Hello Dear Readers,
Find below Part Five of my short story, For Some Reason. Two more parts to post and we'll be all done. :-) I hope you are enjoy this story....I am enjoying the writing of it. If you haven't read the other parts you can find the beginning here.
Ciao,
Michael
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Charles Winchowski had a terrible feeling about Toronto’s 38th and 39th homicides. They were messy, seemingly cold and calculated and similar. ‘Serial killer,’ he thought dismayed. And then there was the issue of Chris Fey, a man who was purporting to have seen the murders just before they happened. After seeing the crime site and having forensics take a number of items and photographs, Charles asked to have both Chris and the woman, Rachel, brought to the station. He wanted to question them separately.
Upon arriving at the police station on Bay Street a throng of media had already gathered. Charles sighed. “I don’t want this business of the psychic leaking out,” he said to the other detectives in the car. “We don’t need the city thinking their officers are becoming a bunch of crystal ball reading mystics.”
Once inside the station, Chris and Rachel were placed in separate interrogation rooms. Charles spoke first with Chris bringing him a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” Chris said.
“I could get you coffee if you like instead,” Charles said.
“No this is fine.”
“Ok. Mind if I record the session?”
“Sure. Yeah no problem.” Charles watched as Chris unscrewed the top of the bottled water. He was searching for signs of nervousness in the man he was going to interrogate, but he saw none. Chris gulped water. “Thanks. I was so thirsty.”
“I bet. You had quite a night,” Charles said. He figured he’d play the I’m-on-your-side routine with this guy and see where it took him. Charles pressed the record button and slide the small micro-recorder to the middle of the table. “So…you wanna tell me what happened tonight. Start at the beginning.”
Chris did. He began with a brief recounting of his ability to read tarot cards, describing when it started through to his separation, eventual rental of Lydia Merton’s basement apartment, relationship details between him and Rachel and the sequence of events for each of the two tarot readings he’d done. Charles let him speak without interruption for nearly an hour. He jotted notes and questions but did not interrupt Chris. It was always best to let people talk as much as they wanted to; it was easier to catch them in a lie that way.
“So you aren’t really seeing the future, like a psychic,” Charles said when Chris was finished.
“No. No I don’t think so, although I’m not sure I know exactly what a psychic does. Maybe I am somewhat psychic but I don’t think that is what is happening. Look, I know it’s hard to believe but the cards are working through me and something is working through the cards.”
“It’s an extraordinary tale Chris,” Charles said.
“It’s the truth,” Chris answered.
“I’d like to speak to your lady friend, to Rachel. Would you mind waiting here while I do that?” Charles asked.
“Sure,” Chris said.
“If you need to use the washroom or have anything just let one of the officers know,” Charles said. “And thanks for the information. I think it’ll help to figure out what is going on.”
“We should talk about what our next steps are,” Chris said.
“Next steps?” Charles said. He was going to turn off the tape recorder but left it playing.
“Yeah. How we’re going to try and catch this guy killing people. He’s still out there and he’ll try again,” Chris said.
“We’ll figure that out. Let me talk to Rachel and then we can see where this is all going,” Charles said. He took his recorder, switched it off and exited the room.
As he went to the next interrogation room Officer Peters came over to him. He had been watching the interview from behind the one-way mirror in the room. “Crazy stuff, eh, Charles?”
“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” Charles replied.
“You believe any of this tarot mumbo-jumbo?” Peters asked.
“No. I just want to catch the bastard that killed those two men,” Charles said. “Let me see what the woman has to say.”
Charles entered the interrogation room to find Rachel seated comfortably at the table, although she looked tired.
“Thanks for waiting Ms. Wilson, may I call you Rachel?”
“Sure,” she answered.
“Ok Rachel, ah, can I get you anything before we being? Water, coffee or a maybe a tea?”
“No I’m fine thanks. I had some coffee already,” she replied.
