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Authors: Cathy Perkins
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assault, and a woman driving on a suspended license. If those were the county’s biggest crime worries, no wonder the Chamber of Commerce considered the area paradise, Mick thought, remembering the literature strategically placed in his motel room.
In spite of his frustration over Meg, he’d arrived at the police department expecting to get something accomplished today. They had leads, tangible physical evidence, to follow. Instead, they had to sit through this ludicrous meeting.
The shrink sat at the head of the table, and Mick wryly wondered if he’d considered the psychological implications of the different positions. Small, neat, with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses, he looked like a history teacher. As soon as he opened his mouth, however, Mick detected little man syndrome—overcompensating for nominal stature with a superinflated ego. He nearly groaned. He did not need this today.
“I’m happy to be of assistance,” Dr. Perrin said, moving around the table, making eye contact with each person. “I do believe understanding the perpetrator will assist you in making an arrest and ending this reign of terror for our communities.”
Jesus, spare me, Mick thought behind a bland facade.
With no choice except to cooperate with the guy, the detectives summarized the three cases and handed the doctor the crime scene photos. The shrink blanched. Mick couldn’t help but wonder if he’d seen similar graphic depictions of violence before.
He also noticed the man lingered over some of the pictures. He couldn’t see which ones from his angle, but he could guess. Over the years, Mick had met cops who showed a little too much interest in the details of sex crimes. They dawdled over the crime scene photos of women with splayed legs, studied the path reports of the injuries. Discuss the details of the case with them and he heard the prurient curiosity in their voices, even as they tried to appear professional.
It angered him, sometimes as much as the loathing he felt toward the rapist. He had no respect for cops like that. If he was ever partnered with one, he’d find a way to switch. Finding the same tendency in this shrink added to his instinctive dislike anddistrust of the man.
Finally, Dr. Perrin settled his glasses on his nose and inspected his notepad. “There are four major categories of serial rapists,” he began. “Most are simply compensating for their feelings of inadequacy. They force women to have sex with them to enhance their perceptions of personal power and potency. Then there are the exploitative ones—not our perpetrator.”
Mick stifled a groan. The guy was quoting FBI briefing materials Mick had reviewed when he chased his first sexual predator—five years ago.
“You’re dealing with an anger rapist.”
Thank you, Dr. Perrin. We would have never figured that out on our own.
“He’s acting out his issues with his mother. In some way only he understands, these women—these innocent college students—remind him of his inadequacies, which his mother fostered in his formative years.
“As a result of this early abuse, he may display aggressive, macho behavior. He is contemptuous of the victim, generally uses foul language and threatens them.”
That’s a power asserter, Mick thought wearily. They’re different subgroups. He focused on a spot just over the psychologist’s shoulder. How telling, he thought, that this shrink saw the crimes in terms of sexual predator types rather than concentrating on the motivating factors for serial killers.
“The response he wants from the victim is fear and total submission. He has no sense of the woman as a person. While most anger rapists seek only to purge their anger, some do murder their victims. It’s his complete disregard for women that allows him to advance his deep-seated need to dominate to include murder.”
What do you know? Mick thought. It was a weird way to get there, but that last sentence summarized their assailant.
“So
In spite of his frustration over Meg, he’d arrived at the police department expecting to get something accomplished today. They had leads, tangible physical evidence, to follow. Instead, they had to sit through this ludicrous meeting.
The shrink sat at the head of the table, and Mick wryly wondered if he’d considered the psychological implications of the different positions. Small, neat, with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses, he looked like a history teacher. As soon as he opened his mouth, however, Mick detected little man syndrome—overcompensating for nominal stature with a superinflated ego. He nearly groaned. He did not need this today.
“I’m happy to be of assistance,” Dr. Perrin said, moving around the table, making eye contact with each person. “I do believe understanding the perpetrator will assist you in making an arrest and ending this reign of terror for our communities.”
Jesus, spare me, Mick thought behind a bland facade.
With no choice except to cooperate with the guy, the detectives summarized the three cases and handed the doctor the crime scene photos. The shrink blanched. Mick couldn’t help but wonder if he’d seen similar graphic depictions of violence before.
He also noticed the man lingered over some of the pictures. He couldn’t see which ones from his angle, but he could guess. Over the years, Mick had met cops who showed a little too much interest in the details of sex crimes. They dawdled over the crime scene photos of women with splayed legs, studied the path reports of the injuries. Discuss the details of the case with them and he heard the prurient curiosity in their voices, even as they tried to appear professional.
It angered him, sometimes as much as the loathing he felt toward the rapist. He had no respect for cops like that. If he was ever partnered with one, he’d find a way to switch. Finding the same tendency in this shrink added to his instinctive dislike anddistrust of the man.
Finally, Dr. Perrin settled his glasses on his nose and inspected his notepad. “There are four major categories of serial rapists,” he began. “Most are simply compensating for their feelings of inadequacy. They force women to have sex with them to enhance their perceptions of personal power and potency. Then there are the exploitative ones—not our perpetrator.”
Mick stifled a groan. The guy was quoting FBI briefing materials Mick had reviewed when he chased his first sexual predator—five years ago.
“You’re dealing with an anger rapist.”
Thank you, Dr. Perrin. We would have never figured that out on our own.
“He’s acting out his issues with his mother. In some way only he understands, these women—these innocent college students—remind him of his inadequacies, which his mother fostered in his formative years.
“As a result of this early abuse, he may display aggressive, macho behavior. He is contemptuous of the victim, generally uses foul language and threatens them.”
That’s a power asserter, Mick thought wearily. They’re different subgroups. He focused on a spot just over the psychologist’s shoulder. How telling, he thought, that this shrink saw the crimes in terms of sexual predator types rather than concentrating on the motivating factors for serial killers.
“The response he wants from the victim is fear and total submission. He has no sense of the woman as a person. While most anger rapists seek only to purge their anger, some do murder their victims. It’s his complete disregard for women that allows him to advance his deep-seated need to dominate to include murder.”
What do you know? Mick thought. It was a weird way to get there, but that last sentence summarized their assailant.
“So
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