Side Effects: An FBI Psychological Thriller (11 page)

Now we were hoping to test my theory.

“So, have you given any thought to what this one’s phobia might be?” Morris asked on the drive to West Chester.

“Assuming my theory is correct.”

“You seemed pretty damn certain the other night at the motel.”

“If you’d had the dream I had, you’d feel pretty certain too.”

“So…” he said. “Thoughts on this one’s phobia then?”

“I have no idea. How could I? It could be fear of clowns for all I know.”

“Lots of people are afraid of clowns. You might be right.”

I didn’t say anything.

“We should be going to the crime scene in Coatesville so you can do your Spiderman stuff,” Morris said, “not where the kid went to school.”

The student’s body had been discovered in the trunk of his own car in Coatesville, Pennsylvania, about twenty miles west of West Chester University. The body was only discovered after neighborhood kids playing nearby complained of the smell.

“The crime scene is likely only a dumping spot,” I said. “Besides, Coatesville PD was thorough—they didn’t get anything.”

“Yeah, I read the file—doesn’t mean
you
wouldn’t get something. That’s the whole point of this…experiment, isn’t it? Local PD got nothing at the makeshift grave in upstate PA, and then you come along and suddenly we’ve got a microfiber cloth and the very strong possibility that our guy’s trophies are film or video.”

“We got lucky with the grave in upstate PA because our guy was interrupted doing his thing. That won’t be the case with the prior five. Our guy’s too careful to just leave their bodies on the spot when he’s finished with them.”

“He left the homeless guy.”

“After setting him on fire in the hope that there’d be nothing left by the time he was found.”

“If he hadn’t been interrupted in upstate PA, our guy would have probably buried number six on the spot,” he said.

“Right—” I said, feeling as though Morris had no heart in his own debate, but was just using (and annoying) me so he could think aloud. “
Buried
him. Who knows when he’d have been found, if ever.”

“So you think digging around the university is the way to go.”

“I think questioning students and professors is a good start, yes.”

“Local PD already did that. No leads.”

“Maybe they didn’t ask the right questions.”

“Like what? What was he afraid of?”

“Yes,” I said straight-faced, despite Morris’ hint of sarcasm.

Morris went quiet for a minute. Then: “You know even if we do manage to find out about some kind of phobia with this victim, or
any
of the victims, what does it really give us?”

I frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said. What does it give us?”

“Our guy has to find out about these victims’ phobias somehow, right?” I said. “I’d say finding his method would be a damn good lead, wouldn’t you?”

“He only needed to ask the homeless guy.”

“After drugging him. And we’ve already agreed that Hal was an exception to his type—a one-night stand. Much as it kills me to say, the bastard got lucky Hal was as terrified of fire as he was. We need to focus on the other six if we want to see his typical methodology at work.”

Morris went quiet for another minute. Then: “You ever figure out the cuffs with Hal? Why our guy didn’t put them on his victim when he had him unconscious? He shackled him, but no cuffs.”

“Honestly? I think cuffing Hal was
part
of the fantasy for that particular one. Our guy had to improvise with Hal to make it worthwhile.”

“So cuffing all the others was to immobilize, but for Hal it was to…?”

“It was
ultimately
to immobilize, but there was more to it than that. I think our guy—ugh, and I’m going to use one of your perverted metaphors again—was doing everything possible to get his rocks off with such short notice. Like I said, his finding out about Hal’s fear of fire was a bonus, but it still wasn’t enough; he needed more. So I think he wanted to scare a man with no life-leverage so intently he could make him his slave. It was a total power trip.”

“So, he’s taking chances, growing bolder,” Morris said.

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe just for that one. Remember, Hal was atypical.”

“So, going back to the other six victims, finding our guy’s method of discovering their phobias…”

“Yeah?”

“You think he’d be dumb enough to use the same method each time?”

“We can hope.”

Morris grunted.

“What?”

