Free Guilt by G. H. Ephron

suit, that was about all Peter could bring back. Big help, everyone around there wore suits. It was an odd thing about suits—when you weren’t concentrating on noticing, sometimes that was all you saw.
    MacRae’s next question took Peter aback: “So, is this guy crazy?”
    Not exactly a plea for help, and certainly not an apology for being rude and unpleasant, but Peter savored the moment—MacRae was actually asking his opinion and offering the tiniest acknowledgment that maybe he didn’t have all the answers.
    Unfortunately, neither did Peter. “You think it’s the work of one person?” he asked, sidestepping the question.
    â€œSuppose, just for argument’s sake, that this is one person. What are we looking for?”
    Peter didn’t answer right away.
    â€œHey, it could have been you in that building,” MacRae said, misinterpreting Peter’s reticence. He’d hesitated because he wasn’t a profiler. When he evaluated a suspect, it was based on an in-depth evaluation. He interpreted the results and extrapolated backward. This was different. He had no interviews, no test data. Still, there was behavior. That was something. The same principles could be applied.
    â€œThis is just informal, right? I mean no one’s going to subpoena me to testify, right, because I’d just be shooting from the hip.”
    MacRae held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
    What did he think, assuming, as MacRae suggested, that it was one person who did both bombings, and assuming the flyers were his?
    â€œWhoever it is, he’s not a big fan of the government,” Peter offered.
    Duh. MacRae didn’t say it, but his expression did.
    â€œAnd based on the messages, the targets don’t seem random.”
    MacRae still didn’t seem overly impressed.
    Peter went on. “He’s planning. Thinking things through. It takes time to compose these messages, print them, and put them up, to gather what he needs to make the explosives. And he’s interested in more than making noise and communicating a message. He’s picked times and places that guarantee casualties.”
    Peter took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. What were the options? “Could be schizophrenic, someone like the Unabomber with some convoluted logic behind the point he’s trying to make. He could even have a legitimate gripe. Maybe he’s someone who should have been protected by the judicial system but wasn’t, and he’s conflating larger social issues with his own personal issues, maybe to the point of being delusional about them. Could be a sociopath, using anarchist rhetoric as a cover. Or a terrorist, with an organization behind him.”
    Now MacRae looked exasperated. He was getting questions, not answers.
    â€œThis is pure speculation, right?” Peter said.
    â€œYou don’t see me taking notes.”
    â€œOkay.” Peter put his glasses back on. “I’d say it’s a man. Bright. Well-read. Disenfranchised. Educated. White. Unmarried. Probably not in a committed relationship. Only child.” MacRae reared back as Peter reeled off his ideas. “Possibly a childhood abuse victim. Maybe a history of fanaticism or cult involvement. Probably reads sci-fi or spy novels.”
    MacRae’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Sci-fi?”
    â€œI’d say this is someone whose grip on reality is a little bit loose or distorted, who might think he can engineer change all by himself.”
    MacRae fished out his pad and cocked his pen. “You mind? No subpoenas, I promise.”
    Peter didn’t protest as MacRae wrote.
    Peter went on. “To set up something like this, knowing people will be randomly killed, suggests an individual who doesn’t connect emotionally to other people. No empathy. That’s where the abuse comes in. Kids who were physically abused learn a different way of relating because