Mind Games

by Claude Bouchard

  “Well, yeah,” agreed the homosexual. “I can do that.”

  Bakes unfolded a copy of the ‘Alex’ sketch and smoothed it flat on the coffee table in front of the bartender. “Does this look familiar?”

  “That’s him,” squealed Lonny in excitement. “That’s Bobby.”

  “Are you sure?” demanded McCall, unconvinced and somewhat annoyed with Frank.

  Rather than show the existing sketch, he would have preferred to have one made from Lonny’s description for subsequent matching. Too many times before, he had seen frightened witnesses identify a suspect just to get things over with quickly.

  “Pretty sure,” replied Lonny with a touch of indecision. “The hair is different; Bobby’s is pulled back straight in small ponytail. And Bobby doesn’t have a moustache.”

  “But, besides that, it’s him?” encouraged Frank hesitantly, aware of Dave’s displeasure.

  “Yeah, I think so,” the gay man slowly responded as he further examined the sketch. “Bobby looks a little younger than this though. And maybe a bit more slim. But past that, this looks pretty much like him. Maybe they’re brothers.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what, Lonny,” said Dave, retrieving the sketch before it could be scrutinized any further. “I would really appreciate if you could get together with somebody to have a sketch of Bobby done. Even if it turns out to be this guy here, we’ll be better off with two eye witness impressions than with just one.”

  “I don’t know, Captain,” answered Lonny. “Like I said, I don’t want to get all mixed up in this. You’ve already said he might come back for me as it is. If I start helping to make posters of him, he’ll come back for sure.”

  “We’re very discreet with these things, Lonny,” said Frank encouragingly. “If nobody helps, we’ll never catch the guy. Think about it. You have my card, give me a call.”

  “I’ll think about it,” the barkeep uneasily agreed, “But I’m not promising anything.”

  “That’s fine, Lonny,” said Dave as he rose from his seat. They were done for the evening. “And if Bobby does come back, call us, please.”

  * * * *

  Sam Bowman sat at the kitchen table and lifted the glass of scotch to his lips, draining half of it in one pull. He thought of Bobby’s little evening adventure and, once again, felt an icy shiver run up his spine. The idiot had nearly run a man down as he raced away in panic with several police officers in the immediate vicinity. It was also quite probable that the police were in fact there at the bar looking for Bobby. How stupid could he have been to return to that place less than a week later? Chances were, had Bobby remained in that place two minutes more, they would have captured him. It had been very close.

  As he drained the other half of his glass, Doctor Bowman prayed that what had happened tonight would serve as a warning, a lesson to all of them and would convince them to cease their murderous activities. If not, it would soon be out of his hands; he would be able to protect them no more.

  Chapter 16 - Wednesday, June 11, 1997

  “Are you sure you don’t want anymore, Jonathan?” asked Sandy, the pitcher of pancake batter ready to pour.

  “Have mercy. Please,” begged Jonathan, clutching his abdomen. “I don’t know if I’ll make it through the day as it is.”

  Turning to Chris, he asked, “How do you manage to stay so slim?”

  “Two things,” replied Chris with a grin. “One, I know when to say enough. Two, Sandy only cooks like this when we have guests over.”

  He ducked just in time to avoid getting hit by the balled up dishrag sent his way courtesy of his wife.

  “Honey, you dropped this,” he joked as he tossed the rag back to her.

  “Thanks,” she sweetly responded. “I was wondering where it had gone.”

  “Getting back to business,” Chris assumed a more serious tone as he returned his attention to their breakfast guest. “What do you think of this whole Bowman deal? Am I OK to pursue this or do you agree with my wife that I’m a little nuts, meddling with something I shouldn’t?”

  “Well, put that way, it’s a difficult question to answer,” Jonathan started hesitantly, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Sandy just fed me like a king which makes siding with her a tempting possibility.”

  “Yes! I knew he could be bought,” Sandy chanted from the sink.

