The Link

By Harry Harris

Jeff Conradi couldn’t believe that the advice he was dispensing to people via his popular, nationalized television program, ‘Counsel by Conradi’, which emanated in Mesa, Arizona, was responsible for the murders that were taking place in Los Angeles, California. He couldn’t fathom how that was possible? How could the personal advice he gave a person in one state influence another human being living in another state to kill someone? He didn’t know what to think or what to believe, yet there was proof that, that was the case, and it was driving him crazy.After suffering for months with that irrational obsession, Jeff Conradi decided to see a psychiatrist. He had to unravel what was happening; he had to find the answer, -- if there was one – so he could dismiss all doubt from his mind that he was responsible for those murders. However, if the psychiatrist couldn’t help him, couldn’t get to the bottom of what was troubling him, he knew he would go out of his mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harry Harris
• Release date: Apr 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311759184

Book preview

THE LINK

By Harry Harris

Copyright 2015 Harry Harris

Published by HERCULES-APOLLO MYSTERIES

at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

#prologue

#Chapter1

#Chapter2

#Chapter3

#Chapter4

#Chapter5

#Chapter6

#Chapter7

#Chapter8

#Chapter9

#Chapter10

#Chapter11

#Chapter12

#Chapter13

#Chapter14

#Chapter15

#Chapter16

#Chapter17

#Chapter18

#Chapter19

#Chapter20

#Chapter21

#Chapter22

#Chapter23

#Chapter24

#AboutAuthor

#otherbooks

Prologue

Jeff Conradi couldn’t believe that the advice he was dispensing to people via his popular, nationalized television program, ‘Counsel by Conradi’, which emanated in Mesa, Arizona, was responsible for the murders that were taking place in Los Angeles, California. He couldn’t fathom how that was possible? How could the personal advice he gave a person in one state influence another human being living in another state to kill someone? He didn’t know what to think or what to believe, yet there was proof that, that was the case, and it was driving him crazy.

After suffering for months with that irrational obsession, Jeff Conradi decided to see a psychiatrist. He had to unravel what was happening; he had to find the answer, -- if there was one – so he could dismiss all doubt from his mind that he was responsible for those murders. However, if the psychiatrist couldn’t help him, couldn’t get to the bottom of what was troubling him, he knew he would go out of his mind.

Chapter One

The moment Jeff Conradi stepped into Dr. Boris Bergstrom’s sumptuous, well-appointed ‘Salle D’attente,’ it became obvious to him that his visits with the psychiatrist would be expensive. But he didn’t care what it cost he had to get to the bottom of what was troubling him. He was no sooner in the lavish anteroom than he was approached by a lovely, young receptionist. Smiling sweetly at him, she said, "You must be

Mr. Conradi." When Jeff nodded she added quickly,

Dr. Bergstrom will be with you momentarily. Escorting the new patient to the handsome Windsor chair in front of her desk, she said, again smiling sweetly, Please make yourself comfortable. As Jeff sat in the exquisite chair she handed him a clip board that had several papers fastened to it with questions on them pertaining to his general health. It will be helpful, she said, if you would please fill out this questionnaire.

Jeff quickly answered the questions posed to him, and just as he got up to return the clipboard to the receptionist, Dr. Bergstrom, as if on cue, entered the anteroom. As he took the clip board from Jeff, he addressed him solemnly, Good morning, Mr. Conradi, but his salutation wasn’t followed by a cordial smile; instead the psychiatrist appeared to be, or so Jeff thought at the time, a very somber individual. He was also surprised that he wasn’t an elderly gentleman, -- as he had surmised -- but a man in his late forties, which made him a few years younger than he was. Nevertheless, out of respect for his profession, Jeff answered him in the same austere fashion: Good morning, Sir.

However, before Jeff knew what was happening, the doctor took him under the arm and as he was escorting him into his private chamber, he said, Just because I get up on the wrong side of the bed in the mornings and don’t smile at my patients when I greet them, doesn’t mean that you should react in kind. Grinning blithesomely the psychiatrist added quickly, Or did you also get up on the wrong side of your bed this morning? His comment made Jeff smile and only then did he realize that the doctor purposely used the remark to put him at ease.

