Mind Games

by Claude Bouchard

  “Let him finish, Dave,” prompted Jenkins, who had sat quietly by since their arrival.

  “Thank-you, Doctor,” Bowman nodded respectfully at her before turning his attention back to McCall, speaking in a measured tone. “Captain; you came here today hoping for a profile of whoever is responsible for these ghastly killings. Now, that’s what I’m going to try to give you. If it pleases you, I will speak in the singular sense to start, and we’ll take it from there. OK?”

  “Sure. Shoot,” Dave replied coolly.

  “Very well,” the doctor proceeded. “Consider a victim of repeated sexual abuse. After a time, he, we’ll presume for simplicity’s sake that our killer is a male, cannot take it any more, can no longer function in society. The pain, the shame, the anger is too great. The human mind can only take so much. Something clicks or, un-clicks, and a decision is made. He must rid himself of this pain, he must get even. He has suffered enough and now it’s someone else’s turn. Now, he has formed a portrait, a profile, in his mind of his abuser which is what guides him in his choice of victims. Therefore, the victims will generally be similar in nature. Same age bracket, same sex, same general build, that kind of thing.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, Doctor,” argued McCall. “Barbara pointed that out as well. But you can’t deny the similarities in these four murders. The same type of weapon, multiple stab wounds, bondage in two of the cases, genital amputations in all four. And all within a time span of just over a week inside the same geographic area. Come on Doc. There can’t not be a link.”

  Bowman shook his head as he spoke. “You are not considering the dissimilarities, Captain. Your victims thus far are a young, married closet homosexual, a rich, single affirmed one, a female prostitute and a respectable, married businesswoman from out of town. Their ages range from the mid-twenties to over fifty. Added to that are the vague descriptions of three possible suspects which also vary greatly. I’m not saying that it’s impossible that all four murders were committed by the same person. I’m telling you that with what little we have to work with right now, I don’t believe that to be the case.”

  “But, Doc,” McCall insisted. “You’re not considering the similarities. How can you explain those?”

  Shrugging, Bowman replied, “Coincidence? Copycats? I don’t know. I’m not clairvoyant, Dave. I can only guess. But, based on my training and experience, my guess is four killers. Each was molested in the past by people who resembled the victims somehow. One perhaps by his mother, another by his father and so on. Each has established his type of target and is now re-enacting moments from the past but, with a different ending. This time, they finish in the dominant position. This time, they win. Four distinct killers, Dave. That is my opinion.”

  “Well, Doctor Bowman,” said Dave, rising to his feet, Barbara following suit, “I think we’ve established as much as we can so far. I can’t say that I agree with what you’re suggesting but I’ll definitely consider it.”

  “I may be wrong, Dave,” the psychiatrist replied, his tone softer, “But it’s highly unlikely based on what you’ve given me so far. Look for four, not one. Let me know if I can help you further. This really is a fascinating case.”

  “Will do, Doc,” Dave politely responded. “Either Barbara or I will be in touch. Thanks for your time.”

  “My pleasure,” Bowman replied, his tone pleasant once again. “Captain, Doctor Jenkins, have a nice day.”

  * * * *

  “So, what do you make of this guy?” McCall enquired as soon as they hit the street.

  “Quite frankly, I don’t know,” replied Barbara thoughtfully. “I take it the man didn’t overly impress you?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, this guy is smart, Barb. I just find that he formed a damned solid opinion on what he said himself was very little information. He seemed so convinced that, for a second, I wondered if he knew the four killers.”

  “Oh, come on, McCall,” Barbara exclaimed. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “Probably not,” admitted Dave with a grin. “I guess his shot about narrow-minded people probably just got to me more than I’m willing to admit.”

  “I have to side with you on that one, Dave,” Jenkins replied. “Bowman did little to show his openness to other possibilities. Don’t forget that I’m a shrink myself and I’m not convinced that he’s right. Right now, my opinion is that these murders are connected. His suggestion is plausible, but not to the extent of disregarding the other factors.”

