The Profiler Chapter 1

The Profiler

Chapter 1


John Carter watched Roger Meeks stop the audio disc and stared at the playback unit as if it held the key to what was expected of him.  Although he sensed Roger’s need for any reaction other than the indifference he felt, he could not muster up an appropriate one.  After several moments of awkward contemplation, Roger took the initiative.
“So you got nothing to say about what you just heard?”  He did not wait for a response and John was thankful.  “I know that you new guys are heartless, but, nothing, no reaction at all.”
He understood Roger’s frustration.  The graduates the academy put out these days were trained to be impartial to a fault, blanks to be molded into whatever was deemed necessary.  The latest recruitment procedures reflected this philosophy by the inclusion of questionnaires designed to test each candidate’s objectivity.  Those who exhibited too much free will and rational thought were rejected, while those with a shortage of these undesirable traits were accepted.  Then there were those few individuals on the cusp who were given the opportunity to prove themselves as probationary recruits.  Most of the time, members of this latter group were kicked out for one fabricated reason or another once they began to question their superiors.  There was simply no room for a conscience in the new order.
John didn’t blame Roger for this miscalculation.  At thirty-three, he had the body and face of a twenty three year old, the average age of a rookie.
“Oh no, don’t lump me in with the robots the academy puts out these days.  I’ve been on the force for five years now, way before they started monitoring thoughts.”
“That’s a relief.”  Roger said.  “Those new guys creep me out.  But still, how can you listen to this and not react?  I almost threw up the first time I saw one of the Doctor’s sessions.”
“I did throw up.”  John said in an attempt to further distance himself from the automatons of the academy.  “It’s just that I’ve seen most of the doctor’s sessions on video so this audio version didn’t hit me as bad.”  He didn’t want to tell Roger that the audio had no affect on him at all.  “It did however confirm my reasons for disagreeing with Doctor McCleod’s methods.”
“So, you at least know who we’re dealing with.”  Roger said before he leaned closer to John and added.  “He’s really smart you know, at least to me, because I don’t understand half of what he says.”
The chunky veteran then pressed his left knee against the bottom of the steering wheel so he could drive while counting on his fingers.  A definite infraction, John chose not to say anything.  Instead, he listened as Roger listed the Doctor’s traits, none of which portrayed McCleod as anything less than a martyr.  Even when Roger’s unorthodox driving put the two detectives in the path of on-coming traffic, John said nothing.  He did not know if this were a test of his nerve, so he gripped the edge of his seat and waited for Roger to complete his rundown, elated when their car was finally returned to its proper lane.
The soccer moms heading in the opposite direction did not share John’s joy however and did not hesitate to display their displeasure with Roger.  From their multi-personnel transport emerged several well-manicured middle fingers, followed closely by obscenities made more shocking by their sources.
“You kiss your kids with those mouths ladies?”  Roger yelled, as their screams faded.  He then grabbed the wheel with both hands, looked at John and said.  “And another thing, even though I feel stupid around him, the Doc doesn’t treat me like an idiot.”
         John looked out of the rear window and smiled.  The soccer moms were retracting the offensive gestures to avoid the attention of a passing police cruiser.  He then turned back to Roger and made note of the fondness with which this apparent fan spoke of the doctor.
“So, the Doc.  That’s what you call him.”  John said.  “He doesn’t make you feel like an idiot.  Do you think that you might just feel that way all on your own then?”
         John knew that his wise crack was ill-timed but it would give him some insight into Roger’s temperament.  It would tell him a lot more than Roger’s mindless banter about McCleod could.
“Yeah, I guess.”  Roger said.  His lip twitched before he added.  “But it doesn’t matter how smart or dumb I feel around him, I still respect any man who’s done what he’s done.  And I’d be willing to bet that a lot of people out there feel the same way.  And good, bad or otherwise, nobody can deny his fame.”
“Or infamy, depending on whether you think of him as good or bad.  But as you say, he is a presence in the media, something that never ceases to amaze me.”
         “I’d be willing to bet that that’s not the only thing that amazes you.”
         “Ah, a come back.”  John said, re-evaluating Roger’s intelligence.  “But seriously, how do you think his current patients deal with the fact that the man’s a serial killer.  How can they talk to him.  Personally, I’d be scared to say something that pissed him off and the last thing you’d want to do is piss off a serial killer, right.”
