Evil always contains seeds of its own destruction. It's ultimately negative, and no matter how grandiose, how well-planned, or apparently foolproof an evil plan, the inherent sinfulness will rebound upon its instigators. —Neil Gaiman
Anatomy of Evil
The first thing a criminologist learns about the criminal mind is, it always chooses to defy the existing order..
As Georges Bataille observed, the need to rebel, or be destroyed is an extremely private, distant, passionate, turbulent truth.
I can think of no better illustration of this truth than the crimes of Luis Majorca who started his criminal career by satisfying his senses and ended it by becoming a ghoul.
I'm Detective Superintendent Alan Marks of Scotland Yard and my partner is Rebecca Mitchell. We were investigating an illicit drug operation in south London and netted a local surgeon in one of our early morning raids.
Honestly, we were both puzzled that a well-to-do surgeon would endanger his professional status by such risky living.
“Whatever were you thinking, Doctor Majorca?”
He looked at me with hollow eyes and I knew by his expression his life had slipped out of control.
“I began injecting myself with Demerol for chronic back pain and I then I got mixed up with Cocaine.”
When arrested he had less than two grams in his possession and it was his first offense. As for the Demerol, he had legal access to the drug, but he was caught with syringes and several vials.
After he was processed, I remembered Rebecca’s remark. “He’ll probably have his license suspended for a year or two and then, be able to practice medicine again, if he stays clean.”
She proved to be a prophetess and within two years the good doctor returned to his upscale London practice and continued his lavish lifestyle.
The story might have ended there, but Luis Majorca was under the sway of other demons.
We received a call from Mrs. Liliana Majorca asking us to see her at her residence.
Liliana was a beautiful woman, a former Biologist who seven years ago gave up a promising career to marry Luis.
On the way out to the Majorca residence in Surrey, Rebecca was commenting on the number of domestic calls the police attended over the last few years at their mock Queen Anne manse.
“Some of those houses are over 10,000 square feet,” she was saying, “but conspicuous wealth is no haven from problems—the Majorca’s were experiencing more that their share of trouble in paradise.”
“I wonder what was causing all the tension?”
By way of response, she began reading off the file.
“Luis Majorca: charged for drink driving, possession of two grams of a prohibited substance—looks like Cocaine again—and it looks like the charges resulted in the loss of his medical license.”
“Phew! It’s a wonder how he’s been paying the bills on the castle in the woods.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “He looks like your typical rich playboy—he’s probably got another sideline besides surgery.”
We passed an oriental antique shop, an art gallery and various sports clubs for cricket, archery and tennis.
I whistled softly at the high-end ambience. “Looks like a country club atmosphere within commuting distance of London.”
As we pulled into the circular drive of the imposing manse, Rebecca shook her head, “There’s an old saying—behind every great fortune, is a great crime—wonder what Luis has been up to?”
“I’ve got a feeling we’re about to find out,” I replied.
To be continued…
© 2026, John J Geddes. All rights reserved
