Side Effects: An FBI Psychological Thriller (23 page)

“Yes,” Joe said.

“Are you with the FBI too?”

“I am, yes.”

“Does he have more than one partner?”

“Sometimes. Who was he with when he questioned you?”

“A woman—a redhead. They didn’t question me long. They were more interested in questioning Erin, another waitress. She served the guy.”

Joe remembered Erin well. The ungrateful bitch who made him look like an ass when he tried to tip her fifty bucks.

“So, how are things going?” the waitress asked. “Have you caught the guy yet?”

“No. We were close but…not anymore.”

“Well, I just finished my shift. Will you tell Agent Morris Jen Carr from the coffee shop in West Chester said hello?”

“I sure will.”

“We’re at an Applebee’s on City Line Avenue,” he said.

“He took you to City Line?”

“Yeah. Maybe he feels paranoid in the city after current events.”

“Or maybe he lives close by,” I said.

“Well it looks like I’m about to find out.”

“How’s that?”

“He invited me back to his place.”

“So he actually went for it.”

“Yup. He…” Morris trailed off.

“Tim?”

No answer.

“
Tim?
”

“Sorry—some girl was waving to me,” he said.

“What girl?”

“Not sure, I couldn’t get a good look. Forget it; she was probably waving to someone else.”

“What about your cover team?” I asked, getting back to it.

“They’ll make the adjustments, Mags. You know the drill.”

Yes, I did. An undercover doing a routine getting-to-know-you would have a handful of agents keeping an eye on him or her, as Morris had now. But when getting-to-know-you suddenly took a big leap in the relationship, that protective eye the cover team was keeping needed to become a great big eye in the sky. Literally.

“Air support?” I asked.

“If a serial killer is taking a UC back to his home? Yes, Mags, I would think so.”

I wanted to say he didn’t have to be a sarcastic dick about it, but I was too concerned for him. And I wanted to let him know. To tell him to be careful and all that. But Morris, like a lot of agents, is superstitious that way. Telling him to be careful is like telling an actor to break a leg before going on stage.

So instead, I came out with the Pulitzer Prize-winning: “Just catch him.”

“That’s the plan. Talk soon.” He hung up.

Joe had become a bit of an ace when it came to searching for what he wanted, having followed his own hunt intently over the past year to see if there had been any breaks in the case he should be aware of. Everything he’d followed thus far had been local police involvement up and down the east coast. Never had he come across any FBI involvement, though he wasn’t naïve enough to think there wasn’t any. His murders had crossed states lines. Still, the Bureau had apparently been doing what they did best; stayed invisible throughout.

Until now.

“Here we go,” Joe muttered to himself. His eyes sped over the pics and text of each link like a veteran journalist cranking through roles of microfiche.

A photo of Agent Morris (
Tim
was the bastard’s first name) outside the courthouse after testifying in the infamous “Cypher Slayer” case.

A photo of a pretty, no-nonsense-looking redhead (undoubtedly Morris’ partner the West Chester coffee girl had just alluded to) outside the same courthouse. Agent Margaret Allen. Apparently she was the primary catalyst in apprehending the “Cypher Slayer.”

Joe kept up a frantic scan, not quite sure what he was looking for now. He’d confirmed that Bob was indeed an FBI agent by the name of Tim Morris. Had confirmed that his partner was a redheaded woman by the name of Margaret Allen.

But so what?

What the hell was he going to do with this information? Wait until Agent Morris got back to the table and triumphantly state that the jig was up, “Bob” old buddy? Continue with the notion that he was ignorant to Agent Morris’ identity and try and get the drop on
him
, an FBI agent for Christ’s sake?

The next link Joe clicked made his mouth drop open.

A photo of Dr. Cole, standing outside the very same courthouse Agent Morris and Agent Allen had been. He’d testified in the very same Cypher Slayer case. And then more of the photo’s accompanying text that dropped Joe’s mouth further still: Dr. Cole’s wife had been murdered by the Cypher Slayer.

Joe’s head was a raging sea, thoughts drowning and surfacing, yet the survivors were loud and clear:

Dr. Cole’s wife was killed by the Cypher Slayer.

Agent Margaret Allen caught the Cypher Slayer.

Agent “Bob” Morris was Agent Margaret Allen’s partner.

And then a final, infuriating conclusion:

Dr. Cole had set him up.

“Sorry about that,” Agent Morris said as he plopped back down into his booth.

Joe nodded and casually tucked his phone away, blindly clicking off the screen he’d been searching beneath the table. “No problem,” he said. “Everything all right at home?”

“Yeah. Things are a little rough right now, the sleepwalking incident and everything. That’s why I took the call. Hope I wasn’t rude.”

“Not at all. Listen, man, I’m gonna have to cancel tonight. Something came up last minute.” He brought his phone out from under the table and showed it to Agent Morris.

Agent Morris frowned. “Everything okay?”

“Got some lady problems of my own,” Joe said. “I phoned while you were outside to tell her I couldn’t make it over tonight, that you and I were going to hang out instead, and she gave me shit for it. Don’t want to be in the doghouse, you know?” He shrugged with a helpless smile.

“That’s a shame,” Agent Morris said. “I was looking forward to it.”

I bet you were
, Joe thought. “I’m really sorry, man. What’s your schedule like tomorrow? I’m sure I can do it then.”

“I’m free,” Agent Morris said.

“How about I give you a call?”

“Sounds good.” Agent Morris waved over the waitress and asked for a pen. He jotted a number on a napkin and slid it across the table. Joe tucked the napkin into his pocket, wondering whose number it really was.

“Sorry about this,” Joe said again.