         John could hear the gasp of air that Roger sucked in.  It suited the scowl that spread across his protruding brow and announced John’s first scolding as a member of the McCleod task force.
“First off, he’s a state sanctioned serial kill-” Roger caught himself and shook his head.  “I mean, he was a state sanctioned psychcutioner, who’s advanced the science of profiling a lot.  So what if he’s executed murderers in the past.  He’s never murdered an innocent.  Something that none of those he killed could say.”
“What about Sammy Willoughs?”  John asked.
Roger didn’t hear this comment or chose to ignore it.
“No, the Doc took steps to stop the killing.”
“Yeah, by killing.  The second in a series of wrongs”
“But,” Roger’s voice was shrill like those of the soccer mom’s encountered earlier. “Doctor McCleod never so much as made an innocent feel uncomfortable, let alone kill one.  He simply executed people found guilty by the state, in a court prescribed manner, at a court prescribed time.”
“That didn’t sound rehearsed.”
“What?”
“I said, usually, at the court prescribed time.” John pointed at the audio disc they had just listened to as evidence to the contrary.  When this gesture seemed to bounce off Roger’s blank stare, he fell back on his earlier assertion.  “He’s still an admitted serial killer and-”
“The man’s damn near a saint in my eyes and seeing how we’re assigned to his safety, you might want to keep an open mind about him.”  Roger’s grip on the steering wheel loosened, his shoulders slumped and he let out a long sigh before he continued.  “All I’m saying is give the man a chance.”
John took this advice but not out of respect for the doctor.  He just didn’t want to alienate his new boss any more than he might already have.  He was also certain that he couldn’t convince Roger of McCleod’s evil.  Just as certain that Roger couldn’t convince him of McCleod’s good.  He decided it best to wait and listen to what the man known as ‘Doctor Death’ had to say and only then would he come to the same conclusion he had reached seven years ago.  John rode in silence and marveled at the houses that became more and more bloated as they made their way.
         When the two detectives reached their destination, John noticed the neo-hippies that sat outside the gates of the Doctor’s property.  Unlike those he had encountered in the past, there seemed to be no central figure inciting this group to action.  Usually very animated while protesting social injustices, such as McCleod’s freedom, this assortment of poets, writers and activists appeared listless, like heroin addicts who had just tied off and disappeared from reality.
         “Those have got to be the laziest protestors I’ve ever seen.”  John said.
         “Just give them a second.”
         As their car pulled into the driveway, John made eye contact with a young woman dressed in what looked like a nightgown made of burlap.  As her outfit suggested, the woman appeared to have just been awakened, but the haze that seemed to muddle her thoughts did not last.  In an instant her mission was once again clear and the spirit that seemed to be lacking amongst the group was rekindled.  Exposing the hair under her arms, this otherwise attractive woman pumped her fists in the air and rallied her companions.  The neo-hippies roared.
In wave after tie dyed wave, various groups erected homemade signs that indicated their specific doctrine.  While a few called for McCleod’s death, most merely protested his freedom, even though his incarceration had been a voluntary measure, a means to fulfill his exterrorments.  These normally law abiding citizens not only wanted him back behind bars, they wanted the doctor stripped of the commendations awarded by the state for services rendered.  They hated the fact that McCleod was free to do as he pleased within the state imposed restrictions and used their freedom of speech to say just that.
Amongst the other duties of the unit to which John was currently assigned, enforcing these restrictions by monitoring the Doctor’s activities and whereabouts.  Day and night, rain or shine, John’s new unit was entrusted to know where McCleod was, what he was doing and with whom he was doing it.  Still, the neo-hippies spewed messages of injustice and hate at any vehicle that passed through his gates.
“How ironic” John said.
“What’s that?”
“I’ve heard that a few of these protestors have gone to jail for trying to kill him.”
“Yeah, so.”  Roger said.  At that moment, he couldn’t have seemed less interested in what John had to say.
“So, they’re out here protesting murder basically, while plotting to commit it at the same time.  Don’t you find that ironic?”
“Angh, who cares.”
John decided not to get into this conversation.  It would serve no purpose at this time.  His attention turned instead to the neo-hippies that descended upon them.  While those protestors who simply wanted the Doctor jailed approached on his side, the more extreme flung themselves against Roger’s door, proclamations of their indignation muted by the bulletproof glass.
