Sacred Sins

coffee. “When we've got him, he goes back to the station for interrogation, you don't.”
    “Ben, you know how important it is to me to talk to him, to try to get through.”
    “No.”
    “You can only block me on this so long.”
    “As long as it takes.”
    Tess backed off and tried another tack, one that had woken her in the early hours and kept her awake. “Ben, I think you understand this man better than you know. You know what it is to lose someone who's an intricate part of your life. You lost Josh, he lost his Laura. We don't know who she was, but we can be sure that she mattered a great deal to him. You told me that when you lost Josh, you considered killing his doctor. Wait,” she said before he could speak. “You wanted to blame someone, to hurt someone. If you hadn't been a strong man emotionally, you might very well have done so. Still, the resentment and the pain stayed with you.”
    The words, and the truth behind them, made him uncomfortable. “Maybe they did, but I didn't start killing people.”
    “No, you became a cop. Maybe part of the reason you did was because of Josh, because you needed to find answers, to make things right. You're healthy, self-confident, and were able to turn what might have been the biggest tragedy in your life into something constructive. But if you weren't healthy, Ben, if you didn't have a strong self-image, a strong sense of right and wrong, something might have cracked inside you. When Josh died you lost your faith. I think he lost his over Laura.

    We don't know how long ago it might have been—a year, five years, twenty—but he's picked up the pieces of his faith and put them back together. Only the pieces aren't fitting true; the edges are jagged. He kills, sacrifices to save Laura. Laura's soul. What you told me last night made me wonder. Perhaps she died in what the Church considers mortal sin and was refused absolution. He's been taught all of his life to believe that without absolution, the soul is lost. In his psychosis he murders, sacrifices women who remind him of Laura. But he still saves their souls.”
    “Everything you say may be right. None of it changes the fact that he's killed four women and is aiming for you.”
    “Black and white, Ben?”
    “Sometimes that's all there is.” It frustrated him more because he was beginning to understand, even to feel some of what she was saying. He wanted to continue to look at it straight-on, without any angles. “Don't you believe that some people are just born evil? Does a man tell his wife he's going out to hunt humans then drive to the local McDonald's and shoot kids because his mother beat him when he was six? Does a man use a college campus for target practice because his father cheated on his mother?”

    “No, but this man isn't the kind of mass murderer you're talking about.” She was on her own ground here and knew her steps. “He isn't killing randomly and motivelessly. An abused child is as likely to become a bank president as a psychotic. And neither do I believe in the bad seed. We're talking about an illness, Ben, something more and more doctors are coming to believe is caused by a chemical reaction in the brain that destroys rational thought. We've come a long way since the days of demon possession, but even sixty years ago schizophrenia was treated by tooth extraction. Then it was injections of horse serum, enemas. And in the last quarter of the twentieth century, we're still groping. Whatever triggered his psychosis, he needs help. The way Josh did. The way Joey did.”
    “Not for the first twenty-four hours,” he said flatly. “And not until the paperwork clears. He might not want to see you.”
    “I've thought of that, but I believe he will.”
    “None of this matters until we get him.”
    When the knock came, Ben's hand reached slowly for his weapon. His arm was still stiff, but usable. He'd have no problem holding his Police Special. He moved toward the door, but stood beside it. “You ask who it is.” As she started to move forward, he held up a hand. “No, ask from over there. You don't stand in front of the door.” Though he doubted the means would change from amice to bullet, he wasn't taking chances.
    “Who is it?”
    “Detective Pilomento, ma'am.”
    Recognizing the voice, Ben turned and pulled the door open.
    “Paris.” Pilomento knocked snow from his shoes before he stepped inside. “The roads are still a mess. We got about six inches. Morning, Dr.