Sqeeze Head

by Waggoner, Robert C.

  “The Head Squeeze”

  Copyright Robert C. Waggoner 2012

  Smashwords Edition

  “The Head Squeeze”

  Robert C. Waggoner

  2011

  In the Beginning

  I

  Inspector David Cockrun's 9mm Glock lay, fully loaded, on the patient's side of a large wooden desk. Dr. A. Jones was watching his patient rub his temple with his left hand while starring at his gun. Dr. Jones was in no way afraid of his patient, who had a history of violence, with a temper as sharp as the hair trigger of his pistol. It was quite to the contrary, as Dr. Jones, long past retirement, cut his teeth on guys like David Cockrun.

  "Tell me," asked Dr. Jones, "why do you rub your temple with your left hand while starring at your pistol?"

  Inspector Cockrun raised his bloodshot eyes to meet Dr. Jones looking back at him with grey eyes of compassion. With a voice fraught with emotion and intelligence, he said, "Why do you ask a rhetorical question Jones?"

  Dr. A. Jones noted clinical psychologist was perhaps the best in the business. Nowadays he only accepted the most desperate of cases, such as Inspector Cockrun. It was a month ago when he received a phone call requesting an appointment. Dr. Jones had long since lost his secretary to married life and never replaced her. His secretary was an answering machine and even though he was a modern man, with a cell phone, few knew his number.

  Now in David Cockrun's case Dr. Jones did his customary research and discovered this guy was a ticking time bomb. Generally speaking, sometimes a policeman or policewoman is ordered to receive an evaluation by a psychiatrist. In most cases the evaluation is due to the use of a firearm or an extreme case of danger or death.

  In this case, no evaluation was ordered. Inspector Cockrun was intelligent enough to seek out some help for his emotional outbursts. His fear was he would lose it and take out his gun and shoot someone.

  He said to Dr. Jones, "I have persistent headaches. Never am I pain free inside my head. No doubt it's a habit now to rub my temple. I really need to get my shit together and damn soon Jones."

  "Inspector Cockrun," Dr. Jones said, "this is not a one stop convenience store, whereby you can take a package off the shelf, and all is well. I'm here to tell you your condition is long term, and I'm not sure I'll live long enough to see it through."

  That brought everything in Cockrun's mind to the forefront. He raised his bushy eyebrows and looked at Dr. Jones and said, "I know that Jones. I wasn't looking for a time limit or a time frame. I'm thirty six now and would really like to retire with a clean record. As you've no doubt seen my personal vita, you're aware I'm single without any responsibilities other than to my mother who lives in Arizona. That's a long ways from Chicago and in my personal opinion none to close."

  "I see here David that you spend your off hours at the local Boys Club. Give me a brief overview of what or how you spend your time there. Yes, David, I need to get to know you and this is part and parcel of the plan. So start talking please."

  "All right; I realize you need to see both the bright and dark side of me. The Boys Club is the brightside where, when I'm not investigating a brutal homicide; find some normality in an abnormal world. Most of the boys there are misfits like I was growing up and probably still am," with a chuckle he said to Dr. Jones, who was smiling back at him. "But I enjoy hanging out with most of them. They make me talk about the good things and forget the bad things. Most of are just looking for a friend and or a mentor who doesn't bullshit them to death. These guys are not stupid. If given a proper education, they’d equal most in today's society. Anyway, that's the story from the Boys Club."

  Dr. Jones, over his half glasses, with David's vita in one hand and a black pen in the other said, "As you state here you are single, never married, I have to ask why at your age you've never married."

  David stood up slowly and arched his back while Dr. Jones raised his eyes to follow his progress. David was not a short man. His over six foot frame was stout and he appeared in good shape. He sat back down, looking at Dr. Jones and said,

  "You know as well as I do the divorce rate among policemen. Also, don't forget the suicide statistics that demonstrate the bottle and the gun combination. I don't drink, smoke or intend to get married, just to get a divorce, or eat my gun. I love my job and if I might be so bold to say, am damn good at it. So Jones, I do what I do best and that’s catch the bad guys. So far I've skated on the use of my gun during investigations involving homicides, but that's only because I've made damn sure I was within parameters. I hope by talking with you I can eliminate the time when it comes to having to prove I was justified in using my gun."

