The Killer Trail (17 page)

Marilyn gave him a worried look. “Chris, be careful. He wouldn't think twice about coming after you.”

“I know.”
I'm counting on it.

THIRTY-THREE

Friday, February 17, 9:33 a.m.
C.L. walked into his office, closed the door, and placed a call to his trusted henchman Pierce Hennessy.

Hennessy picked up. “Yeah?”

“What have you got for me?” C.L. asked, an impatient edge to his voice.

“Sir, we've been searching Woodland Park, but we haven't had any luck in finding the cell phone.”

“Well, what are you doing standing there?” C.L. snapped. “Don't leave that bloody park until you've ripped it apart and have that phone in your hands.”

“I'll make sure we do that, sir, but I'm beginning to think it's not here.”

C.L.'s face hardened. “I'm not paying you to think. I'm paying you to do what I say. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir, it's clear.”

Just thinking about the cell phone made C.L.'s face hot with anger. He'd considered the possibility that the phone was in the possession of the police, but his inside sources at the RCMP confirmed they didn't have it. That left only a few possibilities remaining, and he weighed the options available to him for retrieving it.

“I want your men to stay at the park. Maybe I'll get lucky and one of your goons will stumble upon the phone.” C.L. paused. “Do whatever you have to do. Just find out whether Ray Owens or Chris Ryder has it.”

“I can take them both out if you want,” Hennessy boasted, eager to please his boss.

Careful not to be heard outside his office, C.L. responded in a low but cold voice, “I don't care what you do to them as long as that phone ends up in my hands. And soon.” He hung up.

C.L. looked admiringly at the reflection in his mirror. He adjusted his crimson tie before getting on with his busy day.
Knock 'em dead.

THIRTY-FOUR

Friday, February 17, 10:30 a.m.
Chris closed his door behind Marilyn and returned a call to Sergeant Ryan, who was now leading the investigation into the assault on Paul Butler.

“Ray is behind this, Brandon. I know he is!” he said with disgust.

“I don't doubt you. The problem is, we need proof. None of the patients are willing to talk with us about it. Either because no one observed anything, or—”

“I know,” Chris said in a tired, I've-heard-it-all-before voice. “Patients won't talk out of fear of being labeled a rat for reporting on a fellow patient. Or else they're scared shitless of Ray.”

“Well, whatever the reason, we have very little to go on right now. And we haven't been able to interview Paul yet.”

“Ray used Paul as bait to get to me. I'm just as responsible for Paul's beating. That's what pisses me off.” He ran through his recent confrontations with Ray, including Ray's continued use of the bizarre phrase:
You're not out of the woods yet.
“Hell, he even used that phrase in the letter he gave Paul to deliver to me.”

“Pretty resourceful, isn't he?”

“Resourceful, nothing. He's diabolical—that's what he is.”

“And I thought my job was tough. Tell me something, Chris, why do you do this kind of work, with psychos like Owens trying to avoid jail by pretending to be insane? Aren't all your patients trying to do the same thing? It just makes me a bit weary of the whole insanity plea.”

“I do it, Brandon, because I believe in the work. The greatest majority of patients I work with are not trying to fake anything—they're legitimately mentally ill. And it's rewarding to see how well they do with a bit of help.” He paused, sensing that Brandon was still skeptical. “But you're right. Ray is one of those rare few trying to make a joke of the mental health system. Unfortunately, it's the Rays of the world that the general public reacts against, thinking that most patients are like him. The shame is that the forensic system works! The assessment weeds out those fakers like Ray who are trying to manipulate the courts. But if the public loses faith in the system... it's... it's like what you said about finding the justice in the justice system, people will assume it's all corrupt. And if that happens, it leads to... chaos.”

The sergeant reflected for a moment before responding, “Not if we have anything to say about it, right, buddy?”

“We've got to try. I guess that's the best we can do and maybe it's enough to stop Ray.”

“So what's the status with his assessment? Anything you can share with me?”

Chris told him about the psychiatric assessment being conducted by Dr. Stevenson, as well as the referral to Psychology for testing for psychopathy.

“So what kind of things are on this Psychopathy Checklist?”

“There are twenty items, including manipulation, lack of remorse, callousness, failure to accept responsibility, poor behavioural control. We believe Ray will rate high along several of them. We also think he'll be a high risk for recidivism with small likelihood for rehabilitation.”

“Which pretty much means he can't be helped, right?”

“That's a hot issue right now. Unlike people with mental illnesses who respond well to medication and other forms of treatment, the research isn't clear when it comes to the usefulness of treatment for psychopaths. Programs like group therapy are offered, with the aim of helping psychopathic individuals gain insight and awareness into human vulnerability. Problem is, many of them choose instead to manipulate their new skills to find even more sophisticated ways of inflicting pain and suffering on others. Some for the pure thrill of it.”

“So that explains why Crown is pushing to have Ray declared a dangerous offender. To keep him off the street as long as we can.”

“Yeah, trouble is, that type of sentencing is also generating controversy. Research suggests psychopathic behaviour can be linked to faulty wiring in the brain. That has some people questioning whether psychopaths should be held accountable to the same degree as offenders who don't have these brain abnormalities.”

