“Just playing a computer game,” was his playfully evasive response, knowing that an interrogation was forthcoming.
“Elaborate, Barry,” ordered Sandy. “I think you’ve been a bad boy.”
“I’ve been trying to break through a firewall,” Chris replied, growing serious. “There’s this shrink involved in Dave’s case. He’s been working with the cops, helping them build a psychological profile. Dave has a gut feeling that the doctor knows more than he’s saying. I got to thinking that maybe this guy has a computer, which, it turns out, he does. Fortunately, he’s also linked to Eazy-Com, which allows me to work from the comfort of our wonderful home. Unfortunately, he’s got a very reliable security system which prevents hackers, like me, to get in.”
“Sweetheart, are you telling me that Dave asked you to dig around in this psychiatrist’s confidential records?” Sandy asked, staring at her husband through narrow eyes.
“Of course not,” Chris replied, the grin returning. “That would be wrong. Dave is much too ethical to do anything like that.”
“Chris, what you’re doing is illegal,” Sandy exclaimed disapprovingly.
It was his turn to throw her a look. “Well, that’s a new one in the life of Chris Barry. Honey, technically speaking, many of the things that I have done have been illegal.”
“I know, Chris,” she quietly replied. “But you did all of those things for the right reasons.”
“How do you categorize a sadistic serial killer with five victims in two weeks, Sandy?”
She remained silent for a moment before asking, “Is this doctor a suspect?”
“Not based on what Dave told me,” answered Chris, “But he thinks this psychiatrist may be treating the killer, or killers.”
“Killers?” she queried, puzzled. “Dave thinks more than one person is involved in this?”
“No, not Dave,” Chris explained, “But this doctor does, apparently to an arrogant degree. In fact, it’s his level of conviction that has led Dave to believe that the shrink knows something.”
“Interesting,” said Sandy nonchalantly, not willing to admit her growing interest in the case. “Do you think it’s possible that this psychiatrist might actually be treating the killers? Don’t you find that a little far-fetched?”
“A little,” admitted Chris, “Except for the fact that this Bowman, is a leading authority in the field of violent behaviour. He built his reputation working with murderers and the like in the Ontario penal system. So it’s plausible that a patient might be a killer. His patients are violent individuals. As far as working with the police, he’s assisted the authorities on dozens of occasions in the past.”
“Looking at it from that perspective, I guess it does make sense,” commented Sandy, nodding. “Do you think you can break this firewall of his?”
Chris turned to retrieve his notepad before looking back at his spouse, a wide smile plastered across his face.
“Are we having a change of heart, Mrs. Barry? I thought you disagreed with what I was doing?”
“Schmuck,” she replied pleasantly, her smile just as sweet.
“Yeah,” he grinned, “But I know you love me anyway.”
* * * *
Bobby was on top of the world. He had pulled Wednesday night off flawlessly, he had even brought back a trophy to prove it and even Randi had commended him in his bitchy sort of way.
Of course, Dr. Bowman was far from being pleased but, as Randi had highlighted, the Doctor was simply jealous because he didn’t have the balls to do the same. He had added, with a mischievous smile, that even the balls they had left for good old Sam in the freezer hadn’t increased his level of courage.
Michael and Alex had also congratulated Bobby for a job well done and he had even detected a touch of envy in their tone. After all, he now had two under his belt, whereas they each only had one to date. That, of course, excluded Alex’s first but Randi had been quick to point out that it had occurred too many years ago and hadn’t been planned. It had been a spur of the moment thing and therefore didn’t count. Alex had grudgingly agreed and vowed that Bobby would not remain in the lead for long.
* * * *
Having just completed a fine dinner consisting of home-made carbonara and a bottle of Masi, Chris and Sandy lounged comfortably in the den, chatting quietly over a glass of port and looking forward to a quiet evening at home.
“I’m stuffed,” complained Chris, pulling at the band atop his shorts.
“That’s because you ate like a pig, sweetheart,” Sandy informed him, amused. With a touch of sarcasm, she added, “No wonder you’re fat.”
While Sandy, though quite slim, had to eat sensibly to maintain her figure, Chris could allow himself whatever he desired in the way of food or drink with little effect to his weight or shape.
Before Chris could offer a reply to his wife’s comment, three short rapid beeps were heard coming from the kitchen.
“What’s that?” asked Sandy, intrigued, especially by her husband’s sudden glow of elation.
“Unless I’m mistaken,” replied Chris excitedly, rising hurriedly from his seat, “That is the sound of a falling firewall. I had the PC generating and testing random access codes for the last four hours.”
He rushed off into the kitchen to return seconds later with his notepad in hand and his grin even wider.
“I’m in, honey,” he announced proudly. “I’ve broken Bowman’s security system.”
Smiling as she reached for the remote and turned on the television, Sandy replied in an understanding tone. “Go ahead and play. I can last the evening without you. You just better make it up to me when we go to bed.”
“Don’t worry. I will,” she heard him call as he bolted up the stairs to ‘the office’ for an evening of research.