  "Let's wrap it up for this session. Give me an e-mail a couple days ahead of when you have time to come again. Oh, and don't forget your weapon. My cleaning lady will wonder what the greasy spot is come tomorrow." Dr. Jones offered his hand and David shook it with a warm firm grip. Then he nodded taking long strides across a beige carpet to the door. Dr. Jones followed as he had to punch in some numbers to open the security door to the hall way. He watched David walk down the hall and push the elevator button. David, with his chin down, looked sideways at Dr. Jones and grinned.

  Returning to his apartment living room, instead of his office, Dr. Jones shivered knowing that whoever got in Inspector David Cockrun way or made the unfortunate crime of murder, god help them. He thought this would be both a challenge and a reward, at the end for both of them.

  AJ loved his view overlooking Lake Michigan. The Chicago area had been his home most of his life. Highland Park in North Chicago was only a recent area for AJ. He had gotten wind of a new condo overlooking Lake Michigan with an unobstructed view of the park and lake. His friend, who had given him both the heads up and the acronym AJ, back during the Korean War, still took care of AJ's portfolio. AJ was not superrich, but he didn't want for money. His condo was the penthouse on the top floor with a view unmatched in his estimation.

  AJ was very pleased with the condo as it had tight security with a doorman and three elevators. Stairs were there for emergency and AJ made the trip down the stairs once a day, except on Sunday. On Sunday's, he went to church, and didn't like to muss up his fresh pressed suit. After church, weather permitting, he strolled along the waterfront looking for a nice sit down restaurant for lunch. After a nice relaxing lunch, either riding a taxi or walking back home, the doorman Fred, would be waiting for him with his Sunday Tribune.

  Dr. Jones frowned thinking about David Cockrun and how best to confront his demons. AJ was interrupted from his thoughts when his manservant Alex Doormer asked him if was ready for a mid-afternoon snack. Alex had been with AJ since the end of the Vietnam War, back in the 1970s. Alex had returned home with sever head problems and AJ treated him like the son he never had. Alex was so grateful they cut a deal that both never regretted.

  "Yes Alex, I'd like that. A cup of fresh ground coffee would hit the spot."

  "I thought so," said Alex. "I'll be right back."

  *~ ~ ~ ~*

  As Inspector Cockrun was descending in the elevator after leaving Dr. Jones's office, not far away in a high-rise office building an elevator was ascending to the tenth floor. That suite was where a patient would see Dr. Kenneth Zee. He sat waiting for his patient with fear and a sense of excitement.

  Dr. Zee was a psychiatrist specializing in marriage counseling. His clients were upper crust. Dr. Zees fame came from his being totally discreet going to extreme measures to keep his patients confidentiality, also he was considered tops in his field of psychiatry; however that reputation came with a steep price.

  Dr. Zee’s secretary was rewarded for her discreetness and her efficiency. The patient would come in, nod to her and if a nod back, walked down a short hallway to an
oak door with a stained glass window welcoming the client. Behind the door sat a slight built, less than average in height, man of middle age, looking in every way the stereotypical role of a shrink: all of his attire was handmade from Italy including the pince-nez sitting precariously on the end of his rather long nose. As soon as the client walked in, Dr. Zee rose and removed his glasses displaying a warm smile of welcome.

  On this particular afternoon, at this moment, his client of many months walked in with her usual flourish of a busy socialite. Ms. Longfellow, as she liked to be called, held out her limp hand for Dr. Zee to fondle over. He played the game to perfection. She tossed her wrap onto the proverbial shrinks couch and sat down opposite him, crossing her long legs. He eloquently spoke of the weather and the usual chat, before asking how her relationship was coming along.