  “Not so fast, young lady,” Jonathan playfully warned her. “You mustn’t forget that your husband and I share similar passions towards our work.”

  “So, boss. What’s your call?” Chris insisted anxiously.

  “To be honest with you, I’ve been following this murder case quite closely and I’ve been looking for an angle to get at it,” replied Jonathan, looking apologetically at Sandy as he spoke. “I believe, good sir, that you’ve just given me that angle.”

  Chris glanced over at his spouse who was concentrating her attention on cleaning up the kitchen.

  “You all right with this, Sandy?”

  She looked up at both men and gave them a rueful smile. “Yes, I’m all right with it. I know what you’re doing is the right thing. I just worry, that’s all.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Jonathan assured her. “I’ll keep an eye on the boy. Anyhow, you should know by now that he handles himself pretty well in these situations.”

  “I know,” she shrugged. “It’s just a hell of a hobby.”

  “That it is,” agreed Jonathan as he turned back to Chris. “I’ll just make one comment for future reference if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure, shoot,” Chris replied.

  “From now on,” said Jonathan, gently, but firmly, “I’d like us to have a little chat before you get yourself involved in these kinds of situations. If I’m not aware of what you’re doing and something goes wrong, I can’t do anything to help. Bottom line, you could end up in deep shit. However, if I’m in the loop, I can always lend a hand if you run into a snag.”

  “You had told me that I was on my own when I started with you,” stated Chris, a little annoyed with this sudden patronizing attitude. “That’s why you pay us ‘consultants’ the big bucks.”

  “Now, Chris. Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jonathan replied evenly. “It’s true that we could not come out and say ‘Chris is employed by a secret government agency so leave him alone’. On the other hand, we don’t just let our people hang out to dry. Believe me, there are a lot of strings I can pull to get my own out of a jam. All I’m saying is that it’s a lot easier to pull them if I know beforehand that you might get into a jam. Fair enough?”

  “Yeah, makes sense,” Chris conceded. “I’ll keep you posted from now on.”

  “It’s also a good idea from a business perspective,” added Jonathan, his hint of a smile back again “If you don’t tell me about your jobs, I ain’t gonna pay you for them.”

  * * * *

  Every once in a while, to change the scenery and to show his appreciation for their efforts, Dave liked to take his closest detectives out for breakfast. This, he usually did when they were attempting to crack a particularly difficult case and the current stream of sex slayings qualified as such. Since ninety-nine percent of the subject matter discussed at such breakfasts was shoptalk, the cost was passed along to the taxpayers of Montreal.

  Eggspectations on de la Montagne had been the chosen restaurant on this occasion and was where Dave was currently enjoying a morning feast, accompanied by Nelson, Harris and Bakes. As they munched on the bacon, eggs, sausage, hash browns and toast piled high on plates before them, Bakes and McCall recounted the previous evening’s events at TJ’s.

  “I showed Lonny, the bartender, that sketch we have,” Frank was saying, “And he thinks it’s the same guy that was at TJ’s.”

  “Hold on a second, Frankie,” Dave challenged. “He thought it looked something like the guy. Like maybe his brother. He said this Bobby looked younger and maybe slimmer. You can step in to correct me at any time if I misunderstood something.”

  “No,
I think you got the jist of it,” Frank responded in a subdued tone.

  “And while we’re on the subject of sketches,” Dave continued, “Let me give you my point of view on how to work with them.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, Boss,” Frank winced as he spoke. “I think you explained it real clear to me last night.”

  “Well, let me explain it again,” insisted McCall, “For the benefit of the others.”

  All grinned as Nelson murmured to Harris, “Betcha Frank was a bad boy last night.”

  “Here’s my opinion on working with sketches and witnesses,” pursued the captain, speaking slowly and clearly. “If you’ve got a witness who’s seen a possible suspect, you ask that witness to describe the possible suspect to a sketch artist. Then you show that sketch around to people who may have seen the suspect but don’t know it. That’s how I’d do it.”

