Terror on the Way

by Ron Finch

  “I told Andy to meet me downtown. Then the two of us led his cattle back to his farm at the edge of town.”

  “Is it okay to laugh, Chief?” asked Cst. Jay Jarvis, guffawing. The rest of us merely chortled.

  Looking mildly irritated, Chief Petrovic said, “I have some good news for me. Next Halloween the switchboard will be told to contact Jay Jarvis’s home if there are any problems.”

  Jay’s laughter was cut short. The new expression on his face had the rest of us – including the chief – laughing loudly.

  “I’m pleased the furniture companies agreed to endorse Cst. Herman’s idea,” said the chief when the laughter subsided. “This past couple of days, a lot of furniture, and even a few supplies of wood, have been brought to the police station. Unfortunately, we have not received any good leads on who is distributing the stolen goods. A lot of people didn’t want to talk to us. But some did. All the people that spoke to us said that they didn’t recognize the people that sold them the stolen furniture. This is beginning to seem more and more like an outside job.”

  “Have we heard anything back from the London or Chatham police?” asked Cst. Smith.

  “They called back,” said the chief, “but they had nothing to report.”

  “Have the new security procedures helped at the furniture factories?” I asked.

  “George Manners called me late yesterday afternoon,” said the chief. “He told me that thefts are still occurring every night. There has not been a decrease. They’re really puzzled, because they know that the gates are being watched 24 hours a day and that no one can get in and out of the property without them knowing.”

  Since, as of yet, we had nothing further to report, the chief ended the meeting.

  Wednesday, November 8th

  AT BREAKFAST, GEORGIE said, “I hope you haven’t forgotten what day it is.”

  I momentarily panicked. I knew today was not our wedding anniversary, because that was June 3rd, and I knew it wasn’t her birthday, because we had celebrated that not too long ago. Then I remembered one of our recent conversations and I realized what she meant. Quickly calming myself, I turned to her and said, “I haven’t forgotten. I’m meeting with Dr. Khryscoff today at 1 o’clock. At the Ontario Hospital in London.”

  “I had you really worried for a moment,” she said, grinning.

  “Not at all,” I said. “I was as calm as a quiet pond in the woods.”

  “You can be as poetic as you want,” Georgie replied, “but when you drop a jam jar and spill your coffee it’s quite evident that I’ve surprised you with a question.” She smiled and added, “I’m glad you’re going, but don’t forget to ask Dr. Khryscoff about those nightmares.”

  I promised I wouldn’t. I was curious to see what he’d make of them myself.

  I ALWAYS LOOKED FORWARD to my sessions with the doctor. Ever since that first time I’d helped him several months ago, in a case involving a severely mentally ill woman who had committed a number of murders, we had met at least once a month at his hospital office in London. Dr. Khryscoff had convinced Chief Petrovic that I was an apt pupil, and that a bit of instruction from him about psychological aberrations could be of potential use in future criminal investigations.

  The chief had given me the time off, once a month, to meet with the doctor, but I had to make up the time by working extra hours; either on the weekend, or during the week, as required.

  “It’s so good to see you, Joel,” said Dr. Khryscoff when I stepped into his office. “The weather’s still good, so the drive from Chaseford must have been pleasant. You probably saw lots of fall colours.”

  “It was a beautiful ride today,” I agreed. “I’m hoping the weather stays this nice until April.”

  Dr. Khryscoff laughed. “You can hope for whatever you want, Joel, but it’s generally wise to hope for things that could happen.

  “Are you ready for the continuation of our discussion? I think the last time we met we were talking about people who seem normal but commit criminal acts without any feelings of remorse.”

  “I remember,” I said. “You described people like that as having a psychopathic personality. It’s a frightening thought. When I looked at that list of characteristics we drew up, I found it very disturbing.”

  “I kept the sheet of paper we recorded that list on,” said Dr. Khryscoff. “Here it is. Have a look.”