When they entered the doctor’s inner sanctum Jeff was again surprised, for it was not only small but to say that it was sparsely furnished was to be generous: There were two armchairs in the place with a low, ornate table between them, and although the chairs were handsome in design and unusually large and comfortable-looking, that was all there was in the room; even the walls were bare. Jeff couldn’t help thinking that whatever money was spent decorating his offices, it certainly wasn’t on his private sphere of activity; that was certain. The doctor seeing Jeff’s baffled expression, said, Do you think with what we’re here to accomplish that we need more furniture in this room? If you do, I’ll be happy to have this place redecorated for your next visit. And again the doctor grinned wryly at Jeff.

There was no doubt in Jeff’s mind that the doctor had a disarming sense of humor; also, that he was right; nothing else was needed in the room for what he hoped they would be able to accomplish. No, I don’t think there’s a need for more furniture, Jeff said, but I am surprised that one of those elegant armchairs isn’t a couch.

Pretending to be exasperated the doctor declared, I’m sure that one day a new patient will come into my office and not wonder why a couch isn’t in this room. However, since the question needs to be answered, I’ll be honest and unfold the mystery for you: I had a couch in this room for more years than I care to remember; unfortunately, I’d fall asleep lying on it as I listened to my patients, which didn’t help a bit in solving their problems. Surely you can appreciate that! And he smiled like a cat that would happily eat a cute, little, yellow bird without giving it a second thought.

In that case, Jeff replied jokingly, I hope those armchairs aren’t as comfortable as they look otherwise you’ll be coping with the same problem.

Touché! the doctor uttered blissfully. Incidentally, those chairs are fashioned after the Chinese Peacock Throne. I thought it might provide us with some sound Chinese wisdom.

If wisdom we’re after, Jeff replied quickly, then perhaps they should have been fashioned after the Austrian Hapsburg Throne during the Sigmund Freud period.

If it’s another touché you’re after, Mr. Conradi, you’ve got it. There’s no doubt that we understand each other quite well already, the armchairs notwithstanding.

The comment made Jeff chuckle; he knew that the doctor had put him completely at ease with his humor. In that case, Jeff said, I don’t believe it matters in which armchair I sit in…or does it?

Of course, it does, the doctor declared solemnly. If you sit in the wrong chair I won’t know which one of us is the patient. And once again his face creased into a bright grin. Nevertheless, since I think we’re now on the same wave length let’s get to the serious part of your visit here this morning. And with that he led Jeff to the chair he wanted him to sit in.

When both men were seated comfortably, the doctor began looking over the questionnaire that Jeff had filled out, and as he did he said, You’re aware, of course, that our sessions will be recorded. When Jeff nodded, he added, That’s so, later, when necessary, I can review some of the important issues we discuss.

That’s fine with me, but I don’t see a microphone or any recording apparatus anywhere in this room.

Of course, you don’t. That’s because I hate gadgets; they mar the beauty of a room; -- don’t you think? -- so the microphones are hidden beautifully in our Peacock thrones, with the rest of the recording equipment operating soundlessly next door in my private office. He looked sedately at his new patient. "Now,

Mr. Conradi, it’s time for us to get down to business. Although I don’t have the time to look at television as often as I‘d like, I have seen your show several times, and I think some of the advice you give the people in your vast audience is right on the money. Smiling wryly he uttered joyfully, I couldn’t do better myself. Nevertheless, as I’m looking over some of your answers in this questionnaire, I’d like you to tell me a little about yourself… and we can go on from there. That will help me to better understand why you’ve come to see me."

Just as Jeff was about to begin talking about himself, the receptionist, as if on cue and without knocking, came into the room carrying a small tray; on it was a pot of steaming hot tea, two cups, and two small bowls, one with sugar and the other with cream. She placed the tray on the small table between the men, and without a word, allowing her smile do all the talking, took her leave.

