The Therapist

Chapter 2

The security officer was making his rounds. A criminal justice major at a nearby college he was excited about his new job. It would look good on his resume. He noticed the black Chevy Impala still sitting in the far corner of the parking lot. The last store had closed hours ago. All the employees had left. Maybe somebody had car trouble and caught a ride with a co-worker.

Being new he figured to check it out. If something came of it later he didn’t want his superiors to ask him why he hadn’t checked on it. He drove across the lot. There wasn’t much light where the car was.

He pulled up on the driver’s side and got out. It was a warm night. There was a slight breeze making bits of paper dance around the parking lot. A few cars moved slowly through the city streets. Their headlights lights illuminated the brick buildings rising above them. A city bus shifting gear startled him and brought his attention back to the Chevy Impala.

At first look, it didn’t appear there was anyone in the car. He wondered if he should mention the bad lighting to his supervisor. He walked to the driver’s side door. The windows were tinted so he bent down cupping his right hand over his eyes and looked in. Jesus Christ! His head flew back and he stumbled, caught himself. A man was on the front seat lying on his right side.

He stepped back towards the car, knocked on the window. “Hey, pal! Can you hear me?” Guy must be passed out, he thought. “Hey, pal! It's late you need to move along.” He thought he should probably call the police. But what if the guy was just asleep? They’d think he was stupid for not trying to wake him first. Just a stupid rookie, they’d say.

He reached down and checked the door. It was unlocked. He opened it. “Hey pal; it’s time to wake up!” The man was wearing a red windbreaker and lying between the counsel and the gearbox on the floor. He reached down and touched the guy’s jacket. Jesus! He pulled his hand back and noticed it had blood on it. The guy was dead. Son of a bitch! He opened his own passenger door and grabbed the radio.

“This is Spinner three to dispatch, Spinner three to dispatch!” “This is dispatch Spinner three, go ahead.” “Hey, this is Jim Walton I got a dead guy here. You have to send somebody here now!” “Slow down Jim. Where is here?” “I’m in the Downtown Plaza parking lot. Jesus! I thought he was asleep. I shook him and got blood all over my hand.” “Is he dead Jim?” “Shit, I just told you I had a dead guy here.

Call the police, this is creeping me out.” He looked at his watch. It was ten minutes past eleven. “Okay, I’m calling them right now. “Don’t touch anything,” the dispatcher said. “Just keep the area secure.” “Okay. But hurry up.” Keep the area secure, he thought, “it’s not like a lot of people are hanging around a car in a parking lot in the middle of the night,” Walton said to no one. The minutes passed. Ten minutes seemed like an hour. “Jim this is dispatch.” “Go ahead dispatch.” “The police are on their way.

The Investigative Unit has been called too and paramedics.” “Paramedics, look this guy doesn’t need paramedics. He doesn’t need anything but a body bag. Son of a bitch, didn’t you hear me, this guy is dead.” “I heard you, Jim. This is just standard procedure.” “Standard procedure, how many times have you got a call about a dead body?”

There was a slight hesitation on the line and then he heard, “This is a first but the officers told me I had to dispatch paramedics too. So I did it.” “Okay, I’ve got to go. I hear sirens.” Jesus Christ. He was going to find a different job.

The first car came in with sirens on and lights flashing. It was a town cop. Manchester Police Department was written on the side. The car behind it was a black Crown Victoria. Two guys in plain clothes got out. “Shut those lights and siren off,” the driver said. “We’ll need crowd control soon enough.”

People liked the macabre. It was human nature. No point getting mad at them. Just keep them back far enough. The young kid stood by the Spinner Security Car looking towards the dead guy. “Are you the guy who found him?” “Yeah; I took this job to get a little experience. I didn’t want to see this.”

“I’m Detective Johnson with the State Criminal Investigation Unit.” He was looking at the scene, looking for a struggle, didn’t see any signs of one on the outside of the car. “I’m Jim Walton. I go to school at Carlyle. He’s lying across the front seat.”

“Have you touched anything?” This came from the other detective. He was looking through the passenger’s window. Both of them were wearing black suits with ties. The one who spoke to him first, Johnson, was older, he seemed to be in charge. “That’s Detective Roberts,” Johnson said.

A siren blared and they all looked toward the road. “We’re going to need a Coroner too,” Roberts said to his partner. “Have the local cop call it in,” Johnson said. “Did you touch anything,” Johnson asked him this time? “The door handle and the back of his jacket. Once I saw blood on my hand I called it in and haven’t gone near the car again.”

“Did you notice if there was a newspaper article tapped on the dashboard?” “Newspaper article, I didn’t see one, why?” “Car is parked in a poorly lit area. No signs of a struggle, it’s becoming a familiar scene.” “Are you going to check him out,” Roberts asked?

“Crime Lab will be here in a minute along with the paramedics and hopefully the Coroner, then we’ll process the scene,” Johnson responded. He knew they had a serial killer on their hands. The killer would think of himself as some sort of avenging angel. Maybe he was. But you just couldn’t have people going around killing other people. No matter what the reason.

He put on a pair of gloves and opened the car door. He’d seen a lot of dead bodies over the years. Yet he always looked at them and wondered if they knew something now that he didn’t. The guy was about five-nine, hundred eighty pounds. He shined his flashlight on the driver’s seat. There was a small hole about chest high. It was the same guy all right. The newspaper clipping would tell him who the dead guy was.

He unlocked the passenger’s door from the inside and then walked around the car and opened it. He shined his light on the floor. A piece of paper was under the guy’s hand. When he died his body slid to the right and pulled the paper off the dashboard. It would be a newspaper article describing the sexual assault committed by the dead man lying here.