* * * *
Alex lay in the tub, enjoying the warmth of the rising water as it caressed his naked body. He knew that this was a wonderful start to what would be an incredible evening. He had initially been a little nervous the previous Sunday while waiting in the bar at the Hotel de la Montagne but now his confidence was intact which would make tonight that much more satisfying.
His thoughts turned to the informal little contest that he and the others now found themselves participating in and found the concept quite amusing. Little Bobby might be currently in the lead but that would change soon enough. In fact, after tonight, they would all know, deep down, that he, Alex, was in fact ahead of everyone once again.
Granted, his first killing had been a long time ago, therefore outside of the time frame of their ‘competition’ and, as Randi had pointed out, it had not displayed the violence these recent acts of vengeance had. Following a police investigation, cause of death had been determined as being accidental. However, the others knew what had happened and no one could deny Alex’s responsibility.
Alex considered the irony of thinking about her death while lying in the tub as he was. What was her name; Margaret? Something like that; it really wasn’t important.
She had died lying in a tub. He remembered telling her that he had a surprise for her and leaving the bathroom, after making sure to close the shower curtain so that she couldn’t peek. He had not planned anything in advance. Rather, it had come to him in a flash as the fat bitch who repulsed him so had beckoned him with her usual foul language.
He had hurried into the bedroom where she kept a small television set on a shaky folding table in one corner. These he had retrieved and carried back to the bathroom while she bellowed at him from behind the curtain. Coaxing her to be patient, he had placed the T.V. and table by the tub’s edge, hoping that the electrical cord was long enough to reach an outlet he had noticed just outside the small bathroom. It was.
Turning on the set, he had then pulled open the shower curtain and glared down at her as she stared up in bewilderment.
“I don’t want to watch T.V., you little shit,” she had hissed. “I want you to screw me. What the hell are you doing?”
&
nbsp; “This, you bitch,” he had snarled before kicking at the small table.
The television set had toppled over into the tub, immediately producing hissing sounds and sparks as she started convulsing. He had watched for a few seconds until the bathroom light had gone out and the hissing stopped.
“Blown fuse,” he had muttered angrily, yanking on the cord to unplug the television.
Leaning over her, he had felt her neck for a pulse then leaned a hand to her chest searching for a heart beat. None on both counts.
Quickly, he had dressed, picking up his clothes from where they lay in a pile just outside the bathroom. He had returned to the body, searching once again for signs of life but had found none. Satisfied, he had re-plugged the television and left the house, using the back door to avoid being seen, taking advantage of the fact that it could be locked from the inside and then pulled shut from the outside.
His mother had enquired why he wasn’t at Margaret’s when he had come home. She had set up this date after all, as she regularly set up countless others with friends and acquaintances. He had simply replied that there had been no answer when he had arrived.
The body had been discovered later in the evening by Margaret’s husband. Following a police investigation, suicide and foul play had been ruled out, the culprit in this incident being a rickety folding table which had given way.
“Yes,” thought Alex, relaxing in the tub’s luxurious warmth. “After tonight, I will once again be in the lead.”
Chapter 13 - Saturday, June 7, 1997
Chris woke up to find Sandy standing by the bed, breakfast tray in hand as she gazed down at him with a smile.
“Good morning,” he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to eight,” she replied brightly. “I must have worn you out last night. It’s a rare occasion when I’m up before you are.”
“Yeah, you were pretty rough on me,” he jokingly agreed, then added, “But it’s alright, you can call on me anytime.”
“I wouldn’t call on anyone else,” laughed Sandy, placing the tray before him. “I was just surprised how well you concentrated on what you were doing. Not once did you talk about Bowman’s files. Find anything?”
“Sort of,” answered Chris through a mouthful of toast and omelette. “I had to break through a number of passwords because all his directories are protected. But those were easy enough. Once I got into any directory though, I could access the files without any problem. The exception to the rule was in his ‘Patients’ directory. Most files, I got into, no problem; all, in fact, except four of them. The funny thing is all his patient files carry a full name like Allen Brown, James Smith, etcetera; all except for the four I couldn’t get into. Those are identified by a single name. Alex, Bobby, Michael and Randi. No last name.”
He paused to stuff more food into his mouth then continued. “Those four files are password protected. I tried to break in for two hours but nothing worked.”
“That’s strange,” Sandy commented. “Why the distinction? Maybe he’s more careful with files that contain sensitive information.”
“Could be,” replied Chris, shrugging his shoulders. “Although there’s a few files I glanced at that, as far as I’m concerned, would qualify as sensitive. There are some violent people out there, believe me.”
“Did you see anything relating to murders?” Sandy enquired.
“Nope, nothing,” Chris replied between bites.
“That’s my point,” suggested Sandy. “Maybe murder is what qualifies as sensitive as far as Dr. Bowman is concerned.”
“Makes sense,” agreed Chris, nodding thoughtfully. “Guess I’m going to have to work a little harder to get into those files.”
“Are you going to speak to Dave about this?” his wife queried.
