“When the woman regains consciousness, she’s alone and unharmed. She isn’t in complete darkness, although it’s late night outside. There’s a faint light, just enough so she can see about a foot or two all around her. What she does first is call out. She’s afraid to have an answer and just as afraid when there’s dead silence. Then she’s hopeful that he’s left her there alone. She yells again.
“Then she gets herself together and tries to find a way out of the building. But there isn’t a way out. There are doors, but they’re bolted. She’s nearly hysterical now. She knows something is very wrong. Then she finds the string that was lying beside where she’d awakened.
“She doesn’t understand the string, but she picks it up and begins to follow it. It leads her through convoluted turns, over obstacles, into mirrors he’s set up to scare the hell out of her when she suddenly comes upon her own image. Then the string runs out. Right at the narrow entrance to this set he’s put into place.
“Then perhaps he laughs, calls out to her, tells her that she’s going to fail and when she fails, he’s going to have to punish her and she won’t like that. Yes, he will have to punish her because she will lose the game. But he doesn’t tell her why he’s doing it. Why should he? He’s enjoying her ignorance. Maybe he even calls out to her, taunts her, before she walks into the maze. That’s possible, too. The note thing. He only did that with the first woman he killed in San Francisco. It’s as though he’s identified what he’s done and the next time and the time after that, it isn’t necessary. Everyone will know who he is.”
He said slowly, “You are awfully certain of what he does, Sherlock.”
“I told you, I’ve thought and thought about it. The shrinks believe-as do the FBI Profilers-that he watches every move she makes, memorizes every expression on her face, possibly even films her. I’m not so sure about that.
“But I bet he even tells her she can win the game if she runs, if she manages to reach the center of the maze. She does run, hoping, praying that he isn’t lying, that she can save herself, and she runs right into this maze he’s built since there’s nowhere else for her to go. There are dead ends in the maze. Finally she finds her way to the center. She’s won. She’s breathing hard. She’s terrified, hopeful, both at the same time. She’s made it. She won’t be punished.
“He’s waiting for her there.” She had to stop trembling. She drew a deep breath, took another drink of her now-cold coffee, then said with a shrug, “This much was obvious when everything was reconstructed by experts after the fact.”
Savich said, “So then he stabs her in the chest and in the abdomen until she’s dead. Is everyone you know of certain he does this when she makes it to the center of the maze?”
“Yes. Instead of winning, she loses. He’s there, with a knife. He also cuts out her tongue. This fact never appeared in any publicized reports so that any confessions could be easily verified.”
“Why does he do that?”
She didn’t look at him. “Probably to shut her up forever. He killed only women. He hates them.”
“A game,” Savich said slowly, looking down at a ragged thumbnail. “A game that leads to certain death. I don’t understand why she loses if she manages to find the center of the maze. As you said, usually that means you’ve won. But not with this guy. You have any ideas about why he kills her when she makes it to the center of the maze?”
“Not a clue.”
But she did and he didn’t know how she did. “Do you remember the legend of Theseus and the Minotaur?’
“Yes,” she said. “I remember that at the center of the cave, Theseus came upon the Minotaur. But Theseus didn’t lose. He killed the Minotaur.”
“And Ariadne led him out with a string.”
“You’re thinking that maybe he sees himself as Theseus and that the women are the Minotaur? I don’t know. It doesn’t make much sense to me.”