisture and stared at the snow sheeting through the glow
around the street lamp. “Why would he want to impress us?”
“I don’t know. Whatever the reason, whatever the need behind his desire
to impress-that is the true motivation.
“If we knew what it was, we might be able to see a pattern in the
killings. We might be able to anticipate him.”
Suddenly excited, Enderby said, “Wait a minute. Another case.
Two killers. Working together. Chicago. Nineteen twenty-four. Two
young men were the murderers. Both sons of millionaires. In their late