Author's note: If anyone reading this happens to be a criminal psychologist and I wrote something wrong just tell me. I'm trying (in my very little time) to research the field so that I can get a better understanding of portraying it, but to say I'm a little overload with college stuff would be an understatement. PLEASE REVIEW! It's hard to write when no one's reading this so pleasing review even if its criticism. I just want to know if I should continue or just quit.

Ch. 3

"Elementary, my dear Watson." -Sherlock Holmes (from the movies of course!)

'Sometimes,' thought Katharine as she slammed the door, 'Life really is shit,' or so it appeared to be when she had just wasted an entire hour conversing with a convicted sex offender who had the audacity to rape babies. On occasions such as these she desired nothing more than for another Noah's flood. At least the people in Sodom and Gomorrah were irreligious. This was an entirely different ballpark.

Being a criminal psychologist though intriguing was a stress on the nerves, especially when one had to maintain a neutral opinion in the matter. It wouldn't be 'ethical' to tell the court the man was perfectly sane and should take a walk down death row. Then again, she didn't want him released without as much as 20 years in prison (a life long sentence if she had it her way) either.

'I'll make an exception for this one though,' she thought as she savagely jammed her notes back into her folder and proceeded down the gloomy hall toward the exist. 'Definitely an exception.' This guy was as cool as a whistle and had no qualms in telling her how fuckable little girls were.

Katharine Bowen, age 32, was possibly if not the best criminal psychologist in the state of Arizona. Having completed her doctorate in clinical, counseling, and criminal psychology, she moved on to analyze numerous cases of homicides, and sex offenses. She imagined herself to be sort of like Sherlock Holmes when piecing together psychological or geological profiles.

Growing up on a ranch in southern Texas with her Welsh family, Katharine and her two brothers and sister staged murders and investigations which often led to wild shootouts and chases on horseback. Instead of going to the movies on Friday with the rest of the high school population she remained at home curled up in the loft reading Sherlock Holmes, mysteries, and crime novels.

Though her parent's initial hope was for her to marry, 'good boys' as her mother called them, generally stayed away from the bookish girl who wore baggy jeans and held her dark hair up with a dazzling number of pencils. Katharine didn't mind however, for she was not thinking of who won the status as prom queen or what hairstyle was in vogue. Instead, she was envisioning the perfect crime scene, a playground for her intuition, another puzzle to solve.

As she wadded through the stifling heat that normally accompanies a summer day in the Southwest, a clanging erupted from her cell phone breaking her vindictive thoughts. She looked at the screen and groaned. 'Not Jason.' Jason, one of her fellow psychologists/detective was a short slightly balding (though he was 3 years her senior) man with entirely too much energy. Anything with Jason was a 'big deal.' To say he was OCD was an understatement.

She sighed and flipped open the phone. "Yes Jason?"

"Kate," a slightly breathy voice wheezed. Yep, it was definitely Jason. He was the only person who called her who sounded like he had run several miles.

"Hello Jason. What's the deal?"

"Kate! You're never going to believe this, but they caught him!"

Katharine nearly dropped the phone. "What!"

"They caught him!" Jason rasped excitedly.

"But, but, how?" she stammered. How could they have caught the son of a bitch with so little evidence? It just didn't seem possible.

"It was by total accident!" said Jason, "This old lady down in Dessert Hills called 911 reporting that there was screaming coming from the house next to her. She was afraid the person had fallen down the stairs or something, but she couldn't go and check it out, because she's bed ridden. She lives with her daughter, but she had left to go to the supermarket or something, so she called…."

"I'm putting you on speaker phone," interrupted Kate who had reached her car and was now rummaging through her gargantuan tote bag for the keys.

"Ok," said Jason barely missing a beat, "…911 and the medics and some police came over and knocked on the door, but no one answered so they checked to see if the door was unlocked and get this it was bolted shut!"

"Mmm..keep going" mumbled Kate upending her bag on the trunk of the car.

"The door was bolted shut and so they got a guy to come cut the lock…are you there?"

"I'm here. Goddammit, I can't find my keys!"

"Maybe you left them in your office. You want me to go and check? I can always come over and …."

"Jason!" Kate yelled flinging up her arms in exasperation. Really, he was so stupid sometimes!

"Ok! Ok!," Jason said sounding offended, "If you don't want me to pick you up I under…."

"No, no it's not that. It's just that if I left my keys in my office I wouldn't have been able to drive over here in the first place. See?"


Kate rolled her eyes. "So what did they find?"

For a moment, there was silence and then an intake of breath. What ever they found certainly had Jason riled up.

"Pictures," he said


"Yah, billions of photos plastered on the wall, oh yah, and women's things to. It was crazy like he had been stalking his victims for months and stealing their possessions and what not."

Katharine felt a tingling feeling prickle up the spine. "And then what?"

"They found him," said Jason simply, "In the basement, caught red handed with one of his victims. Tim said it was sick. He was 'washing his himself' in her blood."

"Shit. Did she live?" asked Katharine feeling shocked. 'What kind of sicko 'bathes' himself in blood?'

"No, too much blood loss."

"Where is he now?" she asked crumpling up several year old recipes.

"Over at Milton's funny farm. They want us to have a look at him."

"Ok," she replied, "If only I could find my damn….aha!" she held up her keys in triumph.

"I take it you found them," said Jason brightly, "So I don't need to drive over there anyways. You could have always taken the bus you know, that's what I always…."


"I'm just joking!" he laughed. "I'll see you there."

"Right, just give me 25 minutes," said Kate picking up a pile of the upended items and cramming them back into her bag. "Hey, what's his name?"

"Vincent. Vincent McNabb."