“
Everyone
has phobias, Mags. Yours is claustrophobia. Mine’s my ex-wife. There are millions of ways he could have found out.”

“Any old phobia won’t do,” I said. “It has to be extreme. Our guy
chooses
these victims, Tim. He researches them like a project. There had to be something special about this college kid—that’s why our guy chose him.”

“So, find the phobia, and then more importantly, find out who knew about it and how.”

“More or less.”

Morris grunted again.

Morris and I didn’t waste time asking all the rudimentary questions about Douglas Caley—strange behavior, enemies, etc.—as local PD had already done a solid investigation and given us anything we could use, which, unfortunately, was little.

So we got right down to it.

“Were you aware of any phobias the victim might have had? Nothing casual, but debilitating phobias?”

We got plenty of curious eyebrows, but no affirmative nods.

Until the last one (of course). The victim’s roommate during his sophomore year. Andy Wells. Typical college kid whose priorities were in a bong, a bottle, or his pants.

“Terrified of dogs,” Andy Wells said. “I mean
terrified
.”

“Why do you say it like that?” Morris asked.

“We lived across the street—Dean Street—from these five girls, and they were all cute, but there was one in particular—Carla Bent—that every guy in our house wanted. I mean she was smokin’ hot. We all tried, but you know, she wasn’t interested in any of us.”

I took a stab as to where this was going. “Except for Douglas.”

The kid gave a startled frown, as though I’d read his mind. “Right,” he said, still frowning curiously. “She liked Doug.”

“So what was the problem?” Morris asked.

“Nothing at first. They dated and the lucky guy got to hit that—uh…he got to date her for a while.”

I often forgot how chock-full of primates college was. “What happened?” I asked. “Why did they split?”

“Carla bought a dog,” he said. “One of those stupid little toy things you see celebrities carrying around in their purse.”

“Doug was afraid of it?” Morris asked.

Andy Wells gave an incredulous snort. “Yup. I’ll never understand it. I mean,
Carla Bent
?” He snorted again. “She could have bought one of those face-sucking things from
Alien
as a pet and I wouldn’t have cared.”

“So, what happened?” I asked.

“Doug broke up with her. Didn’t give a reason or anything, just something typical like it wasn’t working out or whatever.”

“How’d you get the truth out?” Morris asked. “I imagine being afraid of a tiny little dog wasn’t something he willingly shared.”

“We were all wasted one night. Doug was hammered, and I mean
hammered
. So we’re all talking and we wanted to know why on earth he would dump someone like Carla. Looking back now, I guess he could have said anything, but like I said, he was wasted. So, he told us the truth. Apparently, he was attacked by a dog as a kid and it scarred him for life.”

I looked at Morris. “Autopsy report say anything about old wounds? Bites?”

Morris shook his head.

“So what happened after that?” I asked Andy.

“He didn’t remember telling us the next day. One of our roommates—John Turner—happily reminded Doug though. Happily reminded
everyone
. John had a serious thing for Carla.”

“How did Doug take the news?” Morris asked.

“He kinda closed himself off after that. He stopped hanging with us, and then eventually moved out.”

“He was your roommate,” I said. “Didn’t you try and talk to him?”

“We were boys, but we weren’t
that
close. I tried talking to him a couple of times, but he just said he didn’t want to talk about it, so…you know…” He splayed his hands as if to suggest he’d done all he could have done at the time.

“He never suggested he was going to try and get help for his phobia?” Morris asked.

“Not to me,” Andy said. His curious frown came suddenly back. “Does this have anything to do with him being killed?”

“We’re still looking into that. Thank you for your time.”

“Pretty extreme phobia if you ask me,” I said.

“Forsaking the hot girl on campus because of a little doggy? I’d say you’re right.”

“We should call the boy’s home to confirm the dog-attack story with his parents. There might be more to it.”

Morris nodded in agreement.

“Can I see the file again?” I asked.

He handed it to me.

I found what I was looking for in the autopsy report. “Here,” I said. “They found both dog hair and saliva on the victim. Three different breeds. No bites.” I looked up from the file.