  He handed me the paper.

  charming

  seem to fit in well with others

  manipulative

  ignore the rights of others

  feel superior

  lying is second nature

  have no concept of remorse or guilt

  have no deep feeling for anyone else

  “I’ve read a couple of studies lately,” said Dr. Khryscoff, “that indicate that many of these people have average to above-average intelligence. When you deal with someone like this, it’s important to follow Edgar Allen Poe’s advice: ‘believe nothing you hear and only half of what you see’.”

  “That might change with the polygraph,” I said, a recent invention I’d been following with some interest. “It hasn’t been used in law enforcement much yet, but from what I’ve heard and read I think it won’t be that long before it is. Do you think we will be able to detect a psychopath’s lies using a polygraph?”

  “That’s a good question, Joel. When a psychopath isn’t telling the truth, is he lying?” said Dr. Khryscoff. “We know he’s lying, but does he know? If a psychopath believes that the only thing that matters is that he gets what he wants, the truth might be irrelevant to him. If the truth doesn’t matter, or it changes to suit you, then I don’t think a polygraph’s going to help.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “That doesn’t ease my mind.”

  “George E. Partridge,” Dr. Khryscoff went on, continuing his previous lecture, “is a famous American psychologist who thinks that, since psychopaths exhibit antisocial behaviour, we should be calling them sociopaths instead.”

  I suddenly remembered the question I had promised Georgie I would ask and interrupted the doctor. “I have something to ask you about my own behaviour, Doctor.”

  Dr. Khryscoff gave me a puzzled look, smiled wryly, and said, “I hope these discussions haven’t driven you crazy, Joel.” He chuckled again. “What’s the problem?”

  “I’ve been having bad dreams,” I said. “I know a lot of people have them; I’m not worried about that. What has been upsetting, to both myself and Georgie, is that I’m physically active when I have them. I’m shouting and kicking with my feet and punching with my fists and doing all kinds of physical things while I’m still sound asleep. How normal is that?”

  “A small percentage of the population have brains that do not entirely suppress physical activity when they dream; as a result, they behave like you do. I don’t think you should be alarmed by it. There’s no evidence of any long-term effect on the person. We just don’t know enough about the brain, or about sleep, to be able to explain what’s going on. I really can’t tell you any more than that. Tell Georgie not to worry.”

  This answer was less than satisfactory, but I was reluctant to say anything about the content of my dreams to Dr. Khryscoff. He’s a wonderful, open-minded psychiatrist, but he doesn’t possess the communication ability that I have and I’m not sure he would understand.

  But I know Walter does.

  Monday, November 13th

  “I’M GETTING LOTS OF questions from the people in charge of the furniture factories,” said Chief Petrovic. “Furniture and supplies are still disappearing, despite the increased surveillance. The managers say they’re not certain what more they can do to increase plant security except hire more people; and right now, they’re losing money and can’t afford to do that. I’ve been told that if they can’t stop the thefts, they don’t think any of the factories will survive into the new year.”

  This was bad news. A lot of people in town were already suffering through some very difficult times. With a
n unemployment rate of close to thirty percent, and with twenty percent of the families relying on government assistance, there wasn’t a lot of happiness. If the local furniture factories shut down, it would send our local unemployment rate to probably close to fifty percent. We didn’t want to think about it.

  We needed a break.

  We sat there solemnly until Cst. Herman finally said, “In a completely different matter, old Mrs. Willoughby stopped me this morning as I was walking down to the station. She said: ‘You’ll think I’m crazy with what I’m going to tell you, but it’s bothering me so much I have to tell somebody. There are ghosts on the river.’”

  “Mrs. Willoughby’s probably ninety-five,” said Cst. Jay Jarvis. “My dad told me that when he was small everyone called her Old Mrs. Willoughby. Come to think of it, she may be even older than ninety-five.”

