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Authors: John T Foster

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BOOK: The Creep
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Bishman drove five hours and ended up in Cranston, Rhode Island where he parked the car and attended to his wounds. Not as bad as he had
thought. His heavy jacket had let the teeth through but stopped them tearing his flesh.

 

Bishman was covered in sweat, his head lolling around and his eyes rolled in their sockets. Harvey did nothing, he was quite used to hypnotic phenomena,
he
did however neaten up his notes and try to make sense out of the last sessions.

When Bishman eventually came round they were both starving and Harvey took Bishman for a beer and pizza in North Hollywood and eventually they parted company in Wilshire.

 

 

"I'll tell you why I'm crying," sobbed the twenty-eight year old hooker whose name was Tina, who now lived in a lemony fresh apartment on 52nd Street and First Avenue.

"You know I used to live in that filthy tenement on the Lower East Side. I bumped into Marguerita today. She told me that Diane and Linda and the two kids were murdered the day after I left. I knew that place wasn't safe. I told you that at the time, that's why I had to get the hell out of there. I had a sort of premonition." She tried to hold back the tears, but couldn't.

Marcia lit two cigarettes and gave one to Tina.

"It's terrible. Do you know how they found out about it? Because the cats were leaving
bloody footprints everywhere, and the guy who lived on the first floor decided to go upstairs and investigate. They reckon it was a massacre. According to cops they were butchered so badly there was over thirty pints of blood spilt at the scene of the crime. Apparently whoever slaughtered them took a long shower and just walked out. Four of them hacked to death, in a sickening bloodbath and no clues other than the fact the police reckon the guy must have put his clothes in a plastic bag to stop blood being splashed on them." She threw up some bile and the Chinese food that she had eaten earlier, and went to clean
herself
up.

 

 

Howard Mainwarring had a leisurely lunch with Stan Barron in The Bicycle Club in Covent Garden. Not that either of them had time for leisurely lunches - they didn't - but Mainwarring had discovered that Barron also had a penchant for claret and the only way he could get sufficient quality time
with Barron was when he 'kidnapped' him for long liquid lunches and got him away from the madding crowds back at Whitehall.

Howard found himself biting his lip when Stan Barron said, "My task is to give you an accurate psychological profile of this individual who has committed dozens of murders - who knows, maybe even hundreds."

He expounded further: "It's like trying to find someone through a fog when the breeze has
blown it apart. It's worse than looking for a needle in a haystack
.
Intuition plays no part in the
process,
I am no better at guessing than anyone else in the world. It's no mystery to
me,
we are dealing with psychological science."

Howard Mainwarring was interested to hear that, according to Barron, the Brits were just as good at psychological profiling as the criminal investigative analysts who worked out of the NCAVC at Quantico, the profiling arm of the Behavioral Science Unit.

Copious supplies of claret were consumed before Mainwarring extracted the information he required. Between Dave Wead's colleagues at Quantico and Stan Barron's colleagues in the UK, the psychological profile of the serial killer that had plagued Britain was finally shaping up.

Only time will tell, thought Howard, as he reaffirmed mentally:
Science and intuition.

 

CHAPTER
SIX

 

Of course the franchisees at I
.O
.H., Springfield knew not to expect too many personal appearances from Harvey. This was all part of their franchise agreement. So when the wizard did put in an appearance they
reveled
in it.

Harvey wiped his spectacles,
then
stroked his full beard. "You must find out what secondary gains your alcoholic client gets from drinking. You do this when you get him to recreate the drunken state. You will find out by careful observation whether the client gets relaxation out of drink, camaraderie or time away from a nagging spouse or an unpleasant domestic or business situation.

"Of course, once you've discovered the secondary gains you must replace them with alternative behaviors that don't cause the problems and bad effects the drinking behaviors have.

"Your clients may very well be alcoholics, but they're not stupid. If you show them alternative behaviors they will usually make the right choice and do what is right for
themselves
.
That all takes place on a subconscious level.
Before, they'd never been aware of the options available to them.