I thought a little hot tea would help us get through our session more pleasantly…for when I had my first glimpse of you this morning I got the impression that you appeared anxious about seeing me; nevertheless, I’m happy to note that you’ve relaxed considerably.

Yes, I must confess I was beyond myself as I walked into your office this morning; I almost didn’t come in I was so nervous about seeing you. However, you’ve put me completely as ease, doctor, for which I’m very grateful.

Of course, you are, the doctor stated cheerfully, but it was easy for me because you immediately understood where I was coming from. If people were more inclined to laugh, especially at themselves, and would always try to see the humorous side of things, I believe we mind-curists would be out of a job. For instance, if you didn’t have the sense of humor that you do, I would not have bombarded you with so much of my nonsense. However, I feel it has helped you to relax; that way you’ll be able to tell me things about yourself that otherwise you’d be inclined to keep to yourself, and that wouldn’t do either one of us a bit of good. As he poured the tea into the cups, he added, Now, let’s get serious. As we enjoy our tea tell me all about yourself, warts and all. And please keep in mind that there’s nothing you can reveal to me, no matter how erotic, tragic, depraved, or ridiculous you may think it is, that I haven’t heard many times before.

Well, in that case, doctor, I think I’d better begin by telling you that I’m very happily married; life with my wife couldn’t be better; there’s no other woman in my life to mar that precious relationship. I thought I’d better get that off my chest up front so you’d understand that my marriage has nothing to do with why I’m here. He paused a moment as he took a sip of his tea. "I met my wife when we were both going to

Los Angeles City College. We were in our early twenties and we were both majoring in English. After graduating we celebrated the event by getting married. It wasn’t long afterwards that I got a job as a writer for the Los Angeles Times and my wife became an English teacher in one of the High Schools in the city. She quit working a year or so later when she got pregnant with our first born, a boy; she never returned to the work force after that preferring to stay at home with the baby. Two years later we had another child, a delightful bundle of joy, a beautiful girl, which made us feel blessed that our family was complete. We’re now in our fifties and our children are both happily married and have children of their own, so there’s no problem there. After taking a few more sips of his tea, he said, I left my job with the Los Angeles Times when I got a better offer from the Tribune here in Arizona. I moved my family to Mesa, which was a stone’s throw from the newspaper’s main office, only after I felt that my job was secure. Several years after my family and I were happily ensconced here, I was asked by the editor of the newspaper if I wanted to take over the Helpful Hints column: a daily, syndicated article that was formerly handled by a woman who was retiring. We discussed the job at length, and although I thought it would be a good move for me professionally, I didn’t like the idea of writing a column under someone else’s appellation. I told my boss that I’d be happy to get involved in the project if I could write it under my own name. The editor agreed, and the name of the column was changed from ‘Ask Mildred’ to ‘Counsel by Conradi.’ It was the first time that a man was writing such a helpful hints column, and it went over quite well with the readers; they apparently enjoyed getting advice about personal matters from a man for a change. As a matter of fact, a few years later Counsel by Conradi went on radio, which gave people a choice: they could either write to me for advice in care of the newspaper or call me directly while I was on the air. The radio, Counsel by Conradi show, became so successful that the producers put the program on television and that’s where we are today. I’m happy to say that the television program became more successful than I could ever have imagined. So, looking at the professional side of my life you might say that I should be happy with the good fortune that has come my way, but that wouldn’t be the truth, not with what I’ve been experiencing the last three years. Jeff paused a moment and after sighing deeply, he said, I don’t know…perhaps the vexatious feeling about what’s taking place is all in my mind, and that I’m just imagining things; regardless, it has had a terrible affect on my life and it has me steeped to the lips in misery. It has also given me migraine headaches that last for days at a time. To be honest with you, doctor, I’m afraid that if we can’t solve the source of my wretchedness, it will destroy me."

I don’t understand, the doctor said, you haven’t told me anything so far that would indicate that you have a problem…so why are we here?