  “I think her mind is still pretty good,” said Chief Petrovic. “I’ve talked to her a couple of times recently. She’s always on her front porch, or in her front flowerbed, from March until November.”

  “Mrs. Willoughby lives in that big old house that backs onto the river, doesn’t she?” said Cst. Smith.

  “That’s her,” said Cst. Herman.

  “What did she tell you about the ghosts?” I asked, my interest piqued.

  “Mrs. Willoughby told me her bedroom is on the back of the second floor, and she has an excellent view of the river,” said Cst. Herman. “She doesn’t sleep that well, and she said she’ll often get up and sit in a rocking chair that she has in her bedroom to watch the river until she gets drowsy. She told me the first time she saw the ghosts, she thought maybe she’d fallen asleep and was having a dream. But she has seen them several times since then, and last night she knows it wasn’t a dream because she heard somebody say something.”

  “What are the ghosts doing when she sees them?” Jay asked.

  “She told me they just drift in boats down the river. Only rarely has she seen them use oars.”

  I was suddenly really excited. “I know why they don’t use oars,” I said.

  “If they’re ghosts, they don’t need to work,” said Cst. Smith.

  “I think I know what’s going on,” I said, ignoring him. “It’s the break we need.”

  “Let us in on your secret thoughts, Joel,” said Chief Petrovic.

  “The boats are on the river,” I said.

  “We won’t disagree with that,” said Jay. “It’s the best place for them.”

  “All the furniture factories back onto the river,” I announced.

  There was a momentary pause, then everyone started speaking at once.

  “Quiet, all of you, quiet!” snapped the chief. When everyone had fallen silent, he said, “I think, thanks to Joel and Mrs. Willoughby, we now know how the furniture is leaving town. The next thing we need to do is devise a plan that will ensure we put an end to this thievery.”

  “Apparently, they’re not using oars unless it’s necessary, because they want to be as quiet as possible,” said Cst. Smith. “They’re trying to drift downriver as much as they can. So, they must be offloading the stolen goods downriver from the factories. We just don’t know how far away it is.”

  “It could be quite a distance,” I said. “The Von River isn’t large, but it’s easily big enough for small boats to navigate all the way downstream to where the Von merges with the Thames. So, to end the thefts, I guess all we have to do is get enough boats to set up a barricade downstream before they reach their destination. Then we just wait and intercept the thieves. The problem will be solved.”

  “We have some good ideas, but I think we need to be ambitious,” said the chief. “From what we’ve heard, there’s a lot of criminal activity going on here. We know people are stealing from the factories, and that there are other people transporting the stolen goods to at least two cities that we know of: Chatham and London. And then there are people in Chatham and London selling stolen property. I think, if we have the right plan, we can ensure that most of these people are rounded up and made to pay for their crimes.”

  The rest of us nodded, acknowledging that we hadn’t considered all the other illegal activities that were going on.

  “Here’s what we need to do,” said Chief Petrovic. “And if you think I’m missing something in the plan I’m about to outline, please don’t hesitate to interrupt me.”

  Chief Petrovic began ticking the following points off on his fingers:

  “One, it’s very important that, for the next few days, this plan remains a secret that only the five of us know. Not even your wives are allowed to know.” He stared directly at me and Jay.

  “Two, tonight, Constables Franklin and Herman will wait downstream on the river not far from Mrs. Willoughby’s home, in a small boat, ready to follow any boat they see go drifting by. They will wait two minutes before they follow the boat, on the offhand chance that there is more than one boat carrying goods down the river. If nothing happens on the river tonight, then tomorrow night it will be the turn of Constables Jarvis and Smith to wait in the boat.

  “Three, when the two-man surveillance team locates the offloading site, they are to remain hidden in order to see what vehicle arrives to carry the stolen goods away. Get a description of the vehicle and the license number if possible, but it’s of the utmost importance that you are not discovered.

  “Four, once the stolen goods and the boat are gone, find the nearest house with a telephone and contact me.”