  “At least someone’s on my side,” said Dave, exaggerating a sigh of relief.

  “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m behind you,” encouraged Barbara as they reached their cars. “You just better be right, McCall.” she added with a smirk as she slid behind the wheel, conveniently closing the door before he could respond.

  * * * *

  Dr. Bowman wandered back into his office, deep in thought. Earlier in his career, he might have become angry with a person like this Captain McCall and his closed-minded attitude. If the man believed he already knew what he was looking for, why did he go around bothering others and wasting their precious time? But Bowman had learned over the years that such people were never as sure of themselves as they let on to be. It was all a facade. That was why they came to him. Because, deep down, they didn’t know, they needed help from the wiser. For this reason, Bowman no longer became angry at the McCalls of this world. In fact, he tried to help them.

  He had tried to guide the captain in the right direction and would continue to do so. After all, the doctor knew who the police were looking for. Ethically, he could not specifically inform the authorities who the killers were. However, nothing prevented him from assisting the police by supplying them with his acquired knowledge on the games which human minds play. As long as he limited the information he gave them to what he would have, had he not known the killers, he was doing no wrong.

  * * * *

  Bobby was sitting quietly in his room reading when he heard the front door open, then slam shut. He listened and detected an unfamiliar voice, followed by his father’s response. Good, the old man had company. Maybe he would leave him alone.

  A few minutes went by during which he could hear the murmurs of continued conversation accompanied by the sounds of his father walking around, opening the fridge, popping open a couple of beers. If Bobby kept quiet, maybe they wouldn’t even realize that he was home. But it was not to be.

  The bedroom door suddenly opened and his father stood there, watching him.

  “Hey there,” Bobby mumbled, avoiding looking up at the man.

  “Hey there, yourself,” his father responded in an uncharacteristically kind voice. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Nothing special,” Bobby sullenly replied, unsure of the old man’s sudden interest in his life. “Just reading, that’s all.”

  “Well, why don’t you come in to the living room, son,” his father invited. “Just for a minute. I brought a friend of mine from work and I’d like to introduce him to my boy.”

  “Yes sir,” Bobby uncomfortably agreed. He knew better than to argue.

  He followed his father into the living room where a rather heavy-set man was seated on their old threadbare couch. As they entered, their guest grinned at Bobby, displaying yellow teeth and struggled somewhat to raise his large soft form to a standing position.

  “Son, this is my buddy, Ed,” his father announced as the fat man offered a pudgy hand. His grip was soft, his palm sweaty.

  “How do you do, sir?” Bobby uttered indistinctly, staring at the floor as he spoke.

  “Fine, boy, fine,” Ed wheezed as he examined Bobby approvingly. “You’re a fine looking young man.”

  “Uh, thanks,” Bobby responded uneasily, easing out of the fat man’s grip.

  “I’ve been telling Ed here what a great little cocksucker you are, son,” his father stated, his tone growing harder though his smile remained. “Now Ed don’t believe me, so I told him you’d show him. Get down o
n your knees, boy.”

  Silently, Bobby complied as Ed untied his trousers and dropped them around his ankles, displaying pasty white thighs and his small, erect penis.

  “Wouldn’t it be better if he took his clothes off?” he suggested hopefully as he dropped his large frame back onto the couch.

  “You heard the man, son,” Bobby’s father ordered softly, already fondling himself as he watched the spectacle taking place before him.

  Again, Bobby wordlessly obeyed his father’s command, as he had learned to do through countless experiences in the past.

  “Oh, you’re pretty,” Ed whispered breathlessly, staring at Bobby with glazed eyes. “Come on, show Eddy what you can do with that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

  Dropping on all fours, Bobby proceeded to perform the familiar task, aware of his father moving in behind him. He hardly flinched as the old man’s penis penetrated his body from the rear. This was not his first experience with sodomy either.

