City of Silence (City of Mystery) (4 page)

“A
scarf?”

“Indeed.”

Rayley
frowned.   “To choke or to gag them?”

“Neither. 
He used it as a blindfold.”

This
last statement brought silence to the table. Trevor noted that Geraldine had
not yet spoken at all.  Although loquacious by nature, she often held back at
the beginning of the Tuesday Night Murder Games only to spring forth at the end
with a barrage of comments which were either profoundly insightful or
astoundingly bizarre.  To date, the ratio was about 20/80.  But tonight she
merely continued to sit thoughtfully, her evening cup of chamomile resting on the
broad ledge of her bosom, her eyes fixed on the table before her.   

“Shall
we summarize?”  Trevor asked.  Past experience had taught him that when the
conversation lagged, a revisiting of the particular points was a good way to
get it going again.  “We have a man who most likely arrives in a town by way of
a midday train.  He disembarks and finds a bevy of women working in the area
around the depot.  After the train is gone and the crowd has scattered, he
follows his selected victim and to a private place and assaults her, then
catches a later train to leave the town.  What would a forensic psychologist
conclude about such a man?  If we were to apply the basics of criminal
profiling, what would they suggest?”

“He’s
organized,” Rayley said promptly.  “At least enough to use the train schedule
to his advantage and to select his victims along certain criteria.”

“And
in the same vein, he possesses at least some self-control,” Emma said.  “He
isn’t raping in a manic frenzy.  He plans his crimes.”

“Looks
normal or at least fits in well enough to avoid attracting attention on a
train,” Davy added.

“Seems
to select strangers,” Emma said.  “This isn’t a crime of any personal vengeance
or due to an obsession with a particular woman.”  She looked up at Trevor, her
eyes seeming darker in the candlelight, deepening from blue to navy.  “Did the
women have any similarities in terms of age or coloring or some physical
characteristic?  Were they acquainted or intertwined in any way?”

He
shook his head.  “Quite the contrary.  The only thing they seemed to have in
common was proximity to the depot.  The two tradeswomen knew each other, but
only slightly.“

“So
it would appear at first reckoning that our fellow is an entirely logical sort
of criminal,” Rayley said.  “But then we come to the business with the
blindfold.  It keeps the women from being able to identify him of course, and
thus makes a type of sense, but it also strikes me as a rather grand sort of
gesture.  Theatrical, almost.  Could any of the victims describe anything about
the man?”

Trevor
shook his head, then reconsidered.  “Well, that isn’t entirely true.  One of
them did say the blindfold he used felt like silk.  Noteworthy it would seem in
a rural town where most men wear scarves made of wool if they wear them at all.”

“If
that’s all the description three victims managed to collectively produce, then
it would seem that blinding the women, even momentarily, served his purpose,”
Tom said.  “And, I’m sorry Rayley, but I don’t read anything symbolic or grand
into the gesture at all.  If you don’t intend to kill your victim, and there’s
no evidence suggesting that this particular rapist is warming up to murder,
then your most pressing task is to make sure she doesn’t see your face.”

“But
I quite know where Rayley is going,” Geraldine said, suddenly jerking to
attention in the manner of a mechanical soothsayer at a traveling fair.  “There
are certain acts of dominance, are there not, which are designed to break the
spirit?  The binding of the hands is one, and taking away someone’s sight or
hearing is another.  I’ve seen it with the suffragettes.”

“The
suffragettes?”  Trevor asked cautiously.  It was a bizarre non sequitur even
for Geraldine.

She
nodded and leaned forward to place her teacup on the table.  “Do you all recall
that dark day when I was arrested at the protest about allowing women to row on
the Thames?  You surely remember, Trevor, for that’s the very afternoon the two
of us first met.  And Emma, you and Gage had to come down and give them money
so they would let us all out.”