As neo-hippies of all ages smashed into their vehicle, John turned towards Roger who had just thrust his hand inside his own jacket.  He recognized this act as one of aggression, but decided not to take action.
         “You wanna get away from my car, you Hippie shit?”  Roger said before he looked back at John.  “Man, I hate when the station assigns me a new car.  Otherwise they’d stay clear.”
Producing his sidearm, Roger aimed the weapon at the head of a bearded young man currently plastered against the driver side window.  Although John knew Roger wouldn’t pull the trigger, he didn’t like this game of  chicken.
“Yeah. . .”  The incensed cop said before he cocked the hammer.  “You want I should blow your head off?  Then your worries about the Doctor will all just go away.”
At the sight of the gun, the bearded young man as well as those beside him fought against pressing the crowd, their newfound strength impressing and surprising those who were cast aside by this retreat.
         “That’s right punk, run.  All the ones of you who had any balls are in prison and luckily for them, the Doctor isn’t.”
As the mob reached a consensus and parted, Roger laughed at their alleged cowardice.  He then spun his tires, knocking several hippies to the ground as he and pulled up to the gate.  Leaning from his scratched and dented vehicle, Roger glanced at the receding crowd one last time before engaging the intercom.
         “Detectives Meeks and Carter to see Doctor McCleod.”
Without acknowledging receipt of this message, the person on the other end pressed the button that allowed entry.  Once certain that none of the hippies would try to gain access, Roger squealed the tires again and entered the Doctor’s twenty acres estate.
         “Execution’s been profitable, I see.”  John said.
         “Well, the Doctor has made a tidy sum, but what he’s given back to humanity outweighs anything he’s gotten.  Shit, the information he got from those psychos in the pen could even save your dumb ass someday.”
         “Maybe, but should we condone his actions.”  John said.  “Should he benefit from them, I mean he killed people for a living.  Does it really matter that he did it in pursuit of information.”
Again, Roger ignored John and again John decided not to press the issue.
         “Why don’t you save your questions for the doctor” Roger said after several seconds of silence.  “Maybe he can open your mind to the benefits of his research.”
         “Deal.”  John said as he masked his disappointment.
As they drove deeper into the property, both men admired the landscaping which cost more per month than their yearly wages combined.  Roger seemed unaffected, but having never seen such a gross display of wealth, John was overwhelmed.  His contempt resurfaced.
         “So, I guess his deal with Louis Cypher netted him this cozy little abode?”
Roger feigned a smile and shrugged.
         “I don’t know this Lou Cypher person, but if he got McCleod all of this then let’s make a deal.”
         Amused, John grinned and said.
         “Now, I know we’re supposed to track the Doctor’s whereabouts at all times.  After all, he is a serial killer.”  John delighted in the displeasure he sensed from Roger and made a point to continue before his partner could respond.  “But, why are we paying him this visit?  Can’t we watch him from the car?”
“First off, I need to introduce you two.  He likes to know everyone on the unit.  And secondly, he’s received a threat on his life.”
“So, shouldn’t he be used to that by now?”
“He is, but-” Roger stopped.
John sensed his annoyance and second-guessed Roger.
“We’re going to see him in person to reassure him that we’re on the job.”
“Now you’re getting it, son.”
John would have left it at that had Roger not called him ‘son’.  John wasn’t his son and Roger was the last person he would have chosen to be his father.
“Couldn’t we just stay in the car and assure anyone dumb enough to attack him that we’d do our best to keep him from killing them.”
Roger’s eyes widened.  John didn’t care.
“I won’t even dignify that with a response.”  Roger said.
“I doubt that you could respond in a dignified manner to anything about this maniac.”
The veins on Roger’s neck bulged and the old cop’s blood pressure spiked, causing his face to turn a crimson hue symptomatic of a heart attack.  John anticipated that Roger would either lash or pass out.  Neither happened, nothing happened.  Roger merely swallowed the words that would have put John in his place and said nothing.  John could tell that Roger wanted to say something, but after several seconds realized that this scolding would never come.  He was then worried about the retaliation that Roger might have been plotting, as he seething veteran silently rocked back and forth.
When John thought he could stand the tension no more, the front door of the ten-bedroom monstrosity they approached opened.  From the car, the two detectives watched McCleod position himself beneath the limestone archway.