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serious
would the local police treat her claim that she’d been raped?  So she ‘d likely
keep mum about what happened, wouldn’t she, Sir?”
    “She
would indeed,” Trevor said.  “The first victim did not come forward with her
story at all until the second and third woman had made claims.  Very apt of
you, Davy.”
    “So
he aims at an easy target with his first shot,” Tom said, not noticing that his
analogy made both Trevor and Davy wince.  “But then he gains a bit of
confidence and expands his pool of potentials to include two tradeswomen,
victims who we can only assume the town viewed more sympathetically.  I would
imagine rape to be a rather noisy sort of crime.  Apt to draw attention if the
woman puts up a struggle.  Where did the assaults actually take place?”
    “The
first in an edge of the woods, the second in a public woman’s washroom, the one
used by the train passengers,” Trevor said.  “For the third, the baker, he
presumably followed the woman back to her place of business for she was
attacked in her own kitchen.”
    “Did
he use a weapon to subdue the women?” Rayley asked.
    Trevor
hesitated.  “He had a scarf.”
    “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