“Jesus, Chris. Owens would have a field day with that twisted logic—capitalizing on the legal loopholes, all the while adding to his list of victims. Yet the longer he's with you guys, the more damage he does with your vulnerable patients like Paul Butler. He's like a fox in a henhouse!”

Chris was tired of talking about Ray Owens and decided to switch to a lighter subject. “That's an east coast accent isn't it, Brandon?”

“Damn straight. Newfoundland, born and bred,” he laughed.

“So what brought you out to the other side of the country? Family?”

Brandon went silent. “No, it's just me these days.” It was as if a dark memory had started to surface in Brandon's mind, but before Chris could probe further, Brandon quickly changed the subject. “Listen Chris, I was hoping to talk to you about Elizabeth Carrier.”

“Have there been any updates on her?”

“No. We issued a statement that tips have been coming in, but no solid leads.”

“Ray is connected. He has to be, somehow.”

“Yeah, but it's the
how
that we need to prove—with solid evidence. And Chris, I sure could use that cell phone. It might give us the break we've been looking for. Any chance of you going up there with me to locate it?”

“Okay,” Chris sighed. “My last visit to Woodland Park didn't go so well. But I'll try again.”

The rest of Chris' day was taken up with patient meetings, and he was grateful for the healthy distraction they provided from his dark thoughts of Ray. At five o'clock, as he was getting ready to leave for the day, his phone rang. Call display indicated only that the call originated from the hospital switchboard. He picked up the receiver. “Hey, Ryder. Remember me?”

Chris instantly recognized Ray's voice. “How did you get my number?”

“Give me some credit. How hard do you think it is to get your number, or anyone's number for that matter? Like, let's say, Stephanie Rowe's?”

Chris froze. How did Ray know about Stephanie?

“You still there, Ryder? Or do I have to send a search party out for you?” Ray's laugh was menacing.

“What do you want, Ray?” Chris felt his heart pounding.

“I want a lot of things, Ryder. Starting with my fucking phone.”

Chris paused and took a deep breath, not wanting to let on that Ray was getting to him. Then it struck him. Maybe it was time to bait Ray for a change. “Why do you need your phone? It's not like you're going to be needing it anytime soon.”

“Don't get smart with me, Ryder. Or maybe my next call will be to your new girlfriend. Goddamn, she's a nice package. Wouldn't that be something if we both fucked her? Then we'd have something else in common.” He laughed maniacally.

At the thought of Ray touching Stephanie, Chris panicked. He tried desperately to divert the direction of the conversation. “What makes you think I have the phone?”

“Just how stupid do you think I am, Ryder? I know the cops don't have it 'cause they'd be all over me by now if they did. So that means either you have it or it's still out there on that trail. Either way, you have access to it. So how about we make a deal?”

“What's so important about your phone? Are you afraid your contacts will incriminate you?”

“Incriminate? Look where the fuck I am. All because of you!”

Yes!
Chris thought triumphantly.
I'm getting to him. Shot
in the dark time.
“Or maybe, Ray, you're afraid your phone will implicate you in Elizabeth Carrier's disappearance?”

“Nice try, Ryder, but I'm not biting. You'll have to solve that one without me. So do we have a deal or what?”

“Why would I want to make a deal with you?”

Ray gave a sinister laugh. “Because I can make your life a living hell, Ryder, that's why. On the other hand, you give me what I want, maybe no one else gets hurt.”

“What are you talking about, Ray?” But Chris knew exactly what he was talking about.

“How's your friend Paul? I heard he had an accident.”

Chris' face was burning. He wanted to run down to Alpha unit and squeeze the life out of Ray with his own hands.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Ryder. Did I say something to upset you?”

Chris had passed his threshold for restraint and let go with a fury. “I hope—I pray—I get the chance to stand face to face with you again. I'll tear you apart! I swear to God I will!”

Ray responded in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone. “You know, Ryder, when we first met, you looked professional, you spoke professional, and you acted professional. But I knew deep down you weren't that different from me. Listening to you now, I can't tell you how great it makes me feel to hear the changes in you. I—”

“What are you rambling about, Ray?”

“You're changing, Ryder,” Ray laughed. “You're becoming more... like me. We'll talk again, real soon. I really feel a connection.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Friday, February 17, 5:35 p.m.
As he drove home, Chris was furious with himself for letting Ray get the better of him. He tried to distract himself with pleasant thoughts of this evening's visit with Ann Marie and his date with Stephanie later on. But he couldn't see them in his agitated state. He needed a run before he went anywhere or did anything else.

Running at Woodland Park was not an option. He couldn't even think about that trail without becoming almost paralyzed with anxiety. He'd have to go back there soon to retrieve the cell phone, but it wasn't going to be today. Today's run would stick to the streets of his own neighbourhood.

Chris quickly changed into his running gear, grabbed his iPod, and searched through his playlists until he found the one he was looking for, the one titled “Fuck It All.” He pressed play, and the Matthew Good Band began singing about being indestructible. He cranked up the volume and raced out of his building and into the night.