The Killer Trail (16 page)

The walls of the room were coloured pea green, and the allencompassing smell of disinfectant made Chris' stomach queasy. Paul was hooked up to a myriad of tubes and blinking and beeping machines, adding to the discomfort Chris felt whenever he visited such places. Paul's eyes were swollen shut, a bandage wrapped around his forehead. Chris could see spots of red where blood had seeped through the dressing.

Paul was sleeping. Chris felt helpless standing over him, but he knew he had to visit.
I'm responsible for his injuries.
Paul became Ray's target because he'd seen me talking with
him
. He walked over to Paul's bed and leaned in towards him. He could hear Paul's laboured breathing. “Shit, Paul, I'm so sorry,” he whispered, knowing that he couldn't hear him or even know that he was there. Then his sadness gave way to anger and he added, “I'm going to make him pay, Paul. I promise.”

He tiptoed out of the room and engaged in some idle chitchat with Horace about the Canucks before leaving the ICU. His heart heavy, he thought about the difficult conversation that he was about to have with Paul's mother.

After an emotional phone call with Susan Butler, Chris left the HSC and returned to his truck to begin the drive home. But he found himself instead being drawn to Kitsilano Beach and the Pacific Ocean sparkling in the early afternoon sun. He walked along the beach, letting the cool breeze blowing in from the ocean wash away some of his sorrow and anger, eventually settling on a park bench that provided a panoramic view of mountains on the horizon and the high-rise buildings of downtown Vancouver in the foreground. He was hypnotized by the rhythmic swaying of sailboats while seagulls squabbled with each other in the clear blue sky. He watched a young family playing on the sand in the distance, throwing a tennis ball to their black Labrador retriever.

Closing his eyes and listening to the waves crashing against the rocks, he slipped into a state of tranquility and began wondering what his life would be like if he were to board one of the boats and set sail for new land.

He was jerked back to reality by the screeching of sirens responding to a crisis somewhere in Vancouver, reminding Chris once again of the contrasts and contradictions of his beloved city.

At home, Chris had barely enough energy to kick off his shoes before collapsing, physically and emotionally exhausted, onto his bed. He awoke disoriented and hungry. It was dark, and his watch told him it was nine o'clock. Too hungry and groggy to prepare a proper meal, he scrounged around his fridge looking for any edible leftovers. Three pieces of pizza had been sitting there for about a week.
That's all right. Everything goes down
with a drink—or two.

Checking his answering machine, there was a message from Stephanie asking if he was available to get together on Friday. “Yes!” he shouted triumphantly, only to immediately feel guilty as he thought of Paul Butler lying broken in his hospital bed and Elizabeth Carrier missing, her fate unknown. He decided he didn't have the energy to engage in a meaningful conversation with anyone, even Stephanie, in his present state, so he elected to channel surf while he drank himself into oblivion.

THIRTY-ONE

Friday, February 17, 3:09 a.m.
Ray lay on his bed staring at his ceiling and plotting his next move. It was three o'clock in the morning, and as usual, he was not sleeping.
Not that any of these fools would notice,
he thought with a snarl. His assault on Paul had almost been too easy—certainly not a challenge worthy of him—but he'd accomplished what he'd set out to do and would take that as success. Still, he would've loved to have seen the look on Ryder's face when he heard the news about the attack on Paul.

Ray had picked up a few nuggets of information over the last few days. He'd read a newspaper article about Elizabeth Carrier and laughed aloud when he read how the police were checking out possible leads into her disappearance.
Ha! They
don't have a clue what's going on.

But what had really aroused Ray's attention was the conversation he'd overheard between two nurses talking about Chris Ryder's new flame, Stephanie Rowe. He'd seen her on the unit although they had not met... yet.

Ray moved his hand down between his legs and started masturbating to the image of Stephanie. It wasn't her beautiful body that made him hard, but rather the image of inflicting pain on her in front of a powerless Chris Ryder.

I'm going to reach out and touch someone special.
And he laughed himself to sleep.

THIRTY-TWO

Friday, February 17, 8:09 a.m.
After a fitful sleep, Chris woke with a raging headache and resolved to cut back on his alcohol intake. He popped a couple of ibuprofen, grabbed a hot shower, and dressed for work.

Settled into his office, he started plowing through his emails, trying in vain to ignore his feelings of nausea and lethargy. He was about to return a phone call when Dr. Stevenson appeared at his doorway.

“Have you got a minute, Chris?” She looked somber.

“Sure, come in. Something the matter?”

Dr. Stevenson closed the door behind her and sat down. “I came by to say I'm sorry. I should have listened to your concerns about Paul. I—”

“Marilyn, look, I thought Ray was using Paul, but obviously I didn't know for sure. Nobody knew what he was going to do. I feel awful, too.”

