Serial Killer

"I want you to do the interview, Sergeant Wilson."

"Why me?" Sheila knew what Charles Benson was capable of. She had seen the crime scene photos. Sickening.

"Because you're a woman. I want to see how he responds to a woman in authority."

"Um ... yes. How do I play this?" Sheila straightened her skirt and pulled her pony tail tighter.

"You make it obvious you're in charge. He'll try to take over the conversation but you won't let him."

Sheila ruffled through the notes on the case, putting off entering that room.

"You're not scared, are you?"

"N ...no, of course not." That is why she wished she had worn brown trousers. Her hand shook as she reached for the door knob.

Charles Benson sat at the desk, his hands manacled behind him, his feet dangling. His blue eyes looked so innocent.

"Are you Charles Xavier Benson?"

"No comment." The social worker seemed disinterested.

"Why did you do this?" Sheila laid out the photos of the tortured animals.

"It was fun." The lad sniffed and wiped snot on his sleeve.

Sheila stared into the boys dead eyes. What do you do with a six year old psychopath?

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