Side Effects: An FBI Psychological Thriller (20 page)

Morris showed Dr. Cole the sketch of our guy again. “Familiar at
all
? Chances are more than solid he sat in on at least one of your group sessions.”

Again, Dr. Cole looked disappointed with himself. “Even if he did look familiar—and I’m sorry, he doesn’t—I can’t imagine it would help in any way. All group participants use an alias; with the exception of those who come see me first, I never know any of their real names.”

“Is it possible our guy saw you privately before attending group?” I asked.

Dr. Cole shifted in his seat, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I suppose it is.”

Morris, donning his asshole hat again, said: “And you wouldn’t be keeping something like that from us if he had…”

Dr. Cole’s look of sudden discomfort disappeared, his need to repeat himself on an issue so personal to him likely giving annoyance the go ahead to kick discomfort to the curb.

“No, Agent Morris, I would not. I can assure you that if I recalled treating a man who matched the descriptions we’ve covered, either physical or psychological, I would happily divulge them to you. As it happens, I do not.”

Morris was undeterred. “Maybe you could check patient files?”

“When would you like me to start checking?”

“Now.”

Dr. Cole took a long blink. “What
date
, agent?”

Morris looked at me. “I don’t know—I guess a year ago, right?”

I looked away.

“What?” Morris said.

I brought my gaze back on him. “You’re reaching again.”

“How the hell am I reaching?” He turned to Dr. Cole. “Is it such a great effort to check your patient files from a year ago?”

“Of course not.”

“Tim, stop,” I said.

“Stop? Suppose our guy was a private patient before he attended group. He’d have to fill out some paperwork first, right?” He looked at Dr. Cole. “Right? That’s standard, isn’t it? Address, medical history, health insurance…?”

“
Tim
.”

“What?
What
? Goddammit, did we just come here to add more to the profile or actually take a physical step forward?”

Once again, Morris and I were swapping stances. It was almost silly by now to think either one of us was committed to a particular method of pursuit. The only unanimous thing we consistently shared was our need to catch the bastard.

“Dr. Cole would remember anyone fitting our description, Tim,” I said. “He said he doesn’t.”

“How can it hurt to check? It’s possible he forgot.” He looked at Dr. Cole. “You can’t remember
everyone
, right?”

“I would be happy to go through all of my patient profiles for the past
two
years,” Dr. Cole said politely. “If I come across anything significant I can have it for you by the end of the day. Does that work?”

Morris looked at me, not Dr. Cole, when he said: “That would be very helpful. Thank you.”

“And if he does find something?” I said to Morris. “What will you do?”

“
What?
” Morris looked as though I asked him if he wanted to have my baby.

“Let’s say Dr. Cole goes into his files and pulls one that is uncanny; damn good chance it’s our guy. What would you do?”

“I’d pay him one hell of a visit,” Morris said.

“On what grounds?”

“How about the scene he caused at the strip club? We get the stripper to ID him; we get his DNA; boom, nailed.”

“For what? Attacking a stripper? Assaulting a bouncer? We want him for murder.”

Morris frowned hard. “We get the waitress at the coffee shop to ID him too. He was one of the last people to be seen with the West Chester student.”

“We don’t know that for sure. We don’t
have
an exact time on when he abducted that student.”

“Well, all of the above would at least give us enough for a warrant to search his place.”

“And if we find nothing? He’ll then know we’re on to him—maybe he disappears for good.”

“Not if we keep an eye on him.”

“For how long?”

Morris’ frown was now his whole face. “Do you want to catch him or not?”

“I do,” I said. “And if Dr. Cole does pull that uncanny file, I
would
want to keep an eye on him, but not with him knowing about it. And I don’t want to settle for a simple assault charge in a strip club. I want to get the asshole for each and every brutal act of torture and murder he committed.”

Morris waved a dejected hand at me and looked away. “Ah, it’s all hearsay anyway,” he said. “Dr. Cole might not find a thing in his files.”