“But if I'd listened to you and moved Paul off the unit, this wouldn't have happened.”

“I know what you're saying. But Ray would simply have moved on to somebody else.”

Dr. Stevenson sighed deeply. “One of the things I value about our working relationship is that together we see the whole picture. But I was so concerned about what was going on with you that I didn't give you the benefit of the doubt that you could be right about Ray and Paul. I also knew Ray was playing some sort of game, but I didn't listen to your warning. I'm sorry.”

Chris felt a mixture of guilt and anger starting to surface, something he wasn't ready to deal with at the moment. He deflected the topic. “Has there been any update on Paul's condition?”

“No. He's still at HSC. But when he comes back, I'll make sure he won't be on the same unit as Ray.”

Chris paused. “How about the assessment on Ray?”

Dr. Stevenson smiled. “No change in my opinion from the last time I saw him here. I've seen no evidence of an acute mental illness, despite his attempts to feign symptoms. He's—”

“He's faking a mental illness?”

“He has talked about hearing voices, but when pressed, it's evident to me that he's making it up. I've asked Psychology to—”

“Not Stephanie?” Chris asked, panic in his voice.

“No, not Stephanie. As I started to say, we've asked Psychology to assess him for malingering. Rory went to see him, but so far, Ray has come up with all kinds of excuses to delay testing.”

“I don't want Owens anywhere near Stephanie.” He blushed as the impact of what he had said set in. He hadn't meant to come across so obviously protective of her.

Dr. Stevenson graciously overlooked his outburst. “Rory hopes to administer the Psychopathy Checklist. I'm confident Ray has dominant traits of psychopathy, but I want the testing to corroborate my assessment.”

“I can't remember the last time we conducted the PCL-R on one of our patients. Then again, it doesn't surprise me at all with Ray.”

“You're right. In my report to court, I'll explain that the correlation between a severe and persistent mental illness such as schizophrenia and psychopathy is not strong, which is why we don't routinely include the PCL-R in our assessments. However, in Ray's case, while I don't believe he has a severe and persistent mental illness, I do believe he has prominent traits of antisocial and narcissistic personality disorder, and I will clearly emphasize that in my report. We'll see what Rory comes up with in his testing.”

“If he can get access to Ray.” Chris paused and took a deep breath. “From what I went through in Woodland Park, Ray is the freaking poster child for psychopathy, right down to his total lack of empathy or remorse. I doubt he'll ever agree to any type of formal assessment.”

Dr. Stevenson nodded. “You're probably right. He also refuses to have a lawyer. Crown asked me about this, and I told them that I believe Ray's decision to represent himself in court is not based on any issues of mental capacity but solely on his arrogance and disdain for the system. I told you the Crown prosecutor is considering dangerous offender status with Ray, didn't I?”

“You mentioned it. I've never gone through that process. Have you?”

“Not while I've been here, but back when I worked at West Coast Corrections.”

“So how exactly will that work?”

“If Ray is convicted on his charges, the Crown will seek an indeterminate prison sentence. They'll argue that he is too dangerous to be released back into society because of his violent tendencies.”

He's too dangerous to live anywhere.
Chris reflected on the carnage Ray left in his wake. The thought depressed him and left him speechless.

Dr. Stevenson seemed to pick up on his silence. “So how are you holding up?”

Chris found he no longer had the energy to deny the obvious, or to deflect his friend's concern for him. “The truth? I'm tired.”

“You look tired. Why don't you—”

“No, I mean tired of everything. Hell, I'm even tired of being tired.” He shrugged.

“I'm worried about you, Chris. You've gone through a traumatic event—”

He cut her off, smiling slightly because he knew what she was going to say. “Yeah, I know, and now I have PTSD. I keep hearing about this.”

“Your sessions with Stephanie. So how about it? Do you think there might be any validity to what two very intelligent women are saying to you?” She smiled.

“What I'm beginning to think is that there's a shelf life for this kind of work, and maybe I'm past my due date.”

“You're not thinking about leaving, are you?” The smile dropped from her face.

“I don't know. I couldn't leave now, though, not until this whole business with Ray is over.”

Marilyn looked confused. “Why? You're not assigned to Ray. I don't understand.”

“I know how this is going to come across. But... well, like you said, I think Ray is playing a game. And for some twisted reason, I factor into it.”

“But you don't have to play along with his game.”

“I think I do. I was pretty sure he was using Paul to get to me, and unfortunately I was right. And I think—no, I'm almost positive he's connected with Elizabeth Carrier's disappearance.”

“But Chris, even if he
is
connected, what are the odds that he'd tell you anything. Or even that she's still alive.”

“I know, Marilyn. I've had this conversation with Stephanie, too. In the end, I'd never be able to live with myself if it turned out I could have saved Elizabeth. Ray knows this, and that's why he's toying with me. I have no choice.”