only seen it expressed in an overt sexual act with the Rice girl.' He stood aside to let a woman with a stroller pass them on the narrow footpath.
When he caught up, he continued.
'Traditional sexual assault doesn't have to take place for these people to get off. Think about it. In a sick way, stabbing flesh simulates the sex act.'
'Yeah, I've heard of that. What do they call it?' Jill felt sweat at her hairline.
'Piquerism. It's a paraphilia common to sexual sadists. Jack the Ripper was a piquerist. And you know what's typical with these guys?' He didn't wait for an answer. 'They also often stab themselves in some way. When they caught the serial killer Albert Fish, an X-ray showed he had more than two dozen needles inserted into his groin. They're sick mothers, I tell you. When I was training, I got called to transport a stiff from this small hospital in the sticks. Bloke had been brought in about ten times previously with self-inflicted stab wounds to the stomach. Would never tell the surgeons what he did it for. When he realised he wasn't going to make it this last time, he told them why he did it.'
Jill looked up at him as she walked.
'He told them,' he continued, 'that he believed he had vaginal tissue in his stomach. When he whacked off, he'd stab his gut to reach the tissue, effectively fucking himself.'
Oh, for God's sake. Jill stared into the gutter, waiting to cross at the lights. Of course she knew they were dealing with a monster in this case, but it was hard to fathom the depravity of a human who could not only deliberately inflict pain upon himself and another, but also become sexually aroused by the suffering. Inevitably, with such thoughts, her own traumatic memories shuddered into view, haltingly illuminated, as though by a fluorescent light stuttering to life. Screaming in the basement for the sexual pleasure of two men. Why did any aberrance surprise her?
Jill lifted her eyes from the ground. Gabriel stood slightly ahead of her. Unshaven again, with his hands in the pockets of his dark cargos, today he wore a light blue tee-shirt. The trucker cap sat low on his forehead. A marked police car passed them, and Gabriel lifted his chin towards the driver in acknowledgement. She saw the gesture returned.
He spoke again, eyes on the hospital across the road. 'The violence is highly addictive,' he said. 'And it has to escalate to satiate their desires. The other thing. . .' He paused, blinking in the sun. 'They never stop until they're caught or dead.'
The nursing unit manager walked Jill and Gabriel towards Donna Moser's room, but warned them that they probably wouldn't be able to get her to speak clearly. The only time the girl had awoken during the night, the nurse told them, she'd become hysterical, waking the whole floor with her screams. They'd sedated her again, and when the psych registrar had visited this morning, he'd authorised another intravenous dose of Valium. A general medical unit was the wrong place for her, in the nurse's opinion.
'Some family friends have arranged to have her moved out of here as soon as possible,' she said softly as she ushered them into the victim's room.
Jill looked down at the young woman sleeping in the bed. She would have guessed her age at maybe sixteen or seventeen, rather than the twenty years Jill knew to be correct. Other than her very white face and some pale shadows under her eyes, Donna appeared unharmed. They waited while the nurse tried gently to rouse her, calling her name, smoothing her hair back from her face. The young woman's eyelids fluttered, but the drugs pulled her back under.
Jill gestured to the nurse to let it go. I wouldn't want to face the world either, Jill thought. She moved one of the heavy bouquets of flowers on the nightstand to leave a card by the girl's bed, and she and Gabriel made their way out of the hospital.
Back on the street, Jill moved towards the pedestrian crossing, but Gabriel pointed in the other direction. She
When he caught up, he continued.
'Traditional sexual assault doesn't have to take place for these people to get off. Think about it. In a sick way, stabbing flesh simulates the sex act.'
'Yeah, I've heard of that. What do they call it?' Jill felt sweat at her hairline.
'Piquerism. It's a paraphilia common to sexual sadists. Jack the Ripper was a piquerist. And you know what's typical with these guys?' He didn't wait for an answer. 'They also often stab themselves in some way. When they caught the serial killer Albert Fish, an X-ray showed he had more than two dozen needles inserted into his groin. They're sick mothers, I tell you. When I was training, I got called to transport a stiff from this small hospital in the sticks. Bloke had been brought in about ten times previously with self-inflicted stab wounds to the stomach. Would never tell the surgeons what he did it for. When he realised he wasn't going to make it this last time, he told them why he did it.'
Jill looked up at him as she walked.
'He told them,' he continued, 'that he believed he had vaginal tissue in his stomach. When he whacked off, he'd stab his gut to reach the tissue, effectively fucking himself.'
Oh, for God's sake. Jill stared into the gutter, waiting to cross at the lights. Of course she knew they were dealing with a monster in this case, but it was hard to fathom the depravity of a human who could not only deliberately inflict pain upon himself and another, but also become sexually aroused by the suffering. Inevitably, with such thoughts, her own traumatic memories shuddered into view, haltingly illuminated, as though by a fluorescent light stuttering to life. Screaming in the basement for the sexual pleasure of two men. Why did any aberrance surprise her?
Jill lifted her eyes from the ground. Gabriel stood slightly ahead of her. Unshaven again, with his hands in the pockets of his dark cargos, today he wore a light blue tee-shirt. The trucker cap sat low on his forehead. A marked police car passed them, and Gabriel lifted his chin towards the driver in acknowledgement. She saw the gesture returned.
He spoke again, eyes on the hospital across the road. 'The violence is highly addictive,' he said. 'And it has to escalate to satiate their desires. The other thing. . .' He paused, blinking in the sun. 'They never stop until they're caught or dead.'
The nursing unit manager walked Jill and Gabriel towards Donna Moser's room, but warned them that they probably wouldn't be able to get her to speak clearly. The only time the girl had awoken during the night, the nurse told them, she'd become hysterical, waking the whole floor with her screams. They'd sedated her again, and when the psych registrar had visited this morning, he'd authorised another intravenous dose of Valium. A general medical unit was the wrong place for her, in the nurse's opinion.
'Some family friends have arranged to have her moved out of here as soon as possible,' she said softly as she ushered them into the victim's room.
Jill looked down at the young woman sleeping in the bed. She would have guessed her age at maybe sixteen or seventeen, rather than the twenty years Jill knew to be correct. Other than her very white face and some pale shadows under her eyes, Donna appeared unharmed. They waited while the nurse tried gently to rouse her, calling her name, smoothing her hair back from her face. The young woman's eyelids fluttered, but the drugs pulled her back under.
Jill gestured to the nurse to let it go. I wouldn't want to face the world either, Jill thought. She moved one of the heavy bouquets of flowers on the nightstand to leave a card by the girl's bed, and she and Gabriel made their way out of the hospital.
Back on the street, Jill moved towards the pedestrian crossing, but Gabriel pointed in the other direction. She
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