Vigilante

by Claude Bouchard

  “Well, I appreciate anything you can do for us, Mr. Barry. If there’s anything I can help you with, let me know.”

  “Right now, Bob has supplied us with what information we need,” Chris responded. “I’ve got somebody reviewing the data banks where all your Eazy-Com messages are stored. Plus, we’ll be talking to some people at Eazy-Com for additional technical help. At first glance, the only record is that of the message itself. There is nothing which indicates its point of origin or the routing which was taken to get it from there to you. But don’t worry. If there’s anything hidden somewhere, my people will find it. They’re the best.”

  “That’s good to hear, Mr. Barry,” said Dave hopefully. “Once again, if I can be of any assistance, don’t hesitate.”

  “I won’t Dave. By the way, if we’re going to work on this thing together, you’re going to have to call me Chris. I don’t function well under formality.”

  “Sure thing, Chris,” McCall smiled. “Thanks for the call. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

  * * * *

  As promised, Reynolds from DMV had supplied a list of vehicles with a TSN plate number to Harris before noon. He had also been thoughtful enough to include registrations under TSH, TSM and TSW, just in case the kid had seen wrong. If Harris needed any other TS plates, they could also be supplied.

  Although the list was somewhat extensive, quite a few vehicles could be initially eliminated, simply on the basis of geography or vehicle type. Thankfully, Reynolds had also been kind enough to sort and print the information according to those parameters.

  Tim was now concentrating on a short list which included only Toyota Celicas. There were twenty-two in all, nine with a TSN plate and, of these, six were in the general vicinity of the city. Of the six, only one was registered to a woman, an Eileen Baker living in upper class Westmount, just west of the downtown area.

  They would have to pay a visit to Miss Baker.

  Chapter 5 - Saturday, June 29, 1996

  Eileen Baker awoke around 9:00 on Saturday morning, feeling refreshed. She had slept well, a first since her ordeal of Tuesday evening. After getting the coffee going, she headed back upstairs for a shower, the events of the last few days still heavily dominating her thoughts.

  She had not spoken to anyone about what had happened. After all, this was not the kind of thing you just casually chatted about. She had therefore been somewhat surprised when those two cops, McCall and Harris, had shown up yesterday after dinner.

  They had started by questioning her about her whereabouts on Tuesday night and she had asked what this was all about. A witness, they had informed her, had seen her leaving the area where two murders had occurred and had noted her license plate number. That was how they had found her. Upon learning this, she had immediately admitted to her being there. After all, she had nothing to hide. Well, almost.

  She had described what had happened, starting at the bar with those two jerks ogling her and ending with her close call with rape, only to be saved by a passer-by.

  Could she describe what the man looked like? Unfortunately, no she couldn’t. It had been getting dark outside and little lighting had existed in the alley. Anyhow, she had seen the man who saved her only for the briefest time. When he had spoken to her, suggesting she leave, she had not hesitated to comply. She had been more than happy just to get the hell out of there.

  In reality, she had gotten a rather decent look at the guy, although the baseball cap and sunglasses had concealed his face to some extent. In responding to Harris’ and McCall’s questions however, she had limited her description of him to ‘medium height and build, wearing dark clothes’ and had volunteered nothing further. There was no way she would help getting him caught. If it hadn’t been for him, she might have been the one to die.

  The cops had thanked her for her time, asking her to call if she remembered anything else. She had agreed to do so, although she had no such intention.

  As she was coming back downstairs, towelling her hair, the doorbell rang. She looked at her watch, 9:55; probably the paper boy. She tied her terry-cloth robe and headed for the front door, grabbing her purse on the kitchen table on the way.

  She unlocked then opened the door and he was standing there, wearing blue jeans and an open collar shirt, no jacket. But the baseball cap and the glasses were the same. It was him.

  “How are you Eileen?” he asked calmly, his tone friendly. He seemed relaxed, hands casually tucked in his jeans pockets.

  She stared back at him in shock, frozen in place for a moment as snapshots of Tuesday’s events flashed through her mind. What was he doing here? How had he found her? Was she now in danger?

  “I-I’m fine, I guess,” she finally whispered, a quiver of fear in her voice. “W-what do you want from me?”

  “I was wondering if we could chat for a minute?” he politely enquired, “About Tuesday night? Can I come in?”

  For a fraction of a second, she thought of slamming the door and calling the police but realized that she would not have the time or the strength to do so. Anyhow, she reasoned, why would he want to hurt her after having saved her just a few days earlier? Sensing, or at the very least, hoping that he posed no threat, she reluctantly stepped aside to let him in, gesturing towards the kitchen.

  Nonchalantly, he strolled ahead of her and slid into a chair at the table.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” he praised, looking around, just making conversation.

  “Th-thanks. Would you like some coffee?” she offered, not quite certain how to handle a friendly visit from an assassin.

  “Sure, if it’s not too much trouble,” he accepted, “Cream, no sugar.”

  She poured two cups and brought them to the table, her hands shaking slightly as she set them down. She dropped into a chair across from him and, gathering her courage, forced herself to look at him.

