A Deadly Compulsion Read Online Free Page A

suffering that they had been the direct cause of.
    Walking back to the car, Laura decided that she would call Jim Elliott.  It would be unofficial, unethical, and completely at odds with her superiors, should they find out. Tough shit!   What they didn’t know wouldn’t harm them.  She had not seen Jim in over a year, and only spoken to him on the phone infrequently.  But they were soul mates, who had fleetingly been bed mates.  He would not be happy at what she would ask of him, and may even just hang up on her.  That as may be, it was worth a try.  She needed the assistance of someone with a special kind of ability; an expertise that the average copper, however good, did not possess.  She needed the insight of a rare breed of man; one who could look into the minds of human monsters with a propensity to understand what motivated repeat, ritual killers; a man who could see... feel the crimes from the offender’s twisted viewpoint.  Jim Elliott was such an individual.

CHAPTER THREE
     
    JIM stared out from the balcony of his top floor flat towards the large, round tower of Windsor Castle.  It was bathed in warm light, as though etched from sandstone in relief against a Levi-blue, cloudless sky.  He was sitting on a white-enamelled, cast-iron chair, sipping black coffee and savouring both the taste and aroma of the strong brew.  Luxuriating in the mild summer breeze, that teased the scent from the ornamental, red-flowered japonica that grew in a large terracotta pot against the waist-high balustrade, Jim welcomed the new day.
    A glint of sunlight on steel took his gaze higher, to settle on and follow the slow descent of a distant jet as it drifted into Heathrow in the manner of a raptor gliding down to its nest.  Mug now empty, Jim rose and walked back into the lounge, pausing for the umpteenth time to look at the poster-size photograph of the castle, which was a stunning monochrome shot of the ninety-two fire; a greasy, black column of smoke rising above the royal residence.  He had added the caption:  ‘Shit Happens!’ in his own neat copperplate on a label at the bottom right corner of the gold-leafed frame.  The old photo of the burning castle constantly reminded him not to take anything for granted.  However seemingly permanent, anything could go up in smoke without warning.
    Jim enjoyed every day now, relishing each as it unrolled before him like a rich, multicoloured and complex-patterned Persian carpet.  He had just reached forty the previous week, and his thick black hair was shot through with grey, and collar length.  He stood six-two, and felt as fit as he looked.  His face was even-featured, craggy, and was considered handsome by most people, especially women.  His eyes were a striking grey, almost hypnotic in their intensity, to a degree that caused many to look away, unable to meet his direct gaze, feeling disconcerted by it, as though their very souls were being examined.  They had every right to feel that way.  Jim used his formidable stare to peel back the layers of insincerity and flimflam with the precision of a surgical laser.
    Jim Elliott had been with the FBI, and had risen from field agent in his home state of Arizona – based at the Phoenix office – to the behavioural science unit at Quantico, where he had soon become recognised as being one of the most gifted and ingenious profilers in the bureau.  His work had led directly to the capture of a dozen serial murderers, and his input had been the undoing of a great many more.  Jim had a unique perception of repeat killers, which defied logic.  He could somehow see past the reports and forensic evidence, to think himself into their minds.  His gift, if that was what it was, had cost him dearly.  He had lost the woman he loved, his sanity had been threatened, and ultimately his life had been drastically modified.  At the time, he had thought that it had been the last case he had worked on that put him over the edge.  But