immature, his work subjects him to pressure
that exceeds his emotional and psychological stability, and he suffers from intense sexual repression. He most likely has a history of
considerable violence. This isn’t the first or even second time he has
killed someone and, obviously, it won’t be the last. He has nothing
but contempt for us – both for the police and for his victims. And
now, padre, why don’t you give our killer a name?’ Dicanti spun
round and tossed the chalk into the priest’s hands.
Fowler watched her, a look of surprise on his face; Pontiero
beamed; Troi looked sceptical. Finally it was the priest who spoke
up.
‘Well done, dottoressa. Ten out of ten. I may be a psychologist
but I can’t figure out how you came to your conclusions. Could you
explain a little further?’
‘The profile is only provisional but the conclusions should be quite
close to reality. That he is a white male is shown by the profile of his
victims, since it’s very unusual for a serial killer to kill someone from
a different race. We can tell he’s of medium height, since Robayra
was tall and the angle and location of the cut in his neck indicate
that he was assaulted by someone about five foot nine inches tall.
That he’s strong is obvious; otherwise it would have been impossible for him to take the cardinal as far as the interior of the church,
because even if he used a car to transport the body to the back door,
there is still a distance of some one hundred and thirty feet to the
chapel. His immaturity corresponds to the type of murderer who
plays games: he has profound disrespect for his victims, considers
them to be mere objects, and the same goes for the police. He sees
us all as inferior beings.’
Fowler interrupted her by politely raising his hand. ‘Two details
in particular grabbed my attention. First, you said that it’s not the
first time he’s committed murder. Did you deduce that from his
handiwork at the scene of the crime?’
‘Exactly. This person possesses a basic familiarity with police work.
He’s carried this off on more than one occasion. Experience tells us
that a first murder is usually very messy and spur-of-the-moment.’ ‘The second thing was when you said, “His work subjects him to
pressure that exceeds his emotional and psychological stability.” I’m
at a loss to explain how you came to that conclusion.’
Dicanti, still standing, blushed. She crossed her arms and didn’t
answer. Troi took the opportunity to intervene.
‘Ah, good old Paola. Her great intelligence always leaves a small
crack for her feminine intuition to slip in, isn’t that so? Padre, at
times Dicanti arrives at purely emotional conclusions. I don’t know
how. Of course, she would make a great writer.’
‘Better than you know, because she’s hit the bull’s eye,’ said Fowler,
getting up from his chair and striding towards the blackboard.
‘Inspector, what is the correct name for your profession? Profiler
– isn’t that it?’
‘Yes,’ Paola said, still embarrassed.
‘When did you receive your qualification as a profiler?’ ‘Once I’d finished the course in Forensic Criminology and after
a year of intensive study at the FBI’s Behavioral Sciences Division.
Very few candidates manage to pass the entire course.’ ‘Can you tell us how many qualified profilers there are in the
world?’
‘At present, twenty – twelve in the United States, four in Canada,
two in Germany, one in Italy and one in Austria.’
‘Thanks. Is everyone clear on that, gentlemen? Only twenty people in the world are capable of drawing a psychological portrait of a
serial killer with any degree of certainty, and one of them is in this
room. Believe me, if we want to catch this man . . .’
Fowler turned round and wrote a name on the blackboard in
large, thick letters:
VICTOR KAROSKY
‘. . . we are going to need someone capable of getting into his head. Now you have the name. But before you race to the phone to bark out
that exceeds his emotional and psychological stability, and he suffers from intense sexual repression. He most likely has a history of
considerable violence. This isn’t the first or even second time he has
killed someone and, obviously, it won’t be the last. He has nothing
but contempt for us – both for the police and for his victims. And
now, padre, why don’t you give our killer a name?’ Dicanti spun
round and tossed the chalk into the priest’s hands.
Fowler watched her, a look of surprise on his face; Pontiero
beamed; Troi looked sceptical. Finally it was the priest who spoke
up.
‘Well done, dottoressa. Ten out of ten. I may be a psychologist
but I can’t figure out how you came to your conclusions. Could you
explain a little further?’
‘The profile is only provisional but the conclusions should be quite
close to reality. That he is a white male is shown by the profile of his
victims, since it’s very unusual for a serial killer to kill someone from
a different race. We can tell he’s of medium height, since Robayra
was tall and the angle and location of the cut in his neck indicate
that he was assaulted by someone about five foot nine inches tall.
That he’s strong is obvious; otherwise it would have been impossible for him to take the cardinal as far as the interior of the church,
because even if he used a car to transport the body to the back door,
there is still a distance of some one hundred and thirty feet to the
chapel. His immaturity corresponds to the type of murderer who
plays games: he has profound disrespect for his victims, considers
them to be mere objects, and the same goes for the police. He sees
us all as inferior beings.’
Fowler interrupted her by politely raising his hand. ‘Two details
in particular grabbed my attention. First, you said that it’s not the
first time he’s committed murder. Did you deduce that from his
handiwork at the scene of the crime?’
‘Exactly. This person possesses a basic familiarity with police work.
He’s carried this off on more than one occasion. Experience tells us
that a first murder is usually very messy and spur-of-the-moment.’ ‘The second thing was when you said, “His work subjects him to
pressure that exceeds his emotional and psychological stability.” I’m
at a loss to explain how you came to that conclusion.’
Dicanti, still standing, blushed. She crossed her arms and didn’t
answer. Troi took the opportunity to intervene.
‘Ah, good old Paola. Her great intelligence always leaves a small
crack for her feminine intuition to slip in, isn’t that so? Padre, at
times Dicanti arrives at purely emotional conclusions. I don’t know
how. Of course, she would make a great writer.’
‘Better than you know, because she’s hit the bull’s eye,’ said Fowler,
getting up from his chair and striding towards the blackboard.
‘Inspector, what is the correct name for your profession? Profiler
– isn’t that it?’
‘Yes,’ Paola said, still embarrassed.
‘When did you receive your qualification as a profiler?’ ‘Once I’d finished the course in Forensic Criminology and after
a year of intensive study at the FBI’s Behavioral Sciences Division.
Very few candidates manage to pass the entire course.’ ‘Can you tell us how many qualified profilers there are in the
world?’
‘At present, twenty – twelve in the United States, four in Canada,
two in Germany, one in Italy and one in Austria.’
‘Thanks. Is everyone clear on that, gentlemen? Only twenty people in the world are capable of drawing a psychological portrait of a
serial killer with any degree of certainty, and one of them is in this
room. Believe me, if we want to catch this man . . .’
Fowler turned round and wrote a name on the blackboard in
large, thick letters:
VICTOR KAROSKY
‘. . . we are going to need someone capable of getting into his head. Now you have the name. But before you race to the phone to bark out
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