  By this time, Tim and Joanne were fighting hard to control their laughter while Frank, beet red, sank slowly under the table, an ever-widening silly grin on his face.

  “Now I understand that there’s another school of thought,” Dave went on, doing his best to keep a straight face, “Which recommends the following method. When your boss asks an uneasy witness, who has seen a possible suspect, to work with an artist, you whip out a previously existing sketch and try to coax the witness into agreeing that it looks like the guy he saw.”

  “Frank, you didn’t?” Joanne playfully exclaimed as Harris buried his face in his hands, feigning disgust.

  “I didn’t try to coax him,” chuckled Bakes, sliding back up into his chair. “I was just trying to establish if it was the same guy that whacked the girl on Friday.”

  “You’re a disgrace to the force, Detective Bakes, contravening your superior,” kidded Harris with a horrified look. “That’s insubordination. I think you should fire him, Captain McCall.”

  “Brownnoser,” countered Frank, desperately grasping for anything to get him out of the spotlight.

  “At least I’m not getting raked over the coals,” laughed Tim in response.

  “You’ve had your times,” McCall reminded Harris, easing off on Frank, “And I’m sure there will be more.”

  “I’m sure that you both will agree,” suggested Harris, winking at his two peers, “That there exists a degree of unfairness here. Dave can take us for a ride all he wants, yet we can’t touch him because ‘he’s the boss’.”

  “Worry not, dear Tim,” Dave replied with a smile. “My superiors give me more than my fair share of humiliation. Anyway, it’s not because ‘I’m the boss’ that you guys can’t tell embarrassing anecdotes about me.” A twinkle in his eye, he paused before adding, “If you’re willing to risk the consequences.”

  Following another moment or two of good-natured bantering, the conversation turned to the more sombre subject of the violent murders they were attempting to solve.

  “Seriously,” Frank enquired, “Do you guys really believe that there may be more than one killer in this thing?”

  “To be honest, I don’t know,” admitted Joanne. “Until I guessed right on Friday’s murder, I would have said no. But my guess wasn’t based on luck. I looked at it from Dr. Bowman’s perspective, and it made sense that the guilty party was the killer from the Hotel de la Montagne. In the same way that it makes sense that this Bobby from TJ’s was also responsible for the Cadillac murder, the second one.”

  “So you agree with the good doctor,” stated Frank with some disdain, “That we’re looking for four unrelated murderers out there?”

  “I don’t say that I agree with him,” responded Nelson matter-of-factly. “I just can’t say that I disagree.”

  “What about you two?” asked Bakes of Harris and McCall.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Frank,” replied Tim, “But I share Joanne’s view on this thing. I’m even willing to say that I’m leaning more towards the multiple perp theory.”

  “Based on?” questioned Frank.

  “Based on the logic of what Bowman said and especially, based on the man’s reputation. He’s highly respected by the cops in Ontario, both municipal and provincial, whom he’s helped on a number of cases. I did a little research and as far as I can tell, the doctor’s batting a thousand to date. Every time he was involved in a case, he ended up being right.”

  “OK, but there’s a first time for everything,” said Frank. “I still believe he’ll be wrong this time. What about you, Dave?”

  “I guess I’m still on the fence with this,” admitted McCall, “But, it wasn’t very long ago that I thought Bowman was nuts so my opinion has swayed some towards his multiple killer theory; which means, I think we should consider all options for now.”

  “What about Bowman’s possible involvement in this somehow?” asked Harris. “Has anybody come up with anything on that?”

  “Nope, not yet,” volunteered Nelson. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to quietly dig up some information but, no success so far. I’ve had routine checks done but Bowman seems to lead a quiet life. No parking tickets, no speeding tickets, nothing. His slate is clean.”

  “I wouldn’t think that investigating him would turn up much anyhow,” commented Tim. “It’s his patients that we’re really interested in. We’d have to find a way to get to their records.”