  After making his fourth point, he looked around at each of us and said, “Do you have any other suggestions to make at this time?”

  No one said anything.

  “Good. I want everyone back here at the office at 10 o’clock tonight. Dismissed.”

  Tuesday, November 14th

  THE ROWBOAT CHIEF PETROVIC borrowed for Cst. Peter Herman and I was a fair size. It was probably about 16 feet long. There was a seat across the centre of the boat, another seat almost at the stern of the boat, and a third seat much closer to the bow. There was a space on each side of the middle seat almost large enough for someone to lie down in if they curled up. Our boat was moored close to shore, downstream from the furniture factories at a location on the edge of town where the river was at its narrowest but still about 50 feet wide.

  “What time is it, Joel?” asked Peter, speaking quietly.

  “It’s only 2:30,” I said in a groggy whisper. “I’ve got another half hour to doze before it’s my turn to watch the river.”

  “Between an almost moonless night and the mist on the river, I just hope we see or hear something,” Peter whispered back.

  “When you’re tired enough, this boat isn’t that uncomfortable,” I said, nestling back under a layer of heavy blankets.

  “Well, we brought lots of blankets and thermoses of hot coffee and muffins,” Peter said softly. “We knew it would be a bit of a survival test.”

  As soon as he said it, I could tell he wished he hadn’t. It had reminded him of the terrible ordeal he had gone through at the back of the Conrad farm a couple of years ago, when he’d fallen into a pond in the middle of the winter and I had saved his life. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

  We couldn’t see anything, but Peter cocked his head, as though he’d heard something. He grabbed hold of my foot and tugged on it. “Shh, listen,” he whispered.

  I sat up as quietly as I could and listened.

  There was a splash and then another splash a few seconds later. Then we saw the vague outline of what appeared to be a rowboat considerably larger than ours. It was hard to make out because of the poor visibility, but despite that, as it approached us, we could tell there were two people rowing and that the boat contained cargo.

  I laid back down and Peter laid down on the other side of the centre seat of the boat. We pulled the heavy blankets up so that we were totally covered and hoped that, if the other boat got any closer, our boat would just look like somebody’s empty rowboat.

  “Did you notice
the size of that rowboat, Peter,” I whispered.

  “I sure did,” he replied, speaking very softly. “It’s bigger than any rowboat I’ve seen in town. I’m guessing it’s a 22-footer. I don’t think they make two-man rowboats any longer than that.”

  We left the edge of the blankets up so we could listen. We continued to hear the odd splash, but the sound seemed to be getting fainter as the other rowboat headed downstream. Very gradually, we eased our way up until we could finally peer over the edge of the boat. There was nothing to see.

  “I think it’s safe to follow them now,” said Peter. “We don’t want them to hear us, but I think it’s safe for us to row for five minutes and then ship oars to listen.”

  “If we get too close and they hear us, Chief Petrovic’s plan will be done,” I said. “In which case, it would probably be better for us to continue rowing until we get to London. Or maybe even as far as Chatham.”

  Peter let loose a guffaw but recovered in time to swallow the rest of his laughter. “It shouldn’t be too hard to keep up to them,” he said. “They only have two rowers, and their boat is larger, and, right now, much heavier than ours.”

  After about three minutes of rowing we heard the sudden sound of a small outboard motor.

  “I guess we don’t have to worry about being quiet anymore,” said Peter. “But on the other hand, that means they’re going some distance downstream, so it looks like we’re going to get lots of exercise.”

  “I just hope we get there in time to see the vehicle they’re loading the stolen goods into,” I said. “I don’t know how big a load they have, but I hope it’s big enough that it gives us time to catch up.”

  “We made one assumption that I certainly hope is true,” said Peter. “Because if we made this assumption and we shouldn’t have, then we’re not going to catch up.”

  “What are you talking about, Peter?” I asked.