A Deadly Compulsion by Michael Kerr Page A

was... is fixated on her.  She is most likely dead now, and his torn emotions of love and hate for her have affected his reasoning and compelled him to find an outlet to physically and emotionally continue to punish her for some action that he can’t get past.  He needs to continually recreate her, make her suffer, and kill her again and again.  He may have actually murdered her.  It would be worth checking up on all cases of matricide in the Yorkshire area over the last decade, to eliminate the sons from the picture.  It’s a long shot, but you may just get lucky.”
    “Why his mother?” Laura said.  “Why not a wife or girlfriend who cheated on him?”
    Jim shrugged.  “There’s an outside chance it could be, as I’ve intimated in the profile,” he replied, standing, picking up their empty mugs and going to the counter to refill them from the softly gurgling coffeemaker that filled the cottage with the rich aroma released from ground Arabica beans.  “Call it a hunch,” he said, returning and setting the mugs down on wicker coasters.  “But I know that this stems from his childhood, so his mother is a more likely stressor.  Remember, a lot of this is conjecture.  That’s what I used to be able to do, come up with more right than wrong answers.  But it isn’t a perfect science.  There’s a chance that I’m way off base.”
    “But you don’t think so?”
    “No.”
    “What else, Jim?  It’s chilling but fascinating.”
    “I estimate him to be in his mid-twenties, thirty max.  He’s white, fit, and has to be physically strong.  He manhandles his victims, strings them up to bleed out, and then moves them to outlying locations to be found.  He transports them in the boot of his car, or in the back of a van, and carries them a distance from the vehicle, to be sure there are no tread marks to be found.  I think he will be of above average intelligence, and that he is probably well liked by the people who he works with.  He will have fostered a pleasant, affable personality, and is leading a double life, blending in without raising suspicion.
    “He’s also an arrogant bastard, who feels far superior to everyone else, but that won’t show.  I would be surprised if he hasn’t killed a lot more young women and efficiently disposed of the bodies.  All files of girls with blonde hair and blue eyes who have gone missing over recent years need to be re-examined.  If we know where they were last seen, it could throw up a density in an area that is close to where he lives.”
    Jim paused and sat back.  His shoulders slumped.  He was pale, and sweat was beading at his hairline.
    “That’s enough for now, Jim,” Laura said, needing to hear more, but hurting at what she could see it was doing to him.  She knew that he’d opened a can of rotten worms, which must have been as hard an act for him to do as it would be for an agoraphobic to go shopping along Oxford Street on a Saturday afternoon.
    “It’s okay,” he took a deep breath.  “It just takes me back.  They say if you’re thrown off a horse, get straight back up in the saddle.  I guess I’ve left it a tad too long.  I’m finding it a little spooky remounting.  I’d rather finish up now and be done with it.”
    “Okay, if you’re sure.  Why is he now giving up the bodies if he’s killed more than the ones he’s dumped to be recovered? Does that mean he subconsciously wants to be caught?”  Laura said, lighting up and taking a deep drag of her first cigarette for over two hours, which was very nearly a record.
    Jim shook his head.  “Christ, no.  He’s just decided to show off his handiwork to an audience for some extra mileage and to get more of a thrill from what he’s doing.  This way he gets feedback and sees everyone panicking and running around like headless chickens.  He’ll be watching the news, reading the papers, and revelling in his notoriety.  He’s anonymous but infamous.  If he isn’t