  She said, "Dr. Zee, without a doubt life couldn’t be better. My sex life hit a new high the other night. My darling husband brought home a young stud who fucked me for two hours straight while Don videoed the entire time."

  "Really, that is just marvelous. I'm very happy both you and your husband are getting along so well. I guess I've done my job. We've been having our sessions for the last two years, and I really think all we need is an occasional follow up session, to see how it's going. Now as to the unpleasant part," he said while showing her the contract she signed more than two years ago. "As you read and perhaps will remember that if all was well with you and your husband, a final cash payment of fifty thousand is due upon demand."

  Ms. Longstreet's smile was replaced with a frown and a jaw dropping open mouth. She said, "No way can we afford that kind of money. I don't remember that part of the contract. Let me see that."

  Dr. Zee handed her the contract inwardly smiling, knowing she had to pay up, or face her friends with the knowledge she had been to a shrink. He said, "I realize this is really a shock Ms. Longstreet, but business is business."

  By now she was on her feet and shaking from head to foot trying to read what she really knew was legal and binding. She said, through clenched teeth, "This will ruin us and our reputation. I'll need some time to figure this out Dr. Zee. My husband doesn't know I've been coming to see you."

  Dr. Zee could tell she was on the verge of tears, but she had good breeding and a fine education. She folded the contract, picked up her wrap and left the way she came. She did throw him one last look of self pity, closed the door.

  Dr. Zee walked to his private bathroom. Just inside the door, he pointed a remote control at his security camera, click, and then in frenzy, tore off his clothes, dawned a new maintenance type outfit, complete with hat. He rushed out the private door of his office and got into the elevator, he'd pervious set to off line. He pushed B1 and took a deep breath as the elevator doors closed. He'd practiced this many times. He was sure that this elevator would only be a few seconds behind Ms. Longstreet's elevator. While watching the floor numbers tick off, he felt his heart beating with the anticipation of events to come. Dr. Zee knew she would be parked in roughly the same place she usually occupied. On more than one occasion he went with her to the basement parking to make sure he was confident where she parked her car. Now as the elevator stopped and the door slide open he felt a rush of adrenalin, as he stepped out, catching sight of his victim, as she walked slowly to her car. He kept his head down and when she approached her car door, he took out a standard fish fillet knife, reached one arm around her chest, slamming the blade into her back. He whispered into her ear, "Die you miserable cunt. You're a disgrace to your specie."

  Dr. Zee fast walking dogging the security cameras, pretended to go out of the exit, but then he knew how to elude the cameras, having beforehand, examined the position of each. He was confident no camera would pick him out, as he walked, hugging the wall, into the same elevator he came down in.

  Back in his bathroom, he stripped down placing all the clothing in a garbage bag, including the elevated work shoes, making him appear taller. The fillet knife he placed in a zip lock bag after breaking off the blade. Satisfied he had all taken care of everything, he dressed back in his work attire, discreetly giving the security camera a click with the remote. He settled back in his chair and with a legal pad began to write.

  About twenty minutes later, he went to his office door to speak with his secretary. He told her, as he usually did after his afternoon session, he was going to his club for some exercise, and to make sure the office was secure when she left. He went back to his office, organizing his desk to look like it always did; turned out the lights. He picked up the garbage bag. Back into the same elevator, he went down to the basement parking lot, got into his Benz, never looking at the bundle lying on the parking lot with the door open.

  II

  The call came into homicide at four pm. It was answered by Inspector Cockrun. He listened while making note of the time then hung up without speaking. He nodded to Janice Beaker his partner for the last four years. She was a no-nonsense professional, almost as ruthless as her partner. He gave her the address so she could alert the crime scene folks.

  There was nothing to talk about on the way to the crime scene. Why speculate about something that would soon reveal itself as fact not speculation. David did ask, "What day is it? I've kind of lost tract."