He gently slid the piece of paper from under the guy’s hand. He knew the scene would be clean. They’d found nothing at the previous two scenes over the last three months. Closing the door he shined the light on the article, Man Get Six Months for Molesting Seven Year Old Boy. Down below the story began, Steve Grabben thirty-one was convicted of…He held the piece of paper up and said, “Jed.”

Roberts looked up, “I thought as much. The car was parked in the dark corner of the lot, with no signs of a struggle. This victim’s a perp.” “Steve Grabben,” Johnson said. “Want to look him up?” “Sure, it will take just a minute.” He went to their car and clicked Google Chrome. Clicked on bookmark and then hit registry. He typed in Steve Grabben.

The dead guy's face flashed out at him. He had five priors and was thirty-two years old. Served time and went through sex offender treatment. He was considered low risk. Treatment! Jesus, it was hard not to be angry. Treatment and how did you judge if you were successful. Let them go and hope they didn’t do it again.

Well, he hadn’t convinced the Therapist. Johnson had come up with the name after the second dead predator showed up. The guy doing this clearly didn’t feel treatment worked. Must feel the only therapy that was guaranteed was Grabben’s death. He closed out and went over to Johnson.

They were all here now the crime lab, paramedics, and more local police to act as crowd control. The crowd was growing and the press was here. All present but the coroner. “Well,” Johnson asked? “Bingo. Thirty-two, did treatment, five convictions, and out on good behavior. The therapist didn’t believe it apparently.” Johnson laughed. “So it would appear.” “Hey, Detective Johnson, do you think this is the work of the same guy?”

Johnson looked at Roberts, cocked his head, smirked, said, softly, “Damn reporters, did anyone say someone had been murdered?” Turning to the reporter he said, “We’re not even sure of the cause of death yet. Let us do our job and when we’re finished we’ll give a statement,” Johnson responded. “But it looks like the same scenario as the last two killings doesn’t it?” “We’ll give you guys a statement when we have completed analyzing the scene,” Johnson said again. “Jed, where’s the god damn Coroner?” “I think I just saw him pulling in. The paramedics say the guy’s dead.” Johnson gave a little chuckle, “Really,” he said. Roberts shrugged.

The coroner was Mark Thomas. Over the years they had viewed a lot of the same dead bodies. As Thomas approached he asked, “Where have you been?” “Sorry Dave, I was on the mountain having dinner with my wife and friends. Takes a few minutes to excuse ones-self and get going. You of all people understand that.”

“Yeah I know, but I’ve got reporters screaming questions already and the crowd keeps getting bigger. I hear people talking about a serial killer. You know how rumors spread through this city,” Dave said. “Rumors, I’ve been at the same two killings you’ve been at over the last few months.

This scene looks strangely reminiscent of them.” “Yeah, I found the article underneath the guy’s hand. Steve Grabben, five convictions. Last time he was given six months. He did three and out on good behavior.” “Who do you think this guy is Dave?” “I don’t know. Maybe a victim, relative of a victim, mother, father, uncle, or maybe someone just sick of reading about these guys in the paper and how leniently they are treated after the sick things they do.” “Not showing a lot of sympathy for the dead guy Dave.”

“I don’t have any sympathy for him. A lot of people will find out who he was and say he got what was coming to him. Maybe they’re right. No matter, my job is to find out who’s doing it.” The boys with the Crime Lab had shown up. The local cop had taped off the crime scene and was writing down who was entering, at what time, and when they were leaving. A good man he thought. Thomas was checked into the scene. He walked to the car.

The man was lying on his right side eyes open. He checked the wound. The weapon entered just right of the spine and under the shoulder blade. There was no exit wound. An autopsy would reveal that the lungs were punctured and death occurred within minutes. He looked at his watch and marked the time as eleven fifty-five pm. September 2, 2011.

The man had been dead less than three hours. He saw no other signs of wounds on the body. No bruises to the hands, no signs of a struggle. He must have been unaware of what was going to happen and his killer struck quickly. He completed his inspection noting outside temperature, the temperature of the body, and the position it was in.

Thirty minutes later he had what he needed and filled out the necessary papers so the body could be moved. “Okay Dave, I’m done here. I’ll go back and file my report. I’d estimate the time of death was between nine and nine-thirty. Rigor mortise has just started to set in.

Death was quick, a couple of minutes at most. How long you think you can keep the press from publishing the fact that this guy is killing sex offenders.” “How do you know it’s a guy? So far there’s no reason to believe that a woman couldn’t have killed these three. They were killed from behind, with no signs of a struggle. A woman could have done it,” Johnson said. “Maybe, I’d be surprised though, I’ll get my report to your office in the morning. Goodnight Dave.” “Goodnight Mark, sorry about the dinner thing.” He smiled. “You know how it goes Dave, just part of the job.”

Dave turned, “How’s it going, Jed?” “They’re going to be here a while, they haven’t found anything yet. If the killer keeps true to form we won’t. Look, Dave, why don’t you go home and catch a few hours of sleep, when you wake up call me. I’ll cover here and give the press whatever we find.” “Alright,” Johnson said. “I don’t think the press is going to keep our secret under wraps any longer,” Roberts replied. “When they find out this guy is on the registry, the public is going to know that someone is killing sex offenders.”

“Who knows Jed, maybe that will scare some of them and we’ll get some information. God knows we’re going to need to catch a break. Are you going to be able to catch a ride?” “Don’t worry about me Dave, I already called Hill, just get some sleep.” “Thanks, Jed. I’ll see you in a few hours.”