Survival of the Fittest by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online Page B

course of my duties.”
    “Oh?”
    Instead of elaborating, Carmeli smoked aggressively.
    “Sometimes,” said Milo, “we have to be annoying to do our job properly.”
    “Do you?”
    “Yes, I’m afraid. Asking the same questions over and over.”
    “Ask whatever you please but if you persist in emphasizing my work the answer will be the same: I’m a bureaucrat. No exploding pens.”
    “Still, sir. Being Israeli, you have enemies—”
    “Two hundred million of them. Though we’re now on the road to peace, right?” Now, Carmeli smiled.
    “Then how can you be sure this wasn’t political? Despite your duties, you’re a representative of the Israeli government.”
    Carmeli didn’t answer for several moments. Looking at his shoes, he rubbed the toe of the left one. “Political crimes are based upon hatred and the Arabs hate us. And there are thousands of Arabs in this city, some of them with strong political views. But the goal of even the most violent terrorist is to send a message in a way that will attract attention. Not one dead child, Mr. Sturgis. A busload of children. Copious amounts of blood, disarticulated limbs, TV cameras recording every agonized cry. Bombs that make noise, Mr. Sturgis. Literally and figuratively. Several years ago when the Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank discovered that throwing rocks at our soldiers made them international heroes they began phoning the wire services to give journalists advance notice of impending riots. Once the film crews showed up   .   .   .” He clapped his hands and ash scattered, landing on the table, his trousers, the floor.
    “Your predecessors, Detective, informed me that the .   .   . crime was unusual in its lack of violence. Do you agree with that?”
    Milo nodded.
    Carmeli said, “That alone convinces me there was nothing political about it.”
    “That alone?” said Milo. “Is there something else that convinces you?”
    “Interpreting my phrasing, Mr. Sturgis? I thought he was the psychologist—speaking of which, have you developed any theories, yet, Doctor?”
    “Not yet,” I said.
    “Are we dealing with a madman?”
    I glanced at Milo. He nodded.
    “Outwardly,” I said, “the killer probably looks quite sane.”
    “And internally?”
    “He’s a mess. But clinically he’s not mad, Mr. Carmeli. More likely he’s what we call a psychopath—someone with a serious character disorder. Self-centered, lacking normal emotional responses, no empathy, an incomplete conscience.”
    “Incomplete? He has a conscience?”
    “He knows right from wrong but chooses to ignore the rules when it suits him.”
    He rubbed his shoe again and sat up. The black eyes narrowed. “You’re describing evil—and you’re telling me he could be any man on the street?”
    I nodded.
    “Why does he kill, Doctor? What’s in it for him?”
    “Relief of tension,” I said.
    He flinched. Smoked. “Everyone experiences tension.”
    “His tension may be especially strong and his wiring’s off. But these are just guesses, Mr. Carmeli. No one really understands what leads—”
    “What causes this supposed tension ?”
    A sexual warp, but I didn’t say that. “Possibly a gap between who he thinks he is and the way he lives. He may pride himself on being brilliant, believe he’s entitled to fame and fortune. But he’s probably an underachiever.”
    “You’re saying he kills to feel competent ?”
    “It’s possible, Mr. Carmeli. But—”
    “Killing a child makes him feel competent ?”
    “Killing makes him feel powerful. As does eluding capture.”
    “But why a child ?”
    “At root, he’s a coward, so he preys upon the weak.”
    His head snapped back, as if struck. The cigarette shook and he jammed it into his mouth. Smoking, he played with a cuff button, stared at me again. “As you said, these are guesses.”
    “Yes.”
    “But if there’s any truth to them, the killing won’t stop, will it? Because his tension won’t