  “Hi there. Do you mind if I join you?” the voice asked softly, startling Bobby back to reality.

  He slowly swivelled on the bar stool to examine the man who stood beside him. Middle-aged, of average height and somewhat plump, he was obviously a homosexual. Although this was not surprising, they were after all in a gay bar, this individual was of the type who exuded homosexuality.

  “No, no, please, have a seat,” replied Bobby shyly with a demure smile.

  “You seemed lost in your thoughts there,” his new friend lisped. “I had to ask you twice to get your attention.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bobby apologized, blushing. “I was just reminiscing old times.”

  “Well, I don’t want to bother you,” the gay replied. “I’ll leave you alone if you want.”

  “No, stay,” Bobby insisted. “I came here to find some company, and now I did. My name’s Bobby.”

  “And I’m Ed,” the chubby man responded, drawing a giggle from his new companion. “What’s funny?”

  “What I was reminiscing about before,” replied Bobby, “It involved a man named Ed.”

  “It must be destiny that brought us together,” Ed sighed. “Was he an old boyfriend?”

  “Oh, no,” Bobby gasped in horror. “Just somebody I got together with once.”

  “That’s good to hear. I was getting a little jealous,” Ed half kidded.

  Bobby turned towards Ed and lightly stroked the man’s thigh as he whispered, “Don’t worry, Ed. I’ll do things to you that I never could with him. If we can go somewhere private, I’ll show you.”

  Downing the remaining half of his beer in one gulp, Ed replied in a throaty voice, “My place is close by if you want.”

  “I want,” Bobby responded. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 11 - Thursday, June 5, 1997

  “... Police have offered little comment so far and it seems that residents of the building were unaware of this murder having taken place until authorities started arriving just under an hour ago.”

  Chris watched the live news report with interest as he enjoyed his breakfast in the comfort of the den. The reporter droned on, repeating that details were sketchy to date; all that was known was that a body had been discovered in a downtown apartment and police were now on the scene. As he finished speaking, the camera trained on him panned off to the right, focusing on an automobile which was pulling to a stop just outside the cordoned-off area in front of the building.

  As the camera zoomed in on the man climbing out of the car, the reporter’s voice returned. “I believe, yes it is Captain Dave McCall, head of the city’s special homicide unit. Captain, can you fill us in on what happened here this morning?” the journalist queried as he moved in on the cop, his cameraman on his heels.

  “Hey, Sandy,” Chris called out through a mouthful of toast. “Come and check out Dave on TV.”

  She entered the den as Dave responded to the question. “I don’t have much information right now, I just got here. We’ll let the press know what’s going on as soon as we can.”

  “Has this murder been assigned to your unit?” the reporter persisted with an already retreating McCall.

  Turning back towards the man, Dave smiled slightly as he replied, “We were called in to look over the scene and give a hand in the initial investigation. It’s too early to say if our unit will be handling the case or if the local precinct’s homicide squad will. Once I know more, I’ll be happy to make a statement to the press.”

  He turned and started up the steps leading to the building’s entrance while the journalist continued, “Captain, we don’t have much so far but we heard that it’s pretty messy in there. Do you think this murder is related to the sex killings you and your team are trying to solve?”

  Dave stopped as he reached the front door and stared down at the pestering reporter, his smile still present but his eyes cold. “You obviously know more about this than I do right now and I would really like to change that… Later… Understand?”

  “Yes sir,” replied the grinning reporter as the captain disappeared into the building.

  “I wonder if this is related to the sex killings,” Chris mused as he thoughtfully watched the TV screen.

  “I’m sure that whether it is or not,” Sandy replied knowingly as she returned to the kitchen, “You’ll find out before this day is over, Mister Barry.”

  * * * *

  Two uniformed officers stood guard at the door of the deceased’s third storey apartment and, barring a handful of building residents quietly discussing down the hall, the place was, thankfully, deserted.

