Page 80 of Obsession
“I don’t think it fucking matters,” he growls, irritation flaring in his emerald greens. “You only have eyes for a fucking serial killer.”
My hand flies out and connects with his cheek as another car drives past, spitting slush at us.
“You know nothing,” I hiss, my cheeks flaming despite the chilly breeze.
“You’re right; I don’t, but I’m not stupid.” He shifts closer, surrounding me in a cloud of citrus and bitterness. “You’re protecting him, and fuck if I’ll sit back and watch it happen.”
He walks to his car, hands clenched at his sides.
Despite the anger telling me to walk in the opposite direction, I hurry after him. I need him to drive me to the crime scene. I refuse to ask the cops to take me there.
Swallowing down my pride, I pull open the door and slide inside, ignoring the cops watching us through their windscreen.
My cheeks flame with indignation. “You need to stay out of my business. I fucking mean it.”
A muscle twitches in his jaw as he turns the key in the ignition. “Sorry to break it to you, but your little fairytale won’t have a happy ending. Sooner or later, they’ll find him and kill him.”
The car roars to life.
“What do you think?”
I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of Elliot’s voice so close to my ear. Clutching my racing heart, I smack him in the chest with my notepad. The previous anger has simmered down, and my inquisitive mind has taken over, going over scenarios in my mind. “He’s slipping.”
“Slipping?” Elliot’s eyes sparkle with intrigue as he steps aside for a police officer. “What do you mean?” Lifting his camera to his eyes, he takes a photograph.
“Well, the other murders were clinical, and the presentation of the corpse even more so.” I point in the general direction of the officer I spoke to—a bored-looking man who can’t be much older than me. “The bruising around the victim’s neck was pronounced this time, indicating a lack of control. Then there’s the breasts.”
“What about them?” Elliot steps closer, making it difficult to think for a minute when his masculine scent settles in my nostrils.
I clear my throat. “None of the previous killings were sexually motivated.”
“What makes you think this one was?”
“Maybe it wasn’t, but I would bet my yearly salary on it. Why remove the breasts, Elliot?”
He shrugs, peering around the crowds. “Maybe he wanted to keep them?”
A scoff escapes my lips. Elliot glances back at me with a crease between his eyebrows. He turns fully, reaching for my notebook.
While he reads over my notes, I say, “He found himself sexually stimulated by the act of the killing. He didn’t like it, so he severed the breasts, hoping to remove the distraction so that he could fully focus on setting the stage. That’s the part he enjoys the most. He considers himself beneath petty crimes.”
Elliot pulls a face. “You call murder ‘petty crimes?’”
My eyes roll. “Of course I don’t, but our killer does. He doesn’t do this for the thrill of killing. I’d venture as far as to say he tries to distract from his method of killing. He wants everyone’s eyes on this.” I gesture to the scene in front of us—the two erected tents, crowds, reporters, and police dogs.
Elliot takes it all in, the cogs turning in his brain. “How does he differ from Hammond?”
I chuckle before I can help myself. “Are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He looks confused, and it’s almost adorable until I remember what an asshole he can be.
“Hammond is a sadist who derives pleasure from others’ pain and fear.”
“Wow, husband material right there,” Elliot mutters.
I ignore him. “Hammond rapes and tortures his victims for hours, sometimes days, while they’re still alive. He subconsciously channels the suppressed rage and hatred that he feels toward his mother. It’s not a stretch of the imagination to assume that, somewhere along the line, it became a sexual perversion. This killer, on the other hand, murders his victim within the first hour. It’s quick and relatively painless. Only when they’re dead does he start the grueling process of removing their limbs.”
Elliot blinks at me, looking green. “The cop the other week was right; you’re in the wrong line of work.”