“Ok, do you mind if I record this conversation? It’ll help me to review my notes if there’s a need to,” Charles said. She nodded her approval and Charles began to record the session. “Alright then Rachel, why don’t you tell me what you know? Start at the beginning. When did you meet Chris Fey?”
Rachel told the detective what he wanted to know. She began with the day she met Chris and provided details about her time with him. Within twenty-five minutes she concluded with the sequence of events that had led to the discovery of Nigel Brinks murder. As he’d done with the interview with Chris Fey, Charles didn’t interrupt Rachel. He wrote notes in his notebook and listened. The stories were similar. He’d wanted to interview them separately to see if there were any inconsistencies but at first glance they seemed to be telling the same story. Charles sat quietly and then decided to speak. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to say what he was going to say to protect Rachel Wilson or to try and rattle Chris Fey.
“And you believe that Chris can do the things he says he can with the tarot cards?” Charles asked.
“Yes. I’ve seen him do it,” she said.
“Let me ask you this, Rachel, and I’m asking it because I want to be sure that we maintain your safety,” Charles said.
“My safety? What do you mean my safety?” Rachel asked.
“I mean, have you ever considered that Chris might be the person committing these horrible murders?” Charles asked. He watched her closely for a reaction.
“You’ve gotta be kidding. Right? How could he be the murder? He called you!” She was agitated.
“He called us after the murder,” Charles said.
“I was with him. Both times. Are you saying that he and I are murderers?” she asked.
“No, I’m not saying that,” Charles said. “Are you sure you’ve been with him he whole time? Each time you met him after you finished work. Couldn’t it be that he committed the murders before you came home from work? Couldn’t’ it be that he killed those men and then waited for you to come home and did his trick card routine?”
“No,” she said defiantly. “It isn’t a trick, he read the cards for me and told me things about myself. It isn’t a trick. He’s got a gift.”
“What do you really know about him Ms. Wilson?” Charles asked. “Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that this makes any sense? What is more plausible? That this guy Chris can see the future in tarot cards and is predicting murders? Or that this guy Chris is simply committing the murders?”
“I was with him!” she repeated heatedly. They were silent. Rachel shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She wished she could be out of this room, wished she was next to Chris. “Why don’t you ask Chris? Why are you asking me if he is the killer?”
“I want you to be safe,” Charles said. “And what makes you think I didn’t ask him that as well?”
She studied the detectives face. Years of dealing in drug circles allows one to develop a very refined internal bullshit detector and she could tell that Charles was lying to her. She smiled. “Oh you asked him…..you asked him, so what did he say?” Charles remained silent. “Ok, how about you do this. Give him his cards and ask him to do a reading on you. I guarantee you’ll believe him then,” she said.
“Ms. Wilson, I’m not here to entertain crazy notions of supernatural powers. I’m here to get the facts and find the person guilty of committing these crimes,” he answered.
“Then you’d better listen to Chris, because you heard him say it himself, there will be another person who is murdered. Could be happening right now, or tonight or after the weekend. If it happens while we are stuck here, then what are you going to say? Sorry? Are you going to apologize to the people and say ‘Sorry, we had a chance to catch this guy but our narrow-minded view of things stopped us from seeing the truth and we let another person die?” She was getting worked up. Charles sat smiling.
“Ms. Wilson, nobody is saying he or you did it? I just need to explore all the possibilities. That’s my job. If I don’t do my job then people will die.”
“They’ve already died,” she interjected.
Silence.
“Alright Ms. Wilson, one of my officers will be in to complete some paperwork. You can go home now. If you need, someone can give you a lift back in a squad car,” Charles said as he switched off his tape recorder and slide it into his coat pocket.
“What about Chris?” she asked.
“We’ll process him as well and he can come home with you,” Charles said.
After the couple had left, Charles sat at his desk. He rang the phone and called for Peters to come see him.
“I want you and Fains to keep an eye on this guy. Watch him and his place. I want to know what he’s doing, where he’s going. If he so much as breaks wind in that apartment I want to know, understand?” Charles asked rhetorically. “Ok go and let me know tomorrow what you’ve seen.” Officer Peters left.
