Free Hurt (The Hurt Series) by D.B. Reeves Page B

quotes.’
    Taking the cup, she wondered what dark motivation kept her groomed DI from bed in favour of paperwork. Other than his fondness for nice clothes, keeping fit, and catching bad guys, she knew little about the man behind the frown’s personal life. From his file she’d learned he was an only child, and that he’d left his sleepy coastal town aged nineteen to seek a career in the police force. He never spoke of the family he left behind or of a loved one with whom he may or may not share his rented two bedroom apartment. If the subject of the other half was ever breached down the pub, he would dodge the topic by nipping to the toilet or shouting the next round, of which he would partake only in bottled lager and never spirits, and then never to excess. Unlike the rest of her team, she had never seen Mason drunk or out of control. This, she’d accepted a while ago, was no bad thing, especially when it came to catching the proverbial worm.
    ‘First impressions suggest out boy’s well read, right?’
    Head still fuzzy, she nodded from behind the welcome cup. She recalled the sentence she had written before her eyes had given up on her about the killer’s signature suggesting he was well educated. ‘Go on.’
    ‘Thing is I crossed checked both the Gibran and Dumas quotes on several search engines and found them both on a number of wisdom and inspirational quotation websites.’
    Jessop’s attention perked up. ‘And the latest quote?’
    ‘Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live. Dorothy Thompson, the so-called First Lady of American Journalism.’ Mason handed her the file. ‘Also on the sites.’
    Liking what she was hearing, she flipped through the pages, confirming all three quotes did indeed appear on the same websites.
    Mason said, ‘He’s not as smart as he wants us to believe.’
    ‘Doesn’t make him any less dangerous.’
    ‘So what does it make him?’
    She considered the profile she’d been working on. The majority of serial killers were of the hedonist type, killers who commit his or her acts for sexual pleasure or just for the thrill of it. The monster they sought now was not one of these animals. He fitted into another category of which there were to be found a less impulsive and reckless animal. It was the type she feared the most. And it was time to warn Mason what they were up against.
    ‘He’s a power seeker,’ she said. ‘Likes to play God by exerting ultimate control over his victims.’
    Mason nodded to himself. ‘But it’s not about his victims. It’s about their loved ones.’
    ‘Right. He thinks he’s teaching them a lesson.’
    ‘Emancipation through suffering.’
    Jessop arched an eyebrow at her astute DI. ‘Uh-huh. I’m thinking a rough childhood, probably abusive. At some point in his young life he was forced to watch a loved one − most probably a sibling or a parent − get beaten badly, or even killed, possibly by another loved one. He believes he’s come through the trauma unscathed and enlightened, and feels compelled to pass on what he’s learned to others by making them watch a loved one die in the hope they too will benefit from the experience. He believes they should be grateful, and that they should actually
thank
him. For without his intervention in their lives they would not be able to fully appreciate life.’
    Mason rubbed his clean jaw, his forehead furrowed deep in thought. ‘Does he enjoy it?’
    That was a good question. The right question to ask at this point. She thought about what Rebecca had said about the killer just sounding normal after he’d gutted her boyfriend. But who had he really seen slouched there with the life spilling from the cut? His mother, after his father had given her yet another beating? Or maybe his father, after the young killer had had enough of watching his mother’s abuse at his drunk father’s hands and had finally done something to stop it?
    ‘No,’ she answered. ‘I don’t believe he