more apparent.
'Hello, Andy,' Preduski said.
'Number eleven,' Enderby said. 'Unusual. Like numbers five, seven and
eight.' When Enderby was excited, which wasn't often, he was impatient
to express himself. He sometimes spoke in staccato bursts.
He pointed at the kitchen table and said, 'See it? No butter smears.
No jelly stains. No crumbs. Too damned neat. Another fake.'
A tab technician was disconnecting the garbagedisposal unit from the
pipes under the sink.
'Why?' Preduski said. 'Why does he fake it when he isn't hungry?'
'I know why. Sure of it.'
'So tell me,' Preduski said.
'First of all, did you know I'm a psychiatrist?'
'You're a coroner, a pathologist.'
'Psychiatrist too.'
'I didn't know that.'
'Went to medical school. Did my internship. Specialized in
otolaryngology. Couldn't stand it. Hideous way to make a living. My
family had money. Didn't have to work. Went back to medical school.
Became a psychiatrist.'
'That must be interesting work.'
'Fascinating. But I couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand associating with
the patients.'
'Oh?'
All day with a bunch of neurotics. Began to feel that half'l'f of them
should be locked up. Got out of the field fast. Better for me and the
patients.'
'I should say so.'
'Kicked around a bit. Twenty years ago, I became a police pathologist.'
'The dead aren't neurotic.'
'Not even a little bit.'
'And they don't have ear, nose and throat infections.'
'Which they don't pass on to me,' Enderby said. 'No money in this job,
of course. But I've got all the money I need. And the work is right
for me. I'm perfect for the work, too. My psychiatric training gives
me a iss different perspective. Insights. I have insights that other
pathologists might not have. Like the one I had tonight.'
'About why the Butcher sometimes eats a hearty meal and sometimes fakes
a hearty meal?'
'Yes,' Enderby said. He took a breath. Then: 'It's because there are
two of him.'
Preduski scratched his head. 'Schizophrenia?'
'No, no. I mean ... there isn't just one man running around killing
women. There are two.' He smiled triumphantly.
Preduski stared at him.
Slamming his fist into his open hand, Enderby said, 'I'm right! I know
I am. Butcher number one killed the first four victims. Killing them
gave him an appetite. Butcher number two killed the fifth woman.
Cut her up as Butcher number one had done. But he was ever so slightly
more tender-hearted than the first Butcher. Killing spoiled his
