The Vanished

by Tim Kizer

LeRoy glanced at him and replied, “Thank you. Do you want an autograph?”

  Vincent smiled. “Yes, please.” He pulled out his notebook, opened it to a blank page, and held it out to LeRoy.

  The hypnotist grabbed the notebook and asked, “Do you have a pen?”

  Vincent gave him the pen, and LeRoy signed an autograph.

  “Thank you. My name’s Vincent, by the way.” Vincent put his notebook back in his pocket. “Do you perform in Vegas?”

  “Yes. I love Vegas. The problem is, Vegas is too hot in the summer for my taste.”

  LeRoy stopped, took a key from his pants pocket, and slipped it into the lock of his dressing-room door. He gave Vincent an assessing look and then opened the door.

  “I’ve got a proposition you might be interested in,” Vincent said as LeRoy entered the room. “Do you mind if I come in?”

  “Please come in.”

  LeRoy motioned Vincent to sit down on the small leather sofa.

  “I have a friend,” Vincent said. “He has a drinking problem. A severe drinking problem. I wonder if you could hypnotize him to quit drinking. He’ll pay you a lot of money.”

  “What’s wrong with a drinking problem? I think it’s a good problem to have.” LeRoy smiled.

  “It’s not the worst problem, for sure. Have you ever done anything like that?”

  “No. But as they say, there’s always a first time for everything.”

  “Will you help my friend?”

  “It’s an interesting challenge. How much is your friend willing to pay?”

  “Eight thousand dollars.”

  “I guess I could give it a shot. Let me think about it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And your friend must understand that hypnosis doesn’t always work.”

  “He understands that.”

  “I think I might be able to squeeze your friend into my schedule in the next three months. Can you give me your number?”

  “Sure.”

  Vincent told LeRoy his phone number, and the hypnotist saved it in his cellphone.

  “Do you teach hypnotism?” Vincent asked.

  “I used to, a long time ago.”

  “Would you consider giving lessons?”

  “Do you want to become a hypnotist?”

  “Yeah. I think it would be nice.”

  “I don’t have time for that, I’m sorry.”

  “Do you know Tom Powell?”

  “No. Who is he?”

  “He’s a friend of mine. He wants to become a hypnotist, too. He told me he met you in Vegas last year. Do you remember talking to him?”

  LeRoy shook his head. “No.”

  “He said he asked you to teach him hypnotism.”

  “I must have said no.” LeRoy smiled.

  3

  Vincent was awakened by his cellphone. As he looked at his watch, he realized he wanted badly to go back to sleep. I wouldn’t get out of bed even if they offered me a thousand dollars, he thought.

  It was 10:08 am. He was still in Houston.

  Vincent picked up his phone from the nightstand. It was an unknown number. He tapped the Answer button.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “This is Devon LeRoy. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine. How are you?” Vincent swung his legs out of bed and sat up.

  “Good. Are you still in Houston?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought about your proposition and decided to accept it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’d like to discuss the details in person. Can you meet me today?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a café called Figaro a couple of blocks from my hotel. Let’s meet there at noon.”

  “Okay.”

  Vincent wrote down the address of the café and then hung up.

  Figaro was situated on the first floor of a three-story building, between a bar and a law office. Outside it, soothing jazz was playing, a pleasant change from the traffic noise. As Vincent approached the café, he saw LeRoy sitting at a sidewalk table with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. LeRoy waved to him and flashed a big smile.

  “The weather is gorgeous, isn’t it?” LeRoy shook Vincent’s hand.

  “Yes, it is.” Vincent sat down and picked up the menu.

  “I hope I didn’t ruin your plans.”

  “I didn’t have any plans.”

  Vincent began to scan the menu. The sweet smell of pastries wafted from inside the café.

  “Good. Are you staying in downtown?”

  “Yes. I’m staying at Crowne Plaza.”

  LeRoy took a sip from his cup. “I can see your friend in three weeks. Please ask him if he can come to New York in three weeks.”

  “How much do you want him to pay you?”

  “Eight thousand dollars. I’ll have four sessions with him. I believe four sessions will be enough.”

  “Sounds good. I hope it works.”

  “It should work.”

  Vincent closed the menu and laid it on the table.

  “Where does your friend live?” LeRoy asked.

  “Dallas.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I live in Dallas, too.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Joe.”

  LeRoy smiled. “Honestly, I thought you were talking about yourself when you told me about your friend with a drinking problem.”

  “Do I look like an alcoholic?”

  “No, not at all. I’m sorry.” Looking in Vincent’s eyes, LeRoy turned his cup in its saucer.

  “How old is Joe?”

  “Thirty-five.” Vincent withdrew Tom Powell’s photo from his jacket pocket and put it on the table. “This is my friend Tom Powell. Do you recognize him?”

  LeRoy looked at the picture for a long moment, then reached over and took Vincent’s hand. Staring into Vincent’s eyes, he said, “The weather is beautiful today, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  LeRoy let go of Vincent’s hand. “I want you to get up.”

  Vincent rose from his chair with a vacant expression on his face. LeRoy grabbed Tom’s picture from the table and slipped it into his pants pocket.