  “Morning,” Dave greeted the two uniforms who nodded in response. “What’s it look like in there?”

  “A slaughterhouse,” the older one replied with a hint of a grin while his younger counterpart stood silently by, a grim look on his greyish, green face and traces of vomit still visible on his shirt. “Ask Johnny here.”

  “With all due respect, Sergeant,” Johnny muttered, “Go screw yourself.”

  Chuckling, Dave patted the rookie on the shoulder as he offered a few words of encouragement. “Don’t worry, son. After a while, you’ll learn to keep from throwing up until the end of your shift, just like the Sarge here does.”

  The young officer smiled gratefully at McCall and opened the door to grant the captain entrance. Inside, Dave quickly surveyed the apartment’s layout. The murder had obviously taken place in a room towards the rear, apparently a bedroom which was currently occupied by a half dozen cops and lab-boys.

  He recognized Frank Bakes’ voice coming from a doorway to his left and headed towards the sound. The doorway opened in to the kitchen where Frank sat at the table quietly chatting with a pale, trembling man in his early twenties. The two men looked up as Dave walked in and Frank politely excused himself before pointing Dave to another doorway which led to the living room.

  “That’s the victim’s boyfriend, Steve,” Frank announced sombrely. “He came in from work around five this morning and found Ed, his lover, dead in their bedroom.”

  “Poor kid,” McCall commented, understanding how the guy must feel, finding a loved one in such a state.

  “Yeah,” Frank agreed. “Kid’s screwed up pretty bad and doesn’t seem to have much family to turn to. He was kinda disowned once he informed his parents that he was gay.”

  Shrugging for lack of a better response, Dave asked, “You don’t think he had anything to do with it?”

  “I’ll be damned surprised if he did,” answered Bakes, convinced. “We didn’t talk for very long but I’m sure he can’t be faking this state of shock. I got the name of his employer and I’ll check it out but I doubt we’ll learn that he wasn’t there.”

  “Alright, good,” said McCall. “So, what are we looking at here?”

  Frank hesitated slightly before replying. “I think its number five, Dave.”

  His statement was met with silence so he moved on. “Victim is fifty-one, Edward Burke. Same scenario we’ve seen before; lots of stabbing, his parts c
ut off, nice and clean. Like the first one, the missing parts are gone. No bondage this time and there are several wounds in the back. Based on the bleeding, our friends from the lab think those were the first to be inflicted. That’s about it.”

  “OK,” sighed McCall. “Let me go take a look at this. Then I’d like to chat with the boyfriend for a minute.”

  “Sure. I’ll keep the kid company in the meantime,” Frank responded. “Have fun.”

  “Absolutely,” replied Dave as he headed towards the bedroom, chuckling quietly at the sordid humour he and his team often reverted to at such macabre events. It was simply a way of relieving the pressure created by an extremely tough job.

  He had not yet reached the entrance to the room and already could see the blood splattered across the walls and ceiling. A police photographer standing in the doorway stepped aside to let Dave by, granting him full view of the theatre where this horrifying spectacle had taken place only hours earlier.

  Although far from a pleasant sight, it was not the worst McCall had seen, especially in recent weeks. As this thought flashed through his mind, he shuddered in disgust, realizing how he was at a point of qualifying such an incident as ‘I’ve seen worse’. Another man had been brutally murdered. One was not better or worse than the next. Again, he wondered why he did this job.

  “Anything particular I should know about so far?” he gruffly enquired of the men in the room.

  “Not really, Captain,” replied Tony Morrow, one of the boys from the M.E. office.

  Tony had performed the autopsy on the first victim a couple of weeks earlier and had since officially become the medical examiner responsible for McCall’s serial killer case.

  “I’ll know more when we get him back to the lab but it looks like this is connected with the others. Same type and size of wounds, amputation of the genitals is just as clean.”

  “Wonderful,” breathed Dave, his sarcasm unmistakable. “Let me know as soon as you can confirm it?”