“Not yet. I don’t want to get his hopes up too soon,” Chris explained. “Also, I don’t want him to tell me to lay off before I’ve found sufficient information.”
“Do you think he suspects that you’re working on this?” asked Sandy.
“Probably,” Chris replied with a grin as he reached for his shorts on the headboard, “But as long as he’s willing to avoid the issue, so am I. Now, my sweet, it’s time to get cracking. I’ve got myself some codes to break.”
* * * *
Randi paced angrily back and forth in the living room, flicking continuously at his cigarette with his thumb as he always did when frustrated.
He had started this thing with the first killing a couple of weeks earlier with a specific purpose in mind; vengeance; to get even with the sick abusive animals of the world who got their perverted kicks by sexually dominating and terrorizing those weaker than they. That was the reason he had cut up that goddamn faggot. Not just to kill; to make a statement, to make somebody pay for all the pain he had endured.
His victim had represented all those hypocritical macho hot-shots his father had brought home over the years. Closet queens who pretended to like women, even had sex with them but who really got off screwing him, a young boy wearing a dress and silk panties. That was who he had killed two weeks earlier and that was who he’d aim at the next time around.
But now, those idiots, Bobby and Alex, were turning this into a contest; who can get the most. Alex had shown up last night, boasting about his latest trophy, prancing around and chanting ‘that’s three for me, that’s three for me!’ He, Randi, had tried to bring them back on track but his attempts had been met with accusations of jealousy. Though Michael had not been party to the ridiculous discussion, Randi had a feeling that he too would jump on the competitive band wagon.
He ceased his pacing momentarily, just long enough to crush out his cigarette and light another. Resuming his strut in a quiet rage, he hopelessly searched for a way to bring the others back in line. He knew that he could not even count on Bowman to try to convince them. They were all losing confidence in and respect for good old Sammy at a rapid pace.
* * * *
Dave stretched and yawned noisily as he glanced at his watch. 4:53 p.m. Today had been a slow day, boring in fact, and he was looking forward to getting out of the office and going home to Cathy. Maybe he’d stop and rent a couple of movies for the evening, some good action flicks to get his blood running.
Deciding to call it a day, he stood from his chair and stretched again, throwing in another yawn for good measure. He headed for his jacket, hanging on a hook on the back of the door, and noticed Joanne Nelson walking towards him, a pained expression on her face.
“Don’t give me any bad news,” he growled at his detective in warning. “Dave has nearly left the building.”
“We’ve got another, Dave,” stated Joanne, ignoring his advice. “Just got a call from Station 20. It looks like our killers struck again.”
“Obviously, you’re intent on keeping me here and ruining my plans for the evening,” McCall commented with a wry smile as his jacket returned to its hook. “So why don’t you tell me what we’re looking at.”
“Well, OK, If you’re not in any hurry,” Joanne replied, making her own attempt at humour. “White female, single, age forty-six who goes by the name of Celine Tessier. A girlfriend found her in her apartment. They had dinner plans and were going bar hopping afterwards. I’m going over there now. You want to come along? The girlfriend is still there.”
“Yeah, might as well,” Dave responded, reaching for his jacket once again. “I had nothing particular planned anyhow.”
As they headed towards the main exit, McCall turned towards Nelson and asked, “Who do you think did this one, Joanne?”
She thought for a moment before replying. “Same person who did that lady at the Hotel de la Montagne; the fourth one, last Sunday.”
“Yeah,” Dave smiled wryly, pushing open the door which led to the street. “That’s what I think too.”
* * * *
A snifter of Grand Marnier in hand, Sam Bowman sat quietly in the den of his comfortable r
esidence, gazing at the meaningless images which flashed on the television set before him. He was calm now but that had not been the case throughout most of the day. His emotions had roller-coasted from anger to fear, from frustration to grief as he tried to comprehend where he had gone wrong with Michael, Randi, Bobby and Alex.
Their progress had been remarkable for a while, to the point that he had actually begun to believe that some day, soon, he would be able to remove them from his patient list. Then Randi had committed that first horrendous crime, slaughtering that poor confused bisexual man. Therapy, he had called it. Worse still, he had bragged about his actions to the others, encouraging them to do the same. Now, Bowman was uncertain of being capable of stopping them for he had lost the most important element of all; control.
The problem was that they communicated. Individually, each was a rather weak personality. Collectively however, their various strengths combined to create a somewhat formidable force. To make matters worse, one of the stronger willed, probably Randi, maybe Michael, had started trashing the doctor’s credibility, making the task of helping them much more difficult.
He would, Bowman concluded, have to try to keep them apart. On a one-to-one basis, maybe he could win them over and stop this blood-bath. He believed that they had not lost all respect for him yet. After all, he had managed to convince them all to stay in tonight. This evening, there would be no murders.
Chapter 14 - Monday, June 9, 1997
“...the scene was pretty much a carbon copy of the others,” stated Joanne Nelson. “Lots of blood splattered all over the place.”
She, Bakes, Harris and McCall were gathered in the captain’s office, the purpose of the meeting being to bring the others up to speed with the most recent murder.
Mind Games Page 10