  “Sit down.”

  Without saying a word, Vincent sat down. LeRoy called the waiter over and asked for the check. Then he extracted a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and winked at Vincent, who continued to be silent, staring blankly into space. When the waiter brought the check, LeRoy handed him the twenty-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. The waiter thanked the hypnotist and went inside.

  LeRoy glanced at his watch, then stood up and said to Vincent, “Get up.”

  When Vincent rose to his feet, the hypnotist said, “Now I want you to follow me to my car.”

  LeRoy’s rental car was in a parking lot one block from Figaro. As he had expected, he had no trouble getting Vincent there: the guy followed him like a duckling follows its mother.

  LeRoy unlocked his Camry, opened the front passenger door, and ordered Vincent to get in the car. Vincent did as told. LeRoy slipped behind the steering wheel and unbuttoned Vincent’s shirt. There was no microphone taped to Vincent’s chest or stomach.

  “What’s your real name?” LeRoy asked as he reached into the breast pocket of Vincent’s suit coat.

  “Vincent Daley.”

  In the breast pocket, he found a receipt from a restaurant called Golden Phoenix. LeRoy put the receipt back in the pocket and asked, “Do you work for the government?”

  “No.”

  The side pockets of Vincent’s suit coat were empty.

  “Are you wearing a wire?”

  “No.”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  “Did you come here alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is anyone watching us?”

  “No.”

  “Are you wearing a tracking device?”

  �
�No.”

  “Very good. Give me your cellphone.”

  Vincent withdrew his cell and handed it to LeRoy.

  “We’re going for a ride.” LeRoy removed the back cover of the phone and pulled out the battery. Then he dropped the battery in the center console and said, “When I count to three, you will fall asleep. One. Two. Three.”

  Vincent shut his eyes.

  LeRoy folded his hands in his lap and remained in this position for half a minute, deciding whether or not to proceed with the plan.

  Chapter 26

  1

  There was a knock on the door, and Devon, who was sitting on the sofa with his shoes off, said, “Come in.”

  The man who entered the dressing room was about five feet ten, of medium build and had short brown hair and a bland, clean-shaven face. He was the kind of man you wouldn’t look at twice on the street, which was a good thing for someone trying to stay under the radar.

  “Hi, Mister LeRoy. My name’s Tom Powell. I’m a big fan of yours.”

  Tom’s face seemed familiar. It took Devon a few seconds to remember where he’d seen him: the guy was one of the audience volunteers from today’s show.

  Why didn’t he tell Tom to go pound sand? There were two reasons. First, he was bored and could use some chit-chat. And second, there were tremendous admiration and awe in Tom’s eyes, and Devon was in the mood to be praised.

  “Please have a seat.” Devon pointed at a chair near the mirror.

  “It was amazing.” Tom sat down. “Your show. Just amazing.”

  “What did you like the most?”

  “I liked everything.”

  “Thank you, Tom.”

  “Can you really control other people’s minds?”

  “What do you think? You saw me in action, didn’t you?”

  “Those people did everything you told them to. I think that’s mind control. How long did it take you to learn hypnosis?”

  “Two years.”

  “Can you teach me hypnosis?”

  “Why do you want to learn it?”

  “I think it’s a very useful skill.”

  “You’re not going to use it to rob a bank, are you?” Devon smiled.

  “No, no. I’m not going to use it for anything illegal.” Tom shifted in his chair.

  Devon rose from the sofa, stepped up to Tom, and put him in a trance. Then he locked the door and sat down.

  “Why do you want to learn hypnotism, Tom?” he asked.

  “I want to punish David Miller.”

  It was an interesting twist.

  “Who’s David Miller?”

  “He used to be a prosecutor in Tucson. He put me in prison. My sister’s married to him.”

  “How long were you in prison?”

  “Six years.”

  “What were you convicted of?”

  “Burglary.”

  “What did you steal?”

  “I didn’t steal anything. I was innocent. It was a miscarriage of justice.”

  Tom had spent six years behind bars for a crime he hadn’t committed. That was a real tragedy.

  When Devon was eleven, his aunt’s gold ring went missing while he was visiting her. His mother accused him of stealing the ring and gave him a harsh talking-to. She was so angry she smacked him upside the head several times. He was grounded for a month, which upset him greatly, but what hurt him the most was that his own mother didn’t believe him. Devon was never able to prove he hadn’t taken the ring, and he still remembered how painful that experience had been.

  “How do you want to punish David Miller?” Devon asked.

  “I want to make him kill someone so he’ll go to prison for murder.”

  It was a cunning plan, and Devon liked it.

  “Who is David going to kill?”

  “Some random person.”

  There was nothing wrong with revenge. People had been taking vengeance for as long as mankind had existed. A thirst for revenge was one of the cornerstones of human nature and generally played a positive role. It was fear of revenge that kept the world from plunging into a nuclear war—mutual assured destruction and all that.

  If vindictive people scare you, you must remember that it’s very easy to avoid falling victim to revenge: don’t treat others unjustly.