“My point still stands though, Tim. We want him on murder, not assault.”

Morris was deflating by the second. “What about all the stuff he said to the stripper? Showing her his palm and all?”

I pursed my lips. “Come on, Tim, you know that’s got weak legs.”

“Well, then why the hell did we move heaven and earth casting a net to catch him after what he did at the strip club? If we’d gotten him, and we still might, we’d only have him on the assault charges anyway.”

“We
had
to; he’d just stabbed a man.”

“But we didn’t do it in hopes of catching a man who’d just stabbed someone; we did it in hopes of getting our guy.”

“He was drunk and on the run. If we
had
caught him and leaned on him hard enough, who knows what his addled brain might have confessed to?”

Morris went quiet for a moment, no doubt grudgingly swallowing what I fed him. I said it before: no matter how seasoned the listener might be, sometimes they needed to be reminded of the stinking obvious when frustration made you deaf to it all.

Finally, Morris said: “So Dr. Cole pulls the uncanny file, we all but know for certain it’s our guy, and all we’ll do is watch and wait for him to kill again.”

“We don’t necessarily have to wait,” I said.

Morris gave a humorless chuckle. “Set a trap, right?”

I shrugged and tried to appeal to Morris with a cheesy metaphor. “A fisherman doesn’t sit and wait for the fish to jump in his boat.”

Morris wasn’t having any of it. He just stood and extended his hand towards Dr. Cole. “Thanks again,” he said.

Dr. Cole stood and they shook hands. “My pleasure. I hope I was of some help to you both.”

Now I stood. “You were. Thank you, Dr. Cole—we really appreciate you making time for us.”

“Of course.” He led us to the door that emptied out into his exit room. “I’ll be in touch if I find anything in my patient files,” he said again.

Morris handed Dr. Cole a card with our number. Dr. Cole waved it off and held up his cell phone. “I have Maggie in here,” he said.

Morris nodded and put the card away.

We thanked him again and left.

Still, he couldn’t wait. If he couldn’t attend group, he could do the next best thing. He wasn’t really sure what he was going to tell Dr. Cole; he certainly wasn’t going to tell him who he was or what he’d done. What he wanted was to lay some groundwork.
Ask
about group—what kind of people were currently attending, what issues were being covered…was there anyone there worth getting excited about.

He would have to play this exceptionally cool. If he walked in there with an agenda, advertising the eagerness he felt, Dr. Cole would spot it instantly. Maybe not link him to being “The High Striker”—how could he?—but certainly spot an ulterior motive.

Dr. Cole opened his office door and stepped into the waiting room. Joe stood. Dr. Cole looked different than Joe remembered. In group he appeared so calm and in control, even during the odd outburst or breakdown from a group participant.

Now he looked unsure of himself, less in control.

You were a different man back then
, Joe immediately told himself.
Of course Dr. Cole looked more assured back then and less assured now. This is what it’s like when you meet up with people from your past life—they’re no longer better than you.

And the guys at the office?

Stop it. A minor setback is all it was. It was a minor setback and you’re going to start over and fix it. Fix
all
of it—starting now.

“Charlie?” Dr. Cole said with an extended hand.

Joe took his hand and shook it. “Do you remember me, Dr. Cole? I attended a few of your group sessions a while back.”

Dr. Cole gave what appeared to be a quick and courteous study of Joe—a slight tilt of the head, a slight squint of the eyes. Then: “I’m sorry, I don’t. Group has a very different structure than my private practice. People are always coming and going; pseudonyms; it’s tough to keep track.”

Joe waved a forgiving hand at him. “Ah, that’s okay—I was a different man back then. Didn’t talk much. Largely forgettable, you might say.”

“What happened?” Dr. Cole asked, gesturing to Joe’s face.

He’d expected this, and had a reply at the ready. “Cat,” he said with a smile. “Just adopted one. I guess you could say we’re still getting to know one another.”

