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His eyes were dark and hard in a pale face, his jaw clenched, his mouth thin. Humiliation rolled greasily in his stomach. "I've followed your orders, Lieutenant, and completed the required testing. I've sacrificed my privacy and my dignity. I hope that satisfies you."
He stalked past her and through the outer doors.
"Screw it," Eve muttered and walked straight into Mira's office.
Mira smiled, sipped her tea. She'd had no trouble hearing Summerset's bitter comments. "He's a complicated man."
"He's an ass, but that's irrelevant. Can you give me a bottom line?"
"It will take some time for me to review all the tests and complete my report."
"I've got Whitney in twenty minutes. I'll take anything you can give me."
"A preliminary opinion then." Mira poured another cup of tea, gesturing for Eve to sit. "He's a man with little respect for the law, and a great deal of respect for order."
Eve took the tea but didn't drink. "Which means?"
"He's most comfortable when things are in their place, and he's somewhat obsessive about keeping them there. The law itself, the laws society makes mean little to him as they are variable, often poorly designed, and quite often fail. Aesthetics are also important to him—his surroundings, appearances—as he appreciates the order in beauty. He's a creature of routine. This soothes him, this pattern, this stability. He arises at a certain hour and retires at a certain hour. His duties are clearly outlined and followed. Even his recreation, his free time is organized."
"So, he's a tight-ass. I already knew that."
"His way of dealing with the horrors he witnessed during the Urban Wars, the poverty and despair he escaped from, and the loss of his only child is to create a certain acceptable pattern, then follow it. But… in unclinical terms, yes, he's a tight-ass. However rigid he might be, however much he may sneer at the laws of society, he is one of the most non-violent personalities I've encountered."
"He's given me a few bruises," Eve muttered under her breath.
"You disturb his need for order," Mira said, not without sympathy. "But the fact is, true violence is abhorrent to him. It offends his very rigid sense of order and place. And it's wasteful. He finds waste repellent. Again, I believe, because he saw far too much of it throughout his life. As I said, it will take a bit of time to review the tests, but I would say at this point it's my opinion that someone of his personality structure is unlikely to have committed the crimes you're investigating."
For the first time in hours, Eve's stomach unknotted. "This knocks him down the list. Way down. I appreciate you dealing with this so quickly."
"I'm always happy to do a friend a favor, but after reading your data on this investigation, it's a bit more than that. Eve, you're dealing with a very dangerous, very canny, very determined and thorough killer. One who has had years to prepare, and be prepared. One who is both focused and unstable, and who has a massive and unstable ego. A sociopath with a holy mission, a sadist with skill. I'm afraid for you."
"I'm closing in on him."
"I
hope you are, because I believe he's also closing in on you. Roarke may be his main target, but you stand between. He wants Roarke to bleed, and he wants him to suffer. Roarke's death puts an end to the mission, and the mission is his life. But you, you're his connection, his competitor, his audience. He has a black-and-white view of women. Chaste or whore."
Eve let out a short laugh. "Well, I can figure where I stand."
"No." Disturbed, Mira shook her head. "It's more complicated with you. He admires you. You challenge him. And you anger him. I don't believe he's able to slip you into either mold and that only makes him more focused on you."
Her eyes glinted. "I want him focused on me."
Mira held her hands up a moment to give herself time to gather her thoughts. "I need further study, but in a nutshell, his faith, his religion is catalyst—or excuse, if you prefer. He leaves the token—faith and luck—at every murder. He leaves the image of Mary as a symbol of her female power and her vulnerability. She's his real god."
"I don't follow you."
"The Mother. The Virgin. The pure and the loving. But an authority figure nonetheless. She is the witness to his acts, the audience to his mission. At this point, I'd have to say it's a woman who formed him. A strong and vital female figure of authority and love. He needs her approval, her guidance. He needs to please her. He needs her praise."
"His mother," Eve murmured. "Do you think she's behind it all?"
"It's possible. Or just as possible that he sees his current behavior as a kind of homage to her. Mother, sister, aunt, wife. A wife is unlikely," she added with a faint shake of her head. "He's probably sexually repressed. Impotent. His god is a vengeful one, who permits no carnal pleasures. If he's using the statue to symbolize his own mother, he would view his conception as a miracle—immaculate—and see himself as invulnerable."
"He said he was an angel. The angel of vengeance."
"Yes, a soldier of his god, beyond the power of mortals. There is his ego again. What I am sure of is that there is a woman—or was a woman—whom he seeks to appease, and one he views as pure."
For one sickening moment, Eve saw the image of Marlena in her mind. Golden hair, innocent eyes, and a snowy white dress. Pure, she thought. Virginal.