Dispensing advice to people is what brought about my mental turmoil. Please don’t misunderstand me, doctor, I enjoyed the successes I’ve had with Counsel by Conradi; it has brought me fame and a considerable amount of money, but during the last three years it has also given me a great deal of grief. I thought that the advice I gave people helped them, but now I feel that in some cases, rare as they may be, I’m responsible for people committing murder. That’s ridiculous, I know, but I have proof that what I’m saying to you is true. Jeff looked sternly at the psychiatrist to see what affect his words were having on him, but he saw that

Dr. Bergstrom’s face was inscrutable, and Jeff wondered if he had heard him. Did you hear what I just said, doctor?

Smiling whimsically, the doctor declared, Of course, I have, Mister Conradi! Just because I’m not looking at you while I’m perusing the answers you’ve given in this questionnaire, doesn’t mean that I’m not listening. His smile got broader. You’d be surprised; some of us psychiatrists can even chew and walk at the same time.

I’m sorry, Jeff uttered simply.

The doctor smiled benignly at Jeff and stated softly, I assure you, Mr. Conradi, that I’m listening intently to your every word."

After sipping more of his tea, Jeff said, Well, everything was going along so smoothly in my life that I kept thanking my lucky stars for I couldn’t imagine how things could get any better, either for me or for my family. After all, I have a good, interesting, well-paying job; my wife and I get along famously; we thoroughly enjoy living in Mesa; many of the people we’ve met here have become great friends of ours; our children and grandchildren are doing well, so what could have gone so wrong that I have to see a psychiatrist? After pausing a moment and looking sternly at the doctor again, Jeff said, Well, damn it, doctor, something did go wrong, terribly wrong. He paused for the longest time. It’s the third time in three years that it has happened and it’s driving me crazy.

And what is it that has taken place three times in three years that is having such an ill affect on your life?

About three months ago a Mr. Tim Akouna, a Japanese film producer, visiting Los Angeles to scout locations for his next movie, was killed, -- his head bashed in -- and, I honestly believe that murder took place because of the advice I gave to a member of his family. The year before that – also in Los Angeles – a young woman by the name of Anita Adolfson, who was from Sweden and was working in this country as an au pair, was murdered; and the woman she worked for died in an accident. And I again felt it was the advice I’d given the au pair that was responsible for those deaths. And three years ago, – the first of the three murders that haunt me – not only did a young chap called Erick Michaels die in an accident, but his stepfather was murdered…and all because of the advice I’d given that youngster.

The doctor smiled sympathetically. With the thousands of letters you receive every year asking for advice, what makes you feel that the counsel you offered when you answered three of them, -- during a three year period, mind you -- was responsible for people being killed? Don’t you think that’s stretching your imagination somewhat?

You won’t think so when I tell you more about it, Jeff declared sternly. After I learned that Erick Michaels died and that his stepfather was killed, I began to feel guilty about it. So much so, that I suffered for months with a dream, a nightmare if you will, that haunted me because I was certain that it was related to the advice I’d given that poor lad. Finally, after suffering for months with that dream, it suddenly stopped, and I began to feel like myself again. A year later, however, the same thing occurred. The au pair I mentioned that had asked me for advice was murdered. And once again I began having that same, god-awful nightmare, which again lasted for months, and just like the year before, it too suddenly stopped. However, doctor, it has happened again this year when the advice I gave a young woman was responsible for the death of a Japanese film producer, and, yes, the nightmare is once again with me and it’s driving me crazy. In three successive years people died because of the advice I had given to someone in their family. I don’t know if it’s mental transference, but I believe that in someway I’m instrumental in bringing about those murders, and, doctor, it’s making me sick. Jeff reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out a letter, and as he handed it to the doctor, he said, That’s the letter I received three years ago, the one which started all the trouble I’m now having; that’s when I realized that some of the advice I impart sanctions some people to commit murder. When I first read the letter, however, I thought that it was just like any of the others I received, which simply asked for my advice in solving a problem the writer was having…but as you’ll see, that was not the case.

The doctor took the letter from Jeff and after scanning through it quickly cleared his throat and began reading it aloud:

July 23, 2009

Dear Mr. Conradi,

My father died when I was eight years old and my sister was five. I’m now fourteen. My mother married again a year ago to man who had never been