"So you do think they ask for it?" she accused him, green eyes flashing.

"Not at all. I just think that people, especially women, ought to be more careful these days. We all know what the cities are like, and there's no longer any reason to think a place like Eastvale is immune from sex offenders."

"But why shouldn't we be able to go where we want, when we want and dressed how we want?"

"You should. In a perfect world. This isn't a perfect world."

"Well, thank you for pointing that out to me. Bit of a philosopher, aren't you?"

"I do my best. Look, is this what you want, some kind of sparring match over women's issues? I thought you were playing straight with me. All right, so I'm a man, guilty, and I can never in a million years fully understand what it's like to be a woman. But I'm not a narrow-minded hypocrite, at least I don't think I am, so don't treat me like one."

"Okay. I'm sorry. I'm not really a shrill virago, either. I'm just interested in men's attitudes, that's all. It's my field-male and female, masculine and feminine psychology, similarities, differences. That's why they thought I was the next best thing to a brilliant, ideally qualified man for this job."

She laughed at herself and Banks laughed with her. Then she held out her hands as if holding up a clapperboard, snapped them together and said, "Banks and Fuller: Co-operation,Take Two. More drinks first, though. No, I'll get them this time."

Enjoying the slow, feline grace of her movements, Banks watched her walk to the bar and lean on it as the barman drew the beer. When she got back, she smiled and put the drinks on the table.

"Right," she said. "Down to business. What do you want to know?"

"A great deal."

"Well, that'll take a long time."

"I'm sure it'll be time well spent."

Jenny smiled in agreement. "Yes," she said, "I do believe you're right."

To cut through the silence that followed, Banks put his first question: "Is there any chance of this peeper moving onto more violent sex acts?"

"Mmmm," Jenny said. "I'm afraid I'm going to seem as noncommittal as any scientist on some of these matters. According to most of the evidence, voyeurism in itself isn't regarded as a very serious disorder, and it's unlikely to spiral into other forms."

"But?"

"But it's only 'unlikely' according to existing evidence. All that means is that we don't have many documented cases of voyeurs becoming rapists-peeping is usually about as far as they can go. It doesn't mean there are no cases, though, and it doesn't mean that your man might not be one of them. Something could snap. If just looking ceases to give him what he needs, he could either break down or turn to other, more aggravated forms of sexual violence. I'll see if I can look up some case histories for you."

"You call it violence, but he hasn't physically hurt anyone."

"I call it violence purposely, because that's what it is. Look at it this way. We all like to watch the opposite sex. Men more than women-and I think I can safely say that your peeper's definitely not a woman. So why do men do this? There's always the sense, in childhood, of not being permitted to look at a woman's body, so it becomes mysterious and desirable. You don't need a degree in psychology to figure out why men like breasts, for example-they're one of the first sources of love and nourishment we ever experience. Okay so far?"

Banks nodded.

"So we all like to look. You look at women in the street. They seem to dress just to make you look at them. And why not? It makes the world go round, keeps the race going. But at what point does looking, the kind we all do-and women these days now and then glance at a man's bum or the bulge in his pants-become voyeurism? In the streets, in pubs, in all public places, it's fine, there's an implicit permission to look. We even have special places such as strip-clubs which legitimize the voyeuristic impulse-all quite legal. But when a woman is in her bedroom getting undressed for bed, unless she's doing it for her husband or lover, she doesn't want anyone to watch. Often enough, she doesn't even want her husband to watch. The permission is no longer there, and to look then is an act of sexual violence because it's an intrusion, a violation, a penetration into her world. It degrades her by turning her into an object. Am I making myself clear?"

"Very," Banks said. "What does the voyeur get out of it, then? Why does he do it?"

"They're both very difficult questions to answer. For one thing, he's getting power over her, a certain triumph in dehumanizing her, and perhaps he's also getting revenge for some past wrong that he imagines women have done him. At the same time, he's re-enacting a primal sexual scene, whatever it was that first excited him. He just keeps on repeating himself because it's the only way he can achieve sexual pleasure. You see how complicated it is? When the voyeur penetrates his victim's privacy, then he dominates her, and the element of risk, of 'sin' involved only endows that act with a special intensity for him. Does your man masturbate while he's watching?"

"I don't know. We haven't found any traces of semen."

"Have you looked?"

"The lab boys have been brought in on every incident. I'm sure if it was there they'd find it."

"Okay. It doesn't really matter. I suppose his pants would act as a prophylactic-either that or he stores the image and masturbates later."

"What kind of person are we talking about?"

"His personality?"

"Yes."

"Again, I'm going to have to be a bit vague. He could be an introvert or an extrovert, tall or short, thin or fat…"

"That's certainly vague."

Jenny laughed. "Yes, it is. Sorry, but there's no one type. In a way, it's much easier to describe the true psychopath-a sex murderer, for example. A voyeur-the scientific term is scopophiliac, by the way-is not simply a grubby loner in a dirty raincoat. Our man's actions are caused by frustration, basically. Intense frustration with life in general and with relationships in particular. It might be that the most meaningful early sexual experience he had was voyeuristic-he saw something he shouldn't have seen, like his parents making love-and since then everything's been a let-down, especially sex. He'd certainly have difficulty handling the real thing.

"What makes voyeurism, or 'scopophilia,' what we call 'abnormal' is simply that the scopophiliac gets all his gratification from looking. Nobody would deny that looking is an integral part of the sex act. Lots of men like to watch their partners undress; it excites them. Plenty of men like to go to strip-clubs too, and whatever the women's movement thinks of that, nobody would seriously consider such men to be clinically abnormal. The scopophiliac, though, gets stuck at the pre-genital stage-his development gets short-circuited. Whatever relationship he's living in-alone, with a wife or a dominating mother or father-it's essentially a frustrating one, and he probably feels great pressure, an intense desire to break through.

"It's unlikely that he's married, but if he is, there are serious problems. In all probability, though, he's living alone. His sexuality wouldn't be mature enough to deal with the demands of a real, flesh-and-blood woman, unless she's a particularly unusual person herself."

"I see," said Banks, lighting a cigarette. "It doesn't look like it's going to be easy, does it?"

"No. It never is when it comes to people. We're all such incredibly complex beings."

"Oh? I always thought of myself as simple and straightforward."

"You're probably one of the most complex of the lot, Alan Banks. First off, what's a nice man like you doing in the police force?"

"Earning a living and trying to uphold the law. See? Simple."

"Would you uphold a law you didn't believe in?"