Dr. Cole smiled back and stepped aside, gesturing towards his office. “Shall we?”

“You might be wondering why I came to you first as opposed to just going straight to group,” he said.

“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Dr. Cole said.

“I do.”

Dr. Cole sat quietly and waited.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for group,” Joe said. “I’m not sure”—
don’t sound too eager
—“there would be anyone there I might be able to relate to.”

“Care to elaborate?” Dr. Cole asked.

“Someone there with the same issues I have…someone I can identify with.”

“And what issues might those be?”

“Childhood stuff,” was all he said.

“Well, how are you to know if you don’t attend?” Dr. Cole asked.

Not too eager
. “Maybe you could tell me?”

“What would you like me to tell you, Charlie?”

Joe remained cautious. He knew he couldn’t attend group so soon, but the temptation was now a maddening itch. “If there are any other people in group that I might be able to identify with—you know, so I’m not wasting my time.”

Dr. Cole gave a partial shrug. “Only one way to find out, Charlie. We’re holding one this evening.”

Joe appeared to rub his chin in thought; in reality he was drawing blood on the inside of his cheek.

Dr. Cole then added: “Maybe you could elaborate a bit more about your reasoning for getting back in group, Charlie. If I have a better handle on your issues, perhaps I can tell you if there are any group regulars you could identify with.”

Joe brought his hand away from his face and began to nod, slow and unsure at first, and then faster and more certain as he ultimately decided it harmless to give just enough.

“My father,” he said. “He was a very demanding man.”

“Demanding how?”

“I could never please him.”

“Was he abusive?”

“Yes.”

“More physical or mental?”

“Both.”

“Was your mother in the picture?”

“Yes.”

“Was she abusive too?”

He struggled to hide his contempt. “She might as well have been.”

“I can see this is difficult for you to discuss, Charlie. And I think you’re correct in your assumption that it would be beneficial to listen to other members in group you can identify with. Again, you’ll only know if you attend.”

“It’s too soon.” The words were out of his mouth before he could consider better phrasing.

“Too soon?” Dr. Cole said.

“I just meant I’m not sure if I’m ready,” he said.

“You summoned the courage to see me.”

“Yeah…”

“I have no intention of pressuring you into anything, Charlie. However it seems as though your sole aim for our appointment today was to see if there were any members in group with whom you could empathize with.”

Joe felt a sudden pang of anxiety. Dr. Cole had spotted his agenda after all. But he’d only spotted his
surface
agenda, hadn’t he? He could never know his true reasoning behind that agenda—that was impossible. So just roll with it. Roll with the surface agenda. No harm in that.

“Is it that obvious?” he said, an intentional look of shame on his face.

“Obvious, yet hardly uncommon,” Dr. Cole said with a reassuring smile.

Joe’s anxiety melted away. The chuckle that escaped his mouth just then was involuntary, anything but intentional. “Still, I think it might be too soon,” Joe said. “I’m not sure I’m ready.” But oh how he was. He so was.

“I completely understand,” Dr. Cole said. “You come when you’re ready, Charlie.” Dr. Cole then paused, looked away as though trying to recall something.

“You okay?” Joe asked.

Dr. Cole snapped from his daze. “Yes, I’m sorry. I was just recalling something. Something from group the other night, as it happens.”

Joe leaned forward in his seat. “What was it?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t recall it sooner. As I said; people come and go in group—it’s not always easy to keep track of every little thing.” He then smiled and tapped his index finger against his temple. “That and the old noggin’ seems to leak more now than it used to.”

Joe’s chuckle this time was completely intentional. Short and forced. “I hear ya.” His tone next was a try at indifference. He studied a hangnail as he spoke to complete the act. “So, what happened in group?”

“Well, nothing happened, per say—just something I recalled. Our conversation here jogged it loose, I suppose.”

Out with it already, goddammit.
“Jogged what loose?” The struggle to keep the impatience out of his voice nearly found his feet, threatening to start them tapping.