“They
posted your bail,” Trevor corrected her. “You always make it sound like a bribe
or some other sort of impropriety when you say it that way, Geraldine.  You
simply must try to remember the proper wording.“

“Indeed,”
said Geraldine.  “Posted bail.  Anyway, Emma and Trevor remember, but for the
rest of you, there is this most ridiculous law that states women cannot take a
boat out on the Thames and my committee for the expansion of women’s rights went
down to the waterfront to protest.  Only they sent out the coppers to arrest us
and thus dear Trevor and I became intimates.”

“I’ve
always wondered at how the two of you initiated your friendship,” Rayley said. 
“Welles usually isn’t the type to mix in high society.”

Behind
Geraldine’s shoulder, Trevor made a rude gesture at him, to the great amusement
of Davy. 

“As
always, I admire your pluck, Auntie,” Tom said. “Women should most certainly
have the opportunity to capsize into the Thames right along with the men.  But
what on earth do suffragettes have to do with blindfolds?”

“We
had chained ourselves to a tree,” Geraldine said, “and when the coppers put us
in the wagon they left us bound up.  One of them in particular was a most rude
young man and he said something along the lines of if we wanted the chains,
then by God we should have them.  And then he said he didn’t want the ladies to
be cold so he pulled down our hats and raised our mufflers so that we couldn’t
see and could barely hear.”

“Gerry,”
Trevor said in genuine surprise.  “You’ve never told me this part.”

“What
was the name of that man?” Rayley said.  “Do you recall, Miss Bainbridge?”

Gerry
impatiently shook her head.  “It was years ago, darlings, and that’s not the
point of my story.  When we got down to the station and Trevor came in to take
our statements, he was so respectful and such a gentleman, that it was like the
rain suddenly stopped and the sun broke through the clouds.  And then of course
Emma arrived and gave him the money to let us all out.  But I raise this memory
for one reason alone.  During the time we were chained and rendered unable to
fully see or hear…it was no more than a few minutes, a wagon ride across town,
but the man’s cruel mission was accomplished.   We were all of us lessened by
his actions.  Cowed.  Humiliated.  I went into his wagon one sort of women and
came out quite another.”

Emma
was given pause.  If a personality as powerful as Geraldine’s could undergo a
psychological shift in a matter of minutes, it did indeed seem likely that a
blindfold might have a dual purpose – not merely to obscure a woman’s vision
but to also render her passive.

“Such
conclusions fall right in line with those issued by the forensic psychologist”
said Trevor, with a nod to Gerry.  “His remarks agree with our collective analysis
of the Railway Rapist as organized, self-controlled, and able to convincingly
pass as a normal, well-functioning man when in society.  But the psychologist
also feels our criminal has a strong desire to control or shame his victim. 
Not just by raping her, but by dehumanizing her.”

“And
I presume this is the prototype for all rapists?  Tom asked.  His skepticism
about the entire line of reasoning had not completely waned, as evidenced by
the slight twist of his mouth as he said the word “prototype.”  There were
times when Trevor wondered if Tom lived perpetually on the verge of a sneer, if
having been born into a moneyed family had left the boy constitutionally unfit
for the realities of police work.  But then, just when Trevor’s exasperation
had built to the point of calling him out on the matter, Tom always managed to
do something so bold, say something so kind, or perform a task so useful that
he would immediately redeem himself in spades.  Trevor was beginning to accept
that Tom would always leave him slightly on edge.  On the surface it might seem
that their friendship was limited by the nearly oceanic differences between
them – differences of birth, education, age, and temperament.  But in truth
their vague antagonism was a result of the singular thing they held in common: 
their affection for Emma Kelly. 

“They’re
working on the full prototype now,” Trevor said.  “But the preliminary report
is full of surprises.  For example, I’d venture to say most people might guess
that most rapists are bachelors, men denied the normal opportunities for sexual
congress and thus driven to rape by sheer biological impulse.”

“A
ludicrous assumption,” Rayley said.  “The four men at this table are each
bachelors, with all the frustrations that depressing little title implies, but
I’d venture to say that none of us have ever entertained the idea of rape as a
way out of our dilemma.”