  If you’re not vengeful, that’s your business, but don’t condemn those who are because the Bible says, ‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’

  Speaking of ‘an eye for an eye,’ Devon didn’t think that the punishment must match the injury. If someone had caused you to serve six years in prison for a crime you hadn’t committed, it was okay to kill him and not just beat him up.

  “When I count to three, you will wake up,” Devon said. “One, two, three.”

  When Tom came out of the trance, Devon said, “I know why you want to learn hypnotism,”

  “You do?”

  “And I’m willing to help you.”

  Why did he want to help Tom?

  First, he sympathized with the guy. Second, he loved challenges, and hypnotizing someone to commit murder was a very interesting challenge, to say the least. And third, he was bored, he felt a craving for adventure.

  Devon waited for Tom to say something, but Tom made no reply.

  “I’ll help you punish David Miller,” Devon said. “I know that you want to make him commit murder.”

  “Did you… Did you just hypnotize me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you want to help me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you make a person kill another person?”

  “It depends. I’ve never done that, so I can only guess.”

  “What does it depend on?”

  “A person’s suggestibility.”

  “I want him to do it in public so there’ll be a lot of witnesses.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Can you make a person commit suicide?”

  “I believe some people can be hypnotized to commit suicide. You said your sister’s married to David. Why didn’t she put in a word for you with him?”

  “She married him after the trial. She was supposed to ruin his life, but she betrayed me.”

  “Your sister married him to avenge you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And David doesn’t know that?”

  “I don’t think he does.”

  “How did she betray you?”

  “She fell in love with this motherfucker. At least that’s what she says. I think she fell in love with his money.”

  “Is he rich?”

  “Yeah. A rich uncle died and left him all his money.”

  “Tell me about your case.”

  When Tom finished telling his story, Devon asked if there was anyone else Tom wanted to punish besides David Miller.

  “Yes. Andy Woulard,” Tom said.

  “The guy that sold you out? What are you going to do to him?”

  “I’ll probably kill him.”

  “I think he deserves it.”

  “What about the judge? He didn’t have to give you the maximum sentence, but he did.”

  Tom nodded. “You’re right. I guess he needs to be punished, too.”

  2

  Tom came up with the idea of faking his death after he had read a story about a British billionaire who was suspected to have staged his death to avoid dealing with the imminent collapse of his business empire.

  A typical blood donation was one pint, which was about two cups. They spilled and splashed three quarters of a pint of Tom’s blood in his living room and garage to make it look like he had been stabbed to death and then disposed of.

  Although Devon didn’t expect Tom to get caught by the police, he decided to leave no evidence connecting him to Tom—just in case. He used a disposable cellphone to call and receive calls from Tom. All his email communications with Tom were conducted through an anonymous email account created specifically for this purpose. Whenever he was in Tom’s house or rode in Tom’s car, Dev
on wore gloves in order to avoid leaving fingerprints. Devon never went to Tom’s place in a car that could be traced to him. He always had Tom take him there and back.

  Tom never asked Devon why he was helping him. Perhaps Tom was afraid Devon would change his mind about helping him if he stopped to think about it. Tom was a smart man. If something works, don’t mess with it.

  They made their first strike seven months after they staged Tom’s death. The judge got off easy. He died of a heart attack when he saw a machete in Tom’s hand. The funny thing was, Tom wasn’t going to use the machete, at least not at that particular time.

  Tom was pissed off. He didn’t even get a chance to punch Judge Gutterud in the nose—that big meaty nose, which had made Devon think of anteaters and facial tumors.

  Unlike Judge Gutterud, Andrew Woulard was as healthy as a horse and as tough as a badger. He was still alive after Tom had beaten him mercilessly for ten minutes with a baseball bat (Tom must have spent some of that time making up for what he had been unable to do to the judge). Devon didn’t participate in the beating; he was just a spectator. Tom killed Woulard by stabbing him in the heart with a kitchen knife. They buried the body in the desert forty miles north of Tucson.

  It was Devon’s idea to frame David Miller for the murder of his daughter. He thought it was a more elegant and cruel way to punish David than the one Tom had in mind.

  Tom told Annie that her parents had given her away because she was epileptic. It broke the girl’s heart, she cried for a week after hearing the terrible news. Devon didn’t enjoy Annie’s suffering, but he found it amusing how gullible little children were. If she had been five years older, she would have questioned the veracity of Tom’s claim and might even have tried to contact the Millers.

  Tom told the girl he was her new father, and she accepted it. Just to be on the safe side, Devon hypnotized Annie to forget David and Carol Millers. He doubted he had completely wiped the Millers from Annie’s mind, but he believed he had managed to turn them into a vague memory, which was good enough for his purposes.

  Ten days after he abducted Annie, Tom suggested that they coerce David into confessing to killing his daughter.

  “You said he’d confess on his own, but he hasn’t,” Tom complained. “We have to force him.”

  “He’ll do it, we just need to wait a little longer,” Devon said. “You’re impatient. Your impatience will be your downfall, mark my words, John.” (Tom’s new name was John Baker, and Devon called him John even when no one was around.)