Agent Morris held up a hand. “No problem at all; I totally understand.” He then gestured to their beers. “We can at least finish our beers, can’t we?”

If he wanted to arrest you, he’d have done it by now. They don’t have anything. Be cool and go with it.

“Of course.” Joe smiled and they clinked necks again.

“Cheers,” Agent Morris said.

Joe thought of the notion of toasting to one’s health again. It was no longer amusing, but just as ironic.

“What’s wrong?” was my hello.

“It’s off,” he said. There was traffic in the background again. “He said something came up at the last minute. Girlfriend problems.”

“He’s got a girlfriend?” I asked.

“Apparently.”

“That’s odd.”

“Bundy had one. Gacy was married. So was Ridgway.”

“You don’t think it’s suspicious he cancelled so abruptly?” I asked.

“A little,” Morris said. “But he didn’t seem in a hurry to get out of there. I asked him if we could finish our beers before he left and he was okay with it.”

“Where is he now?”

“On his way to his girlfriend’s, I imagine.”

“Is the cover team following?”

“Don’t know. I imagine at least one car will follow him for a little bit.”

Something still didn’t feel right. I wasn’t buying the whole girlfriend thing all of a sudden.

“So what now?” I asked.

“He said we could meet up tomorrow. I gave him a number to reach me.”

“Well, this turned out to be a big nothing,” I said. “Are you just going to call it a night?”

“What would you like me to do, Mags?”

“I don’t know.” And I didn’t. After all the buildup, it felt like the whopping thirty seconds of my first time all over again, minus the backseat.

“I’ll swing by,” Morris said. “That okay?”

“Sure. What time?”

“Gimme about twenty minutes or so.”

They could still be there though, watching and waiting in the shadows.

And they would
always
be there, wouldn’t they? From now on, they would be watching, waiting for him to…

What? Waiting for him to do what? His suspicions at the restaurant rang just as true now: if they wanted to arrest him they’d have done so. They had him on assault at the strip club. They could easily bring him in and have the stripper identify him. The bouncer too. Except they weren’t. They weren’t because they wanted him for something bigger. They wanted him for who he really was. They wanted “The High Striker.” And it was now painfully obvious they were content to wait. Wait until he chose his next victim, catch him red-handed.

Did that mean it was all over? That his work was to come to an end tonight? The very thought was enough to nearly bring him to his knees in a plea to anyone or anything to make it not so. He couldn’t lose his life’s work. Not now; not when he was just starting over.

Questions swirled. Had he convinced Agent Morris that he wasn’t on to him? Yes, he thought so. He hadn’t made a mad dash for it when he found out who Agent Morris really was. He’d been damn cool, if he thought so himself. Staying to finish beers with Agent Morris when every fiber of his being was urging him to get the hell out of there. And the girlfriend story seemed believable enough. He’d never had a girlfriend before, but he knew enough about relationships to know that when your lady wanted you home, you went home, right?

And then there was Dr. Cole.

Dr. Cole had set him up. The son of a bitch sat there as cool as can be in group while Agent Morris pretended to be some poor schmuck

(
like you
)

looking for help from his fellow man.

No—not like me. Like I was. Not me now. Like I WAS
.

But it’s all over now. They’re on to you. You can’t start over anymore. It’s done. Back to who you once were, Jody, you fucking girl.

Fuck you. It’s not gonna happen. I won’t LET it happen.

You won’t, huh? I’m all ears.

Maybe it’s time to immortalize The High Striker.

You don’t have the balls.

We’ll see.

“You really buying the whole girlfriend-suddenly-calling thing?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe. Part of the cover team followed him for a bit. He wasn’t erratic in his driving. He seemed pretty composed in the restaurant. If he was suspicious, he did a hell of a job concealing it.”

I grunted.

Morris splayed his hands. “What do you want me to say, Mags? You’re the head cheerleader when it comes to bringing him in for the murders. If we want that—and want it to work—we have to wait.”

“You think he’ll call tomorrow like he said?”

“I don’t see why not. ‘Bob’ is too tantalizing a prospect to discard.”

I grunted again. Him Tarzan; me Jane.

“You talk to Dr. Cole?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“We left for the restaurant in the middle of group. I figured he might be curious if all was well.”

I looked at the clock on my wall. “They’re probably just wrapping up. Should I call?”

Morris was focused on an infomercial for copper bracelets when he said: “Sure.”

I was searching for Dr. Cole’s name in my contacts when my phone did its doorbell ding-dong alert, letting me know I had a text.

“Speak of the devil,” I said.

“That him?”

“Yeah.” I read his text. “Group let out. He wants us to swing by if we can.”

“Good timing. I don’t need a copper bracelet.”

I replied:
Be there in 20.

We entered the one lit classroom.

A click and it was suddenly dark like the others.

Morris said: “What the—?” but got no further. I heard him grunt then drop.

“
Tim?
”

No reply.

Blind movement behind me now. I spun in the darkness, shuffled backwards and tumbled over a body.

The lights clicked back on. A man was pointing a gun down at me. The body I’d tumbled over was Morris.

“You said twenty minutes,” the gun holder said. A lead-weighted leather sap dangled in his non-gun hand. “You’re late.”

I swallowed hard.

“Get up.”

I checked Morris first. He was alive but unconscious.

“
Get up.
”

I did.

He took a step towards me, gun raised, barrel now inches from my face.

“You must be Agent Margaret Allen,” he said. “The one who caught the Cypher Slayer.”

“Yes.”

“Think you’ll catch
me
?”

He caught me behind the ear with the sap and I joined Morris on the floor.