Psychocriminalist Chapter 3

Today was the day after the killing.

I comforted the frustrated Derek: "Look on the bright side—no one's reported anyone missing yet."

He sat on the couch, his gaze somewhat vacant.

I thought to myself: He really is an idiot. He's been on this case for over a year and still doesn't have a single clue.

I decided to give him some hints to make things interesting—after all, my opponent was too dumb.

I picked up my water glass and said casually, as if it had just occurred to me: "Do these victims have anything in common?"

His eyes suddenly changed. He quickly turned to look at me.

"You..."

"What's wrong?"

He slapped his thigh: "Right! You're a psychologist. Don't serial killers usually have some kind of mental illness? Or how would you analyze their psychology?"

He looked at me with eyes full of hope. He clearly trusted me.

Too bad he trusted the wrong person.

I said unhurriedly, "That requires case-by-case analysis. Everyone's situation is different."

"What about the 1/27 case?"

At least he was asking the right question.

I began dropping my hints.

"Serial killers rarely commit crimes of passion, so the victims must have some connection or commonality."

His eyes were full of confusion as he frowned.

"We've checked their social backgrounds, families, and... basically everything we could check. We've dug up three generations of ancestors for all six of them. There's absolutely no connection."

Nonsense. Don't you know serial killers are highly intelligent? How could it be that obvious?

I said patiently, "Then... could there be something unspeakable about them?"

"What do you mean?"

"Something like... the seven deadly sins—greed, sloth, things like that."

He looked at me thoughtfully: "It's late. Let's go to bed."

I lay on the left side of the bed, Derek on the right, while the body was between us, directly below in the floor compartment.