The Policeman and the Prophet - Day 21

When Frank got back to the station he looked up the number for the psychiatrist the police use for psychiatric evaluations. Dr. Reynolds was a decent guy, he wasn’t an egghead like most shrinks.

“Dr. Reynolds, Frank Logan. . .”

“Very well, thank you, but I need to ask you a question. What do you know about cults? I have a friend. . .”

“I don’t know him. Thirty fifth precinct you say? Gang and cult expert for the city?”

“Right. Thanks for the help, Doc.”

Reynolds had given Frank the name of a detective in the three five who was supposed to be some sort of expert in cults and things. This would probably be the egghead, but it didn’t matter. Bill wasn’t going to stand idly by while his best friend was brainwashed into something he couldn’t even recognize.

When Frank got to the three five he was pointed to a desk at the back. The egghead Frank expected was actually a graying older detective, Carby Gibbs. Frank approached his desk. “Detective Gibbs. My name is Frank Logan from the two four and I need to talk. They tell me you’re an expert in cults.”

Gibbs stood and cleared a stack of papers from the desk side chair. “Excuse the mess, Detective. I don’t get too many visitors.” The man half-smiled, “I don’t know about the expert part, but I’ve spent what, fifteen, twenty years trying to do something with the gangs and cults. Can’t say I’ve done near as much as I should.”

“How did you get interested in it? You study it in school, or what?”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s a long story. You don’t want to. . .”

“Yes I do,” snapped Frank.

“As you wish. Years ago I had a kid who I figured would follow his old man into law enforcement. He was a good kid, made good grades in school. I was real proud of him. I wanted him to go to college, I wanted it real bad, and, at that time Kenny, that was my son’s name, wanted to do whatever his old man wanted. I was real proud of that boy. Did I tell you that?”

“Yes," said Frank. "You told me.”

“Okay, I sometimes repeat myself. People tell me that.”

Frank looked straight at the man.

“Well, Kenny, that’s my son’s name. Hell, I told you that. Well, Kenny came home from his first year at school and had done real well, good grades and all. No problem. That summer, met a nice girl, at least I thought she was nice. You know, pretty little thing.”

“Yes Sir.”