  “Yeah, and lose our jobs and possibly go to jail in the process,” stated Dave. “Like I said when we first discussed this, I want us to be very careful with Dr. Bowman. We really don’t need a lawsuit on our backs so, let’s not do anything stupid.”

  As he uttered the words, he wondered if Chris had done anything and, if he had, had he come up with any useful information. He hadn’t heard from Chris for several days now. He’d have to give his friend a call.

  * * * *

  “Good morning, Sam Bowman.”

  “Morning, Doctor Bowman. My name is Chris Barry.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Barry?” the psychiatrist enquired.

  “Uh, let me see,” Chris hesitantly responded. “This isn’t as easy as I thought.”

  “What isn’t easy, Mr. Barry?” questioned the doctor soothingly.

  “W-well,” stammered Chris, “I’ve been working up the nerve to call a therapist for a while. I thought I was decided but now I’m not sure.”

  “If you’ve made this call, Mr. Barry, your decision must be made,” Bowman confidently replied. “Now, go on. Why do you feel you need to speak to a therapist?”

  “I-it’s a little complicated to get into over the phone,” Chris mumbled, his voice shaky. “It h-has to do with things that happened to my mother, sister and I a long time ago and, uh, things, uh, things I-I’ve done since.”

  “I see,” said Bowman gently. “Would you like us to meet and discuss this a bit further, Mr. Barry?”

  “Well, y-yes,” Chris replied uneasily. “Th-that’s why I was calling. I read a number of articles about you or by you, and I understand you’re very good.”

  “I thank you for your compliment,” the psychiatrist humbly replied. “I do my best to help my clients any way I can. Mr. Barry, before we go any further, I must inform you that some consider my services expensive. My consultation fees are $200 per hour.”

  “Oh, no problem there,” responded Barry, his tone more confident. “Financially, I am very comfortable. I think I need help and I want the best.”

  “Very well, Mr. Barry. When would you like us to get together?”

  “I finally got the nerve to call you,” answered Chris, his voice shaky again, “And now I’m feeling pretty rattled so, I’d say the sooner the better. Even today if that’s possible.”

  “Let me check my agenda,” said the doctor, hitting a few keys on the computer. “Yes, we could meet at four o’clock this afternoon if that’s convenient?”

  “Four o’clock? Great,” replied Barry, sounding relieved.

  “Good, Mr. Barry,” Bowman responded. “Four o’clock it is. Now, if you have just a few more minutes, I’d need to ge
t some basic information to open up your file.”

  Chris smiled at Jonathan and Sandy as he hung up the phone. “I see him at four o’clock this afternoon,” he informed them.

  “Excellent,” said Jonathan, nodding in approval. “I didn’t think you’d be able to get an appointment so quickly.”

  “I did,” Chris grinned. “I had checked his calendar this morning. Don’t you just love computers?”

  * * * *

  “Barry, Chris Barry?” Sam Bowman, alone in his office, questioned aloud. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  Turning to the computer, he began researching Christopher Barry, a practice he always employed with new patients. He felt this additional background information often gave him a head start in helping his clients identify their problems. And with the advent of computers and, more importantly, the information highway, such research was made much easier and much more complete.

  Thankfully, he had no appointments for most of the day so he could devote the required time to this Barry pre-investigation. He had until three. At that time, he planned to spend an hour having a quiet chat with Randi.

  * * * *

  Never one to be late for an appointment, Chris entered Doctor Samuel Bowman’s waiting room at 3:50 p.m. Expecting to be greeted by a receptionist or secretary, he was surprised to note that none was present. In fact, by the looks of the tastefully decorated room, it was obvious that if Bowman did have an assistant, he or she didn’t work there unless a desk and chair were not required for the job.

  Rather than sit in one of the comfortable leather chairs, Chris began slowly strolling around as he examined a number of paintings which hung on the walls. As he approached a door, which, judging from the brass name plate, led to Bowman’s office, he became aware of voices emanating from the other side. Although muffled, therefore rendering words indistinguishable, it was clear from their tone that an argument of sorts was taking place.