  Janice flipped open her cell and said, "It's Thursday going on Friday. Anything else you want to know?"

  He loved her voice. It was just a hair above husky which went along with her dark looks. He grinned, letting the everyday scene of traffic and people going about their business, without knowing someone just got murdered, not far from here. David flashed on Dr. Jones, as the address where the murder took place, was not far from his condo. As they pulled into the entrance to the basement parking lot, a yellow crime scene tape prevented any entrance. A uniform policeman stood with his thumbs hooked into his belt, looking for the entire world important.

  David parked the car off to one side so the meat wagon could pass by without much effort. After getting out, he hitched his Levis up and stared at the nice spring day that the victim would never see, or experience again. He really hated people that killed other people. To end a life without permission was unforgivable in his book. He rather took the event personal and if anyone but Dr. Jones knew, they would retire him immediately. Now he must focus on the job, as he took a deep breath, walked purposely under the crime scene tape, down into the parking lot, where once a warm body was now turning cold.

  He stood perhaps five feet away, as Janice bent down to determine how long ago death occurred. She was good at it and the ME often said she missed her calling. One thing that always bothered David was the sounds of a crime scene. The squawk of radios, the loud voices on cell phones, the sound of car doors slamming and worst of all, the high pitched voices of the press firing questions to deaf ears.

  He scanned for security cameras seeing most of them without any trouble. He knew Janice would be assigning that task to an underling. Like most underground parking, it lacked for decent lighting. As always, he carried a mini mag light. Soon the scene would be lit up like the sun was shining, with the addition of stand lights for the CSI folks to scour the area. He made a cursory scan, pointing his light around the immediate area, looking for any blood stain footprints. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he waited for Janice to report to him what she saw and what she gleaned.

  Janice walked up to him and said, "Female about thirty five. Expensive clothes and jewelry. Her face looks familiar, but can't place it right now. I can't really tell but my thoughts are she was stabbed in the back. We'll have to wait on that one. Robbery is out, as the jewelry is still on her and her bag is close by unopened.

  Cockrun said, "Make damn sure they check for prints on the elevators and stick a uniform at each door not letting anyone down here until the CSI finishes their work. Meanwhile, let's go around to the front and see who all habits the place."

  As they were about to leave a uniform approached and said, "We ran a make on car. It's register
ed to a Donald Longstreet. I did a little research Inspector and if that is his wife, she is a granddaughter of the Wrigley family."

  "Thanks officer," said Janice. "That's a big help. Now would you see to it some uniforms are placed on the elevator doors, so nobody enters or exits."

  Cockrun was already headed up the ramp way when, Janice half running, caught up with him. They both saw the ME car drive up and block their car parking directly behind it. David smiled and so did Janice. Right behind came the CSI crew. Both knew, soon things would be busy at the murder scene. The victim would soon lose all her dignity; such was the case of solving a crime of murder.

  A half hour later, after a flurry of photos of the list of the building attendants, they were back at the crime scene talking to the ME. The ME was a veteran who had relocated from downtown Chicago. It was not that the work load was much less, but he did not have a room full of wan bees underfoot all the time. Dr. Elvin Glitter was a stickler for detail and he loved the idea of being totally responsible for his reports. Try to receive any preliminary thoughts from him, was like trying to open an oyster with your fingernails.

  Dr. Elvin saw Cockrun and his partner waiting for him to release the body for police work. He took off his rubber gloves, picked up his black leather bag that if it could talk, would tell some hair rising stories. He readjusted his glasses that dominated his face. It would be hard to tell his age, but he seemed spry enough to David. Janice guessed him old enough to retire, but no one asked him to give up his bag just yet. He said, "Now don't hold me to it guys, but I'd say she has been dead for about three hours according to the ambient temperature and of course the body temperature. Cause of death is most likely a stab wound by a thin long knife or sorts. Naturally I'll know more once we proceed with the autopsy. You'll have my report soonest I can. Catch you later."