Charles sat quietly, wondering, ‘what the hell is exactly going on?’
* * *
Chris and Rachel traveled back to their apartment in relative silence in the back of a squad car. She turned over in her head what the detective had said - have you ever considered that Chris might be the person committing these horrible murders – and wondered to herself, ‘What do you really know about this guy?’ She pushed the thoughts away. She might not know a lot about Chris, but she knew he wasn’t killing people.
After they were dropped off they went to Rachel’s apartment rather than Chris’, he wanted to some quiet time away from the cards that were still on his table. The sat holding each other on her small sofa.
“What a long night,” Chris said. “I’m exhausted.”
“Me too,” she said. He held her tightly. “You want to stay here.”
“M-hmm,” he said. She felt him kiss her head.
“They think it’s you,” she finally said.
“I figured as much,” Chris replied.
“But it is crazy,” she said. “You called them for crying out loud.”
“People have a hard time believing,” he said.
“I’m afraid for you. What if they pin these killings on you,” she said.
“If I’m behind bars, the killings will continue and they’ll know it isn’t me,” Chris replied flatly.
“I still can’t believe that is what they think,” she said.
“What do you think?” he asked her.
Silence.
More silence.
“I think they couldn’t be more wrong,” she said turning to him. “You are an incredible person, with an amazing gift. It is somehow terrifying and beautiful at the same time.”
They kissed.
“I’m going to have to read the cards again. I think I’m going to need to do it before I get the next feeling, before the humming in my head and the itch in my hands, otherwise I’ll be too late,” he said.
“Tonight?” she asked.
“No. I’m too tired. I just want to sleep,” he said.
She rose from the sofa and pulled him up, “Come on, come to bed.”
They slept.
* * *
Somewhere, in a darkened place, a man sat in a basement with a small light on next to him. He was sitting naked. A bowl sat next to him filled with water, vinegar and lemon juice. He held a small brush that he was meticulously working across the fingers of his left hand, diligently cleaning under his fingernails. A distant tick-tick-tick of a clock could be heard. He was alone in this place, and with his thoughts. It was tedious work to clean himself off after he’d completed his task of purging but it was necessary. He didn’t mind it. There was a certain calm to it.
Movement, from the dark shadows in corners of the basement. He looked up slightly and could see a dark ominous figure. Lowering his head, he continued to brush his fingers, dipping them ever so often in the bowl of liquid.
“You did well,” a voice said from the inky shadow. The man brushing did not answer. “You must be careful. Even more than just the normal precautions. Someone is…drawing near.”
The naked man ceased his brushing. “Near?”
“Yes. I am not sure who, yet. But someone. Someone who could prove dangerous to you and your mission,” the silky voice from the shadows said. “Wait a while before your next task. I will watch for you this potential problem.”
“No problem,” said the naked man. He could not see the shadowed figured face in the darkened corner, but he could feel a smile there. “Not a problem.” The place suddenly felt unreal and dreamlike. The naked man was unsure if he was awake or perhaps asleep and dreaming this place and the cold shadow.
The dark figure wavered, and sank back into the darkness. Then it was gone. The naked man dipped his hand in the water-vinegar-lemon solution again and continued with his brushing.
* * *
The next day, Rachel and Chris work near 11am. Fatigue still clung to them, but they knew they needed to get up. They made love. Showered. Rachel dressed quickly while Chris sat on the edge of the bed and watched her.
“I have to get to work. I’m going to be late,” she said.
“Sorry,” Chris said.
“Don’t worry about it. I might still make it for one o’clock. What are you going to do today?”
“I’m going to go for a walk. I have some shopping to do as well,” Chris said.
“Good idea. Get your mind off of last night. Shopping is a great distraction!” She was beaming despite being rushed and tired. Chris loved her. He knew that. Despite the short time they’d known each other, he had fallen in love with her, but he kept the thought shielded and to himself, although he wasn’t exactly sure why. Perhaps he didn’t want to rush things. Perhaps he didn’t want to scare her with feeling like this so early on. Perhaps it was something else that he hadn’t quite put his finger on.
