"Дон Пендлтон. The Violent Streets ("Палач" #41) " - читать интересную книгу автора

Her face was set in an expression of grim determination.
"No way, buster. I'm not handing this over to you feds on a silver
platter. The department can clean its own skirts."
"It's already been handed over," he said with finality. "I'm sorry,
Fran, but you're out. Accept it."
Bolan sympathized with the lady, sure, and he let her know it.
"You've been of help," he offered. "Believe it. You can be of more."
"Name it."
"Teach me about rape," he said simply.
She looked at him, making no reply.
"What makes this headcase tick?" he continued. "I need to be inside his
head, to see where he lives."
"Careful," she said, her voice softening, "it's dark in there."
"Why does he rape and kill?" Bolan prodded.
"Why not start fires, say, or rob gas stations? Why the sex angle?"
Fran leaned toward him, raising a slim index finger.
"Rape is a crime of violence, not sexuality," she said, secure, on
familiar ground now. "Think of it as a personal assault, no different really
from a shooting, or a beating."
Bolan nodded his awareness.
"But what comes before the fact?" he asked.
"Maybe rapists are inferiority complex types," she replied, "driven by
the need to assert themselves and exercise control over a captive audience.
"That's one theory, anyway. That they perform not sexually, but
emotionally. Each attack reaffirms their identity, makes them somebody to be
reckoned with. For those few moments, they exist - they cannot be ignored."
"Do many rapists kill?"
"No. Maybe one in a thousand will deliberately kill his victim. We're
dealing with a special breed of cat."
"A woman hater?"
"Possibly, but not necessarily. He probably hates everybody, and most
of all himself. He ambushes women at night because he doesn't have the
brains to build bombs or the nerve to climb a tower and shoot it out with
the police."
"You read a lot from one sketch," Bolan said.
Fran smiled.
"Don't forget the M.O.," she said. "These crimes are not only
identical, they carry the killer's personality. With practice, you can read
a crime like a signature."
Bolan nodded. He understood that, sure, from the hard-won experience of
his wars overseas and against the domestic Mafia cannibals. They left their
marks, all right, like some sort of fingerprint.
"Go on," he urged.
"Okay." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "This freak rapes his
victims, and then he kills them with a knife. He mutilates them, but never
sexually."
"Explain, Fran."
Another pause, and then she continued.
"Ninety-odd years ago, Jack the Ripper tried to shut down London's red
light district single-handed. He never raped his victims, but he indulged in