  “Please don’t be scared,” he said softly, gazing back at her with a gentle smile. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “I-I’m okay,” Eileen replied unconvincingly.

  “I also wanted to talk about your having seen me,” he continued, pausing to try the coffee. “I trust you understand that I did what I did to help you. However, the police might consider that what I did is wrong. I’m therefore uncomfortable knowing that you could possibly identify me.”

  “I would never do that!” she blurted out, her sincerity obvious. “I’m grateful that you showed up when you did. You probably saved my life. Those animals deserved to die.”

  “I’m happy you feel that way,” he responded, relieved. “What I did was right. I need you to realize that.”

  His tone was not at all menacing and, strangely, she was starting to feel more at ease. They sat quietly for a moment, each contemplating this bizarre meeting with the other.

  “How did you find me?” she asked finally, breaking the silence.

  “I saw them grab you from your car on Tuesday. I noted your plate number before joining you in the alley.”

  “The police found me the same way,” she commented absently. “Someone saw me take off and reported it.”

  “You spoke to the police?” he exclaimed with concern. “What did they want? What did you tell them?”

  “They asked about what happened. I told them,” she replied reassuringly. “Then they asked if I could describe the man who helped me. I said I couldn’t. It was dark. I couldn’t see much. It all happened so fast and I was scared. I’m afraid I was not much help to them.”

  He nodded approvingly, an amused smile appearing on his lips as he relaxed. “This person who saw you; did he see anything else?”

  “I don’t think so,” Eileen shook her head. “At least not based on what the police told me. They just said that he saw me leave.”

  Still smiling at her, he rose to leave. “Thanks for the coffee, Eileen. I apologize for dropping in unannounced. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. You be careful out there from now on. It’s a craz
y world we live in.”

  She followed him to the door, her fear by now having essentially disappeared.

  He stepped outside, then turned towards her and, to his surprise, found her reaching out to offer a handshake.

  “Thanks for helping me,” she said quietly as she clasped his hand. “I owe you big time.”

  “Thanks for your support, Eileen,” he grinned, squeezing her hand warmly, convinced that he had a new ally. “See ya, friend.”

  “See ya,” she replied softly, almost shyly. “You be careful too, friend.”

  Tucking his hands back into his pockets, he hopped down the steps and started whistling “Here comes the Sun” as he strolled off down the sidewalk.

  * * * *

  Dave McCall returned from his jog around 10 o’clock and, since Cathy was gone shopping, he was on his own.

  Following a quick shower, he got himself a glass of orange juice from the fridge, grabbed the morning paper and went out to the terrace. He enjoyed these Saturday mornings, when he could actually relax a bit and have some time for himself. Unfortunately, they were few and far between.

  Laying the paper out on the patio table, he glanced at the front page as he settled into one of the comfortable chairs. The major headline referred to the recent G7 summit; although he liked to keep up on current events, politics were of little interest to him. As he started to turn the page however, his eye caught a smaller headline towards the bottom. VIGILANTE VICTIMS WERE RAPISTS. The by-line, of course, was Ron Henderson.

  The article recounted that a reliable source had confirmed that the two insurance reps murdered on Tuesday had been attempting to rape a young lady whose identity remained unknown at the present time. Henderson stood corrected. The Vigilante had done another good deed for society where the police had failed.

  “Little schmuck,” McCall muttered to himself as he finished the article, wondering where the son of a bitch had gotten his information.

  * * * *

  Carl Denver arrived at CSS headquarters at 11:00 on Saturday morning. He generally avoided working on week-ends, especially during the summer, preferring to spend his leisure time with his spouse. However, she was out of town and would only be returning that afternoon. He could therefore take advantage of this free time to fiddle around a bit with the Eazy-Com message which Chris had assigned him.

  As far as he was concerned, this whole exercise was a waste of time. He knew from experience that it was relatively simple to communicate through a network like Eazy-Com undetected. With the arrival of the wireless communications era, portable computers and built in modems, it got easier by the day. A half decent hacker could even get into the data banks and erase information if required, without any fear of detection. All that one had to do was beat the security system to gain access to such a network unnoticed. And as Carl knew, beating a system could be very easy when one knew how. After all, he did it for a living.

  * * * *

  Just as Chris’ feet left the diving board, he heard the telephone ring. By the time he emerged from the water, his wife was standing by the pool with the cordless in her hand.

  “A gentleman by the name of McCall on the phone for you, sir,” she solemnly announced. “Will you be taking the call or shall I take a message?”

  He climbed out of the water and gave her a hug as he took the phone, getting her quite wet in the process. Laughing, she dived into the water, hoping to splash him but missing.

  “Hey there,” Chris said into the phone. “How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks,” replied McCall. “I’m sorry to disturb you on a Saturday afternoon.”

  “That’s okay. I’m just with my wife,” Chris commented nonchalantly, flashing her a big grin as she climbed onto the diving board.

  She stuck out her tongue at him in a lovely grimace before diving again.

  “I just wanted to let you know, Chris, that we received another message on Eazy-Com earlier this afternoon,” Dave went on. “I didn’t know if you had anyone working on this over the week-end. Just in case, I thought I should let you know.”