“When are you finished today?” Chris asked her.
“I think seven, but it could be eight,” she said heading to the door. She blew him a kiss. “You can let yourself out. I’ll come by when I’m done, okay?” Chris nodded. The door closed and she was gone.
Chris sat for a bit and mulled the previous night over in his mind. He dressed and went back over to his basement apartment. The cards were still arranged on the small table. He looked at them. There was a theme of information, or communication. He puzzled over it earlier and the realization came to him as he and Rachel had showered. The killer was reaching his victims in a planned way. It wasn’t random. The cards showed an odd paradox that the victims did know the killer and that the victims didn’t know the killer. How could you know and not know at the same time? When was it true that you knew someone but didn’t know them? He turned the question over in his head.
“When you first meet someone,” he said quietly to the empty room. The victims had just met the killer. Both men had somehow met this other person and let them in. Chris moved his index finger from the top of several cards as though tracing something. “How…how…how…how?” he asked very quietly trying to focus on the message there before him.
Information.
Yes it was there, the theme of information. He was fairly certain he knew what he needed to explore. He left the apartment and went back to Rachel’s place. He dialed on the phone. He listened for a moment as the customer service representative introduced herself and then asked “And how can I help you today?”
“I’d like to order a phone line,” he said.
“Ok sir, we can take care of that for you,” the woman replied.
“And then I’d like to order your high speed Internet as well,” he added.
Information.
The killer was reaching his victims via a conduit for information. ‘It has to be the Internet,’ Chris thought. With that, he completed his orders and prepared to make his next move.
* * *
Charles met Peters for coffee at a Coffee Time near Spadina and College. It was almost five o’clock in the afternoon. There were a few people inside the coffee shop, but the two men sat off alone in the corner and spoke in hushed voices.
“Media is having a fucking field day with this second murder,” Charles said. “They already made the connection between the first one and this one. We’re going to need to control the situation, I can’t have this becoming an all out circus.”
“If it is a serial we need to get a warning out to the public,” Peters said.
“Not yet,” Charles said. “I need to bring this guy out a bit. Need to see if he makes a mistake. What’s going on over at Fey’s place?”
Peters opened his notebook and reviewed his notes. “They got dropped off after the interviews at the station. They ended up staying at the woman’s place. Looks like the slept late. Seemed to be some movement inside a little after 11am. Woman went to work. Our man Fey bounced between the two places a bit. He went out around 2pm. Fains followed him while I watched the apartments. No activity at the apartments. Fey went to the Eatons Centre. Checked out three stores, The Apple Store, The Sony Store and Compucentre. Went back to The Apple Store, bought himself a computer, one of those laptop computers…”
“He bought a computer?” Charles asked.
“Yup. An Apple laptop. Those guys make those funny commercials, you know, I’m Mac and I’m a PC and…”
“Shut-up, just tell me what else,” Charles said. He was turning the purchase over in his head. ‘A computer? Why a computer?’
“…ah, ok, so he got the computer, let me see, ok, then he grabbed himself a bite to eat at Sbarro’s in the food court. Then he went to another store, The Telephone Booth, bought himself a phone. Then he headed back to the apartment, his apartment. That’s it. He’s been in there since.”
“A computer and a phone,” Charles mused.
“Yeah. Did you get the profile on this guy yet?” Peters asked.
“No. Jimmy is pulling it together for me,” Charles answered. “How does a guy living in a $75 a week dumpy basement apartment afford a three thousand dollar computer?”
“I don’t think they’re that expensive anymore, my sister got one for her kid and said she paid a thousand bucks for one and got a free…”
“Peters…shut-up, please. I’m trying to think,” Charles said. Peters laughed. Charles smiled. “I hate the weird ones.”
Very interesting story. I look forwarding to reading the end.
Posted by: Sandeep | July 27, 2006 at 10:57 PM