The General's Daughter by Nelson DeMille

did her dog tags, obviously, and probably
     her helmet and boots had her name stenciled inside. So what do the missing items have in common? Her name. Correct?”
    “Correct.” Women bring different things to the party. And that’s okay. Really.
    She said, “So this guy is into… what? Trophies? Proof?
    Mementos and souvenirs? That’s consistent with the personality and profile of an organized sex offender.”
    “But he left her underwear and handbag.” I added, “Actually, what all the missing items have in common is that they are all
     her military issue, including her holster and sidearm, and they would not have her name on them. He left the
civilian
stuff behind, including her watch and her handbag, which has all sorts of things with her name on them. Correct?”
    “Is this a contest?”
    “No, Cynthia. It’s a homicide investigation. We’re brainstorming.”
    “Okay. Sorry. That’s what partners are supposed to do in a homicide investigation.”
    “Right.”
Partner?
    Cynthia stayed silent a moment, then said, “You know this stuff.”
    “I hope so.”
    “Okay, why did he take only her military issue?”
    “Ancient warriors stripped the arms and armor from their dead enemies. They left the loincloths.”
    “That’s why he took her military issue?”
    “Maybe. Just a thought. Could be a red herring. Could be some other mental derangement that I’m not familiar with.”
    She glanced at me as she drove.
    I added, “He may not have raped her. But he staked her out like that to draw attention to the sexual nature of his act, or
     possibly to dishonor her body, to reveal her nakedness to the world.”
    “Why?”
    “Don’t know yet.”
    “Maybe you do.”
    “I have to think about it. I’m starting to think he knew her.” Actually, I
knew
he knew her. We rode in silence a while longer, then I said to Cynthia, “I don’t know why it happened, but how does this
     sound for
how
it happened: Ann Campbell leaves Post Headquarters and goes directly to the rifle range, stopping a good distance from PFC
     Robbins’s guard post. She has a preplanned rendezvous with a lover. They do this often. He plays the armed bandito and gets
     the drop on her, makes her strip, and they get into some kinky S&;M and bondage thing.” I glanced at Cynthia. “You know what
     I mean?”
    “I know nothing about sexual perversions. That’s your department.”
    “Well said.”
    She added, “Your scenario sounds like male fantasy. I mean, what woman would go through all that trouble to be staked out
     on the cold ground and call that fun?”
    I could see this was going to be a long day, and I hadn’t even had my breakfast yet. I said, “Do you know why her panties
     were under the rope around her neck?”
    “No, why?”
    “Check the homicide manual under sexual asphyxia.”
    “Okay.”
    “Also, did you notice that there seemed to be a blacktop stain on the sole of her right foot?”
    “I didn’t.”
    “If it came from the road, why was she barefoot on the road?”
    “He made her strip in, or near, the jeep.”
    “Then why was her underwear on the rifle range?”
    Cynthia replied, “She may have been forced to take off her clothes at, or in, the jeep, then she or the perpetrator carried
     them to where she was staked out.”
    “Why?”
    “Part of the script, Paul. Sex offenders have incredibly involved fantasies that they perfect in their minds, things that
     have a strong sexual meaning for them but for no one else. Making a woman strip, then walk naked carrying her own clothes
     to a place where he intends to rape her may be his unique fantasy.”
    “So you know this stuff? I’m not in sole charge of perversions.”
    “I’m familiar with pathological sex acts and criminal deviations. I don’t know much about consenting sexual perversions.”
    I let that one alone and pointed out, “The line between the two is a bit thin and indistinct on occasion.”
    “I don’t believe that Ann Campbell was a