"Carry out the procedure to the letter, and your clients will stop alcohol dependency and be able to become social drinkers. They won't access the bad feelings and emotions every time they take a drink, therefore, they will no longer feel the desire to drown their sorrows in booze."

 

 

"I don't mind telling you about my work, Bill. It's not that at all. I love what I
do,
same as you, but the last thing I want is to bore you with tales about investment banking." Anita put her arm through Harvey's as they strolled along Venice Beach. They did this often and loved each other's company. The sand was hot on their bare soles but the waves cooled them down as often as they wished. Twenty teenagers were playing handball and another dozen were surfing. There were sun bathers in deck chairs, and bronzed bodies running and diving into the waves. It was good to be alive. A biplane flew overhead and sign-wrote a message in computerized smoke dots, it read, CONGRADULATIONS, ANDY, SUZY AND PETE!

"I find it fascinating, but I think you're a workaholic. You haven't taken a vacation in eight years. That's incredible," said Harvey as he picked up a stone to throw into the sea to lend emphasis to his words. But the pebble turned out to be a piece
of dog shit so he put it down again, hoping Anita didn't see. She did, and she giggled. He washed his hands in the waves, then splashed Anita and chased her along the beach.

"OK," conceded Anita, "I'll tell you a story about my
company - Horwitz and Solomon -
I know you'll enjoy. The senior partner who put in millions to start the bank in the early 1900s was a guy called Solomon. Horwitz was just a number cruncher who had plenty of contacts. They put their names together and called the bank Solomon Horwitz Investment Trust. They incorporated, got letterheads printed and were just about to open their doors for business when a colleague pointed out the error of their ways.

"Sooner rather than later people would start to use the acronym S.H.I.T. They nearly had apoplexy. They changed the names round and there they've stayed ever since. Anyway there's neither a Solomon nor a Horwitz now so I don't suppose it matters one way or another." Harvey was laughing before Anita had finished the story.

"There you
go,
I told you you'd like it. What else is there I can tell you?" Anita pinched Harvey's ass.

"Let's get a pitcher of our favorite beer and talk some more." Harvey tugged Anita in the direction of Scallywags Bar.

"You bet. I'll tell you something else. Horwitz and Solomon finance some astounding projects all over the world. They have
high-net-worth
clients in over one hundred and forty countries."

"Let me just order the beer then tell me some more." Having arrived at the bar
,
Harvey got a pitcher of draught Bud and two frosted glasses. This is becoming a habit he thought as he paid the guy. A habit one can live with!

Anita continued: "They finance projects like dams, international airports, skyscrapers and bridges. They financed the biggest machine in the world, a four-mile long nuclear particle accelerator." Anita paused long enough to take a draft of frothy beer.

"Why is it you're loath to take even a week's vacation?" asked Bill; "I'd love to take you to Paris for a week, you know, do the Eiffel Tower, Maxims, Left Bank of the Seine and all that. I've never done it myself and it's something I long to do." Harvey topped up both glasses and emptied the pitcher. They both felt a buzz from the beer. Toasted brains on a hot day. You can't beat it!

Harvey emptied his glass. "After a few beers on a hot day it's as though you're lo
oking at the world through rose-
colored spectacles. Shall we get another?"

Anita bought the next pitcher of Bud. Harvey was giggling too much.

"I love watching you walking in a bikini. You know, you really are beautiful. You know what else? I really have a buzz on. Tell me what you were saying about not taking time out from work." Harvey sipped his beer,
then
took in a whiff of pungent sea air.

"When I started, I took a week off, about six months after I joined them. In the first few months there, I put in place all sorts of systems and controls
and took advantage of
foreign exchange mechanisms making the bank millions. That's my area of expertise and that's what they employed me for. Then I had a week off. It turned out to be a disaster. The computer went down and we lost all sorts of files, records, data, and clients. It was intensely messy and I had to work twenty-hour days getting it all back together again.

BOOK: The Creep
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