  “One of my geniuses, Carl Denver, was looking at some things earlier today,” Chris replied. “I spoke to him around 1:30 as he was leaving the office. It’s been a dead end so far with the first transmission. Maybe we’ll have better luck with this new message.”

  “Do you want me to have a copy sent to you or something?” offered McCall, still lost in all this computer stuff.

  “No,” answered Chris. “Bob gave me an access code to your Eazy-Com data banks. I can tap in from here or from the office. Regardless, it’s not the message itself that I’m really interested in. It’s more how the hell it got to your place and from where.”

  “Well, once again, sorry to bother you on a Saturday,” concluded McCall. “I’m just anxious to catch this guy. The press is having a field day with us. If you need me for something, you can reach me at home over the week-end or at the office on Monday. Have a good one.”

  As Chris cut the connection, he glanced at his wife in the pool where she lay on a mattress, wet and relaxed, eyes closed, soaking in some sun.

  Having promised not to work during the week-end, he quietly picked up his notepad from the patio table, looking in her direction occasionally, to avoid getting caught. He flipped open the screen and began to softly key in the required access codes. In a moment, the Vigilante’s latest message was displayed on the screen:

  WHY WASTE PRECIOUS RESOURCES ON ME WHEN ALL I AM TRYING TO DO IS HELP. YOUR ATTEMPTS TO FIND ME ARE FRUITLESS. I WILL ALWAYS BE ONE STEP AHEAD. PUT YOUR EFFORTS TOWARDS THE REAL CRIMINALS INSTEAD. LATER, VIGILANTE

  ‘Pretty cocky, that’s for sure,’ Chris thought, smiling as he read the message.

  Looking up, he noted with relief that his wife had not seen what he was doing. Quickly exiting the system, he soundlessly closed the notepad before diving into the pool and splashing her grandly in the process.

  Chapter 6 - Monday, July 1, 1996

  The funeral service for Jimmy Green took place on Monday at 10:00 a.m. A limited number of people were in attendance; Jimmy had not had many friends.

  Jimmy’s wife, Lisa, was holding up rather well. There were no tears and she seemed at peace. She was definitely better off without him. Sandy had spoken to her on Saturday after she had returned from her mother’s. Lisa was shaken, but definitely not unhappy.

  He had learned of Lisa and her wife-beating husband from Sandy. She and Lisa were both enrolled in the same programme and had attended a number of classes together. Lisa was sweet and smart and wanted to get ahead. Having come from a blue collar family, she had decided that she would make something more of her life. She and Sandy had immediately hit it off when they first met and had quickly become good friends.

  Early on though, Sandy had detected that something was wrong. Lisa regularly had mood swings and often seemed nervous. Many mornings, she looked as if she hadn’t slept and she rarely, if ever, was available on a social basis after class, not even for a quick cup of coffee. Many of the students got together following an exam or the end of a semester, to celebrate. Lisa never attended these functions.

  Sandy had tried to bring this up with Lisa on several occasions but had received little response. Then about four months ago, Lisa had broken down and told Sandy all about Jimmy; the drinking, the cheating and most of all, the beatings. She was scared, tired and had had enough. Suicide was rapidly becoming an attractive alternative.

  Sandy had calmed her down and tried to convince Lisa to leave her abusive husband but Lisa could not even start to consider that idea. She was frightened as Jimmy had often told her that if she ever even thought of leaving him, he would kill her.

  Once Sandy had brought Lisa’s plight to his attention, he had quickly started tracking details about Jimmy; where he lived, where he worked, where he played. Incredible amounts of data were available via the computer and related networks and accessing records was easy in his line of work. Most systems were simple to get into
, with no risk of detection.

  On nights that Sandy had classes or was off studying, he would go out and shadow Jimmy. That had been how he had found out about Thursday nights and Charlie’s. Jimmy had turned out to be a creature of habit and far from bright. It had been easy.

  He had made sure beforehand that Lisa would not be in any financial difficulty once Jimmy was gone. Jimmy held a union job with a decent life insurance benefit and pension. He also had taken out a personal policy of $50,000 several years earlier, bless his heart. All told, Lisa would receive close to $200,000. In addition, due to Jimmy’s death and a mortgage insurance policy, the house was clear. All in all, Jimmy Green’s violent passing was not a bad deal for Lisa.

  * * * *

  Shortly after lunch, Chris sauntered into Carl Denver’s office at CSS where the latter, as usual, was practicing his favourite pastime; working on his computer.

  “How are we doing with those Eazy-Com messages?” Chris curiously enquired as he perched on the corner of Carl’s desk.

  “Nothing so far,” Carl replied, his eyes remaining glued to the screen. “I’ve been speaking to a few people at Eazy-Com and they’re really intrigued. They agree that accessing the network illegally can be relatively simple for a computer buff. What they can’t understand however, is how someone can send a message through the network without leaving a trace. As you know, their systems automatically keep records of all transmissions; with these messages, nothing. It’s as if they weren’t going through the network at all. The way I figure it, maybe the cops are typing these things in themselves to give the impression they’ve got some leads.”

  “Could be,” Chris chuckled at the thought. “I’ll suggest that to McCall and see what he thinks.”