Page 52 of Thankless in Death

“He felt nothing,” Mira said. “He’s a sociopath, a narcissist. He believes everything revolves around him, and his needs—or that it should. He uses projection bias to shift blame and responsibility to others. He believes this, and feels no guilt or remorse for his behavior, nor any need to change.”

“He did change,” Eve argued. “When he picked up the knife and put it into his mother.”

“Escalated,” Mira corrected. “Broke through the restraints. And it was her own fault.”

Eve shoved a hand through her hair, nodded. “Okay. And I saw it as they’re out of his way, he has a conduit to the money, a way to live like a king for the short term. Just what he wanted. No guilt or remorse, I got that. It was more like glee. But... Killing his parents, did it kill something in him, that tiny spark of conscience, humanity, the need to be a part of the whole?”

“I think seeing what he did here, what he enjoyed doing here, no, it didn’t kill a part of him, it freed a part of him he’d suppressed. And likely suppressed out of fear of punishment. A part of him he may not have been truly or fully aware of until freed. He’s found himself.”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Peabody walked in, holding a take-out tray. “Roarke sent this in. That’s tea for you, Dr. Mira, on the front corner. Coffee for you, Dallas, back corner, and coffee regular for me. Roarke’s down with McNab, at this twenty-four/seven café across the street. The waiter recognized the suspect. They’re checking out street-level security discs.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“As is this.” Mira sipped her tea. “It’s my favorite. How does he do that?”

Eve shrugged. “I’ve stopped asking that question.”

“Is it all right to sit a moment?”

“Go ahead,” Eve told her. “I can’t yet.”

“I can, two minutes,” Peabody said quickly, and lowered onto one of the padded crates.

“He’s validated,” Mira went on as she sat. “All those menial jobs he was pushed or forced into? Never meant to be—he always knew it, now he’s proven it. All the bosses who demanded he work by their rules? Shortsighted, stupid, or out to make him less because they saw he was so much more. He’s killed three people, and he’s walking free. You know who he is, but you can’t stop him—he just proved that with this last kill. He has money now, true freedom now, true self now.”

“He’ll need to kill again.”

“Definitely. His sexual reaction to this kill adds yet another level of that need. Killing rewards him.”

“Someone he knows? A stranger won’t give him that same rush, at least not this soon.”

“Agreed, and knowing his victim, knowing that victim has always underestimated him, considered him less, has even hurt or insulted him in some way is only part of it.”

Yes, she could see into him now, into the dark corners of him. “Payback’s the other. His parents held him back, shoved him, nagged him, threatened him, and were on the point of booting him. She already had. He’s got plenty of others he’d see the same way.”

“A long list of slights, opportunities to prove himself, opportunities for the thrill and release, and the gain. The reward.”

“We’ve contacted everyone we know at this point.” Eve glanced at Peabody.

“Former employers,” Peabody confirmed, “coworkers, family members, friends.”

“There’ll be more,” Eve said. “Some neighbor who gave him lip or grief, a teacher or instructor, even a fricking waitress, a clerk.”

Mira enjoyed her tea. “I absolutely agree. He’ll attempt to work his way through anyone who made him feel less of a man, who slighted him or rejected him.”

“We’ve got his name and face plastered everywhere now. He has to know that. He has to change his look.”

“He was wearing a suit,” Peabody said. “I asked the wit what Reinhold was wearing. At first he said he didn’t notice, but I worked on him a little, and he remembered, because he said he’d never seen Reinhold in one before, that he was wearing a suit.”

“Interesting,” Mira murmured. “He wanted to look professional.”

“Spruced himself up for this kill,” Eve added. “Slicked up for the ex. Look at me, bitch. I’m high-end now. Salons,” she told Peabody. “Anywhere he can get a hair job, a treatment, new eye color. He changes his method. Knife to bat to strangulation. Experimenting?” she asked Mira.

“It could be, yes. Or tailoring.”

“Method to fit the kill, and the sin against him. Yeah. More that, I’ll bet. That would make him feel... skilled and smart. He has to stay somewhere, sleep somewhere, live somewhere. He won’t settle for a flop.”

“That would be beneath him,” Mira concurred.