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Hafner s glasses were sliding down his nose; they always did that. Hafner was always pushing them up, always picking imaginary lint from his
clothing and tapping his feet. And Coffey was always resisting the urge to lean across the desk and swat the man each time he had to suffer one of
these appointments.
How was he going to keep Hafner from annoying Mallory? How to get Mallory to play nice as long as the mayor s close friend was in the same
room.
The judge is a Supreme Court candidate, said Coffey, smiling pleasantly. I don t want him to fit.
You useless, pompous little twit.
Hafner adjusted his glasses. You will note that Amanda Bosch carried no purse, no wallet. I don t think it was stolen from the body. I ve looked at
the inventory of the apartment. Her credit cards and driver s license were lying loose in a drawer, and she had no purses whatever. Women usually
own a number of purses, one for dress one for
Get to the point, said Mallory. It was an order.
Hafner pushed his glasses up, and the constant smile was even more patronizing, as though he thought this was an unruly child he was dealing with.
This lack of a purse is significant in the interpersonal dynamics of the relationship. People who don t carry identification on their persons lack
identities of their own. A woman of low self-esteem would gravitate toward a man who was habitually abusive to women.
According to Mrs Farrow, said Mallory, leaning in for the first shot, Bosch stopped carrying a purse after she was mugged three years ago. The
robbery report is on the record. I sent it to you with all the rest of the paperwork. Do you read the reports we send you? And there are lots of women
who prefer pockets to purses.
Coffey watched Hafner s eyes drop down to note that Mallory did not carry a purse. Now Hafner was scrutinizing her face, evaluating Mallory like a
specimen. His eyes were gleaming, as though he had discovered a unique life form. He had.
Dr Hafner, said Coffey in his best damage-control tone, do you think he s likely to kill again?
Oh, definitely. He may have killed many times. We don t know that this is his first murder. I don t think he ll be able to stop himself.
Coffey was thinking, Bullshit, and Mallory s eyes were framing stronger language.
Go on, Dr Hafner, said Coffey.
You idiot, personal friend of the mayor or no.
The immaculate condition of the apartment is an example of ritualistic, compulsive behavior, the ultimate cleansing. Such compulsively neat
individuals always have severe personality disorders.
Coffey concentrated on Mallory. Her lips parted. For her, this was tantamount to an emotional outburst. And now he wondered what Hafner would
make of Mallory s compulsively neat and well-ordered environs. The computer room was spotless and kept that way by a civilian keystroker who
feared for his life if dust should settle on the computer equipment.
So you think our man would fit the profile of a serial killer, said Coffey.
Highly probable. And I would be very interested in the formative years of all the suspects. Hafner was staring at Mallory as he said this. Was there
trauma? Abuse? Abandonment? Maybe a history as a runaway.
Coffey sat back and studied Hafner. The man was just too damn fascinated by Mallory, openly examining her face as though gauging the effect of
every word on her.
Hafner pushed his glasses up again. The cleansing ritual may go hand in glove with compulsive punctuality.
Coffey leaned forward.
Punctuality ? Where was that coming from?
Perhaps Hafner had seen Mallory s computer room after all, and more. Hafner could have accessed Mallory s psych evaluation, which had been
mandatory following the discharge of a weapon in the line of duty. This was not about the suspect. This pumped-up twit thought he was going to play
with Mallory, to bait her like a lab animal.
Coffey looked to Mallory s face, and he could see that everywhere he had gone with this idea, she had been there before him. Coffey sat well back
in his chair and well out of the loop. Let the twit fend for himself. Whatever she did to Hafner, he had it coming. He communicated all this to her with
the slight inclination of his head.
Sick him, Mallory.
Perhaps a visual aid would be useful, she said, her voice assuming the soft, deceptive notes of a civilized member of society.
Coffey watched her gun slide easily from the shoulder holster, and then he ceased to see it in the lacuna which was part of the cop s blue wall of
silence. He was blind to the gun no, the damn cannon not a police-issue revolver, but something that made substantially bigger holes.
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