“True,”
Trevor said. “But what I mean is that the general public sees rape as a crime
of sexual desperation so they would be surprised to learn that the majority of
rapists are married and thus presumably have access to intercourse by more
conventional means.”

“Such
as begging,” said Tom.

“Oh
dear,” said Emma.  “Shall Gerry and I retire for the evening and let you boys
break out the billiards and cigars?  We seem to have wandered into some sort of
men’s hunting club or perhaps a fraternity at Cambridge.”

“Dreadfully
sorry,” Trevor said, although he wasn’t.  If Emma really wanted to sit at the
table with the boys she would have to get used to the occasional bout of
tasteless humor.

“And
do they have anything else?” Rayley prompted.

“Not
yet,” Trevor said.  “Further studies will cover such issues as method and
manner.  How does the rapist choose his victim, for example, or how long he
goes between attacks.  If there is a body, how does he dispose of it, and if
the victim is left alive, how does he escape?  Does he engage with the police,
as the Ripper did, or keep souvenirs?  So far the Railway Rapist isn’t showing
any such tendencies, which indicates a different type of mentality.  Even the
selection of a weapon can be telling.  You can threaten someone with a gun from
a great distance but an attack with a knife is closer, more personal.”

“It’s
absolutely enthralling,” Rayley said. “Just as a fingerprint or footprint tells
us what sort of body our perpetrator has, so criminal profiling can give us
insight into his mind.”

“And
if we know how he thinks, we can better predict what he’ll do next,” Davy said,
seeming to come round at last. “Maybe figure how to trap him.”   

Trevor
nodded. “They’re studying the same sort of thing with murderers by the way,
drawing conclusions about how well the perpetrator might have known his victim
by the methodology of the attack.  You can poison someone without being in the
room, so it’s a more distant, calculating sort of crime.  But if you smother or
choke them, in contrast, that implies a personal rage.  You want to be there in
the moment of the death, to actually see them suffer.”   

“I’m
sorry to likewise muffle your collective enthusiasm,” Tom said, leaning even
farther back and putting his boots on the table, “or mock this shiny new
forensics toy that you are all so eager to play with.  But I must say that in
comparison to medicine or chemistry, criminal profiling doesn’t seem like much
of a science at all.”

“I
doubt any science seems like much of a science when it begins,” Trevor said
amicably.  “Apples falling from trees, kites and keys in thunderstorms and all
that sort of rot.  Admittedly, we are dealing with an unformed arena of study,
but I expect it shall evolve in time, as they all do.  And I should be
delighted to think the people at this table might in some small way aid that
evolution.”

“What
if the scarf isn’t to hide his face?”  Emma abruptly asked.

“I
don’t follow,” Trevor said.

“We’ve
assumed that he covers her face so that she cannot see him,” Emma said.  “But
what if just the opposite is true, that he covers her face so that he cannot
see her?   Then she becomes a generalized victim, an everywoman, perhaps even a
substitute for someone else.”

They
sat for a moment, pondering this.  “You said the weapon of choice was an
indication of the level of rage,” Emma eventually added, her comments addressed
mostly toward Trevor.  “And by that logic, rape would indicate a very specific
type of anger, would it not?  The weapon of choice being the most intimate of
all?”

She
was looking right at him, but Trevor found he could not sustain eye contact for
long.  He dropped his gaze back to his glass of claret, aware of the cowardice
in the action.

“You’re
suggesting he obliterates her face to sustain a particular type of fantasy,”
Rayley said slowly, also looking into his own wine glass, but in his case the gesture
was merely meditative.  “There’s a woman he wants to punish but he can’t –
because she’s unreachable, gone away somewhere, or is perhaps even dead.  So
his anger is directed toward some random woman who stands in her stead.”

“That’s
madness,” said Tom.

Rayley
raised an eyebrow. “We’re talking about violent criminals.  Of course it’s
madness.”