“I know,” he said. “I got excited at first too when the kid said dogs. But Mags, that could have come from anywhere…strays after he was dumped.”

“He was dumped in the trunk of a car. Were the strays in there with him?”

“Could have been when he was being dragged to the trunk after he was dead. Dog fur is like glue. I guarantee you I’ve got a pair of pants in my closet somewhere with my sister’s dog’s hair on them.”

“Hair
and
saliva? And from three different breeds?”

“Why no bites?” Morris asked. “If he really wanted to scare him, why no bites?”

“No idea. Maybe crowding him and licking him was enough. You ever been around an excited dog? They can get pretty unruly.”

“Or maybe if he got dogs that would bite, our guy would have been afraid they’d kill the victim before
he
got his chance.”

“Maybe.”

Morris went quiet in thought for a moment. Then: “So, what’s the next move, hotshot?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I stand by my previous statement that everyone has at least some type of phobia, but what are the odds that in a university of 15,000 students our victim just happened to have a phobia so debilitating? Your fear theory is looking more and more solid.”

“I agree. But why are you asking me about the next move? I’m the consultant.”

“With superhero powers and psychic dreams. Maybe we hit up another bar? You can have whiskey instead of wine this time.”

I felt like punching him. “That’s not funny, Tim. Those dreams hurt.”

Morris held up a hand, acknowledging that he’d crossed the line. “I’m sorry, Mags. Me asking you the next move is just my way of saying you’ve been invaluable thus far. I’d still be pulling my hair out over this if you hadn’t agreed to help.”

I looked at his notoriously depleting hairline. “Looks like I came just in time.”

He chuckled and nodded with an expression that said
I walked into that one
—
and deserved it.

“So, we can confirm victim seven and victim five had extreme phobias,” he said.

“Victim seven won’t help with our guy’s methodology for choosing,” I said.

“So, until we get an ID on victim six in upstate PA and are able to start confirming some sort of claustrophobic or being-buried-alive kind of phobia, then we only have victim five here,” he said. “Maybe I take it back about your theory looking more and more solid.”

“And your comment about the odds that among 15,000 students, the victim just happened to have a debilitating phobia of dogs?”

Morris pursed his lips for a moment. “Those
are
pretty slim odds. Tyson/Douglas odds.”

“And Douglas won,” I said with a prideful smirk.

Morris looked truly impressed. “
Whoa
.”

“Three brooding brothers and a father who settled all arguments with his fists? I wager I could school you in boxing history. And football. And beer—”

Morris held up a hand. “I get it. So do we move on to victim four?”

“I’d like to know if Douglas Caley sought treatment for his phobia,” I said. “Maybe local PD can help us with that.”

“He might have done it online,” Morris said. “Everything’s online today. And if he was as ashamed of his phobia as it sounded, he would likely seek anonymity.”

“Anonymity online is good for taking the first steps about admitting and sharing and whatnot,” I said, “but if he wanted actual help—actual treatment—it would have to be hands-on.”

“Our guy wouldn’t care about all that. He just wants to find them, find their phobias. He can do that online.”

“Then how does he find them; I mean
really
find them? If the kid wants anonymity he’s not going to offer up anything personal like where he lives and such.”

Morris nodded slowly in thought.

“Maybe our guy wins his trust somehow,” I added. “Offers to meet up for a cup of coffee or something someday, swap phobias.”

Morris groaned. “You suggesting digging through the internet?”

“Amy Crane—tech analyst in the Baltimore field office. She could do it in a day, with her toes.”

“Yeah, I know Amy.”

“In the meantime, we can have West Chester PD check out local support groups,” I said. “Have them show Douglas’ picture around and see if he attended any.”

“You think our guy would go as far as to sit in on meetings up and down the east coast in order to find victims?”

“Don’t you?”

Morris sighed. “Yeah.” He then looked out the window and said, “In the meantime?”