by Kay Wyont
“Bingo! Another ticket and another lost license brought him to our doorstep. He didn’t even bother changing his name. I’d at least do that much to try and hide what I’d done. Especially in today’s world. It’s too easy to google a name and dig up all kinds of dirt.” He held up his hands and slowly wiggled his fingers. “I’ve got the blisters to prove it. Eventually, all law enforcement databases will be linked, so it’ll be even easier than it is now. Bad guys with at least half a brain change their name. That’s Crime 101.”
“I guess Crime 101 wasn’t required coursework for any of his degrees.” Randy shook his head. “But that alone won’t be enough to get a judge to sign off on a warrant, will it? We’ve got a doctor with several DUIs and five of his clients who went off the deep end. It still seems kind of weak.”
“What you boys need is a motive.” Chief Sanchez grinned, drawing out the silence.
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Randy asked, chuckling.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” the chief replied. “It’s not often I get to play detective these days. This was actually kind of fun.”
“Would you just tell us already?” Danny asked.
“Lucky for us, the good doctor has a big mouth and likes to talk to reporters when he gets caught.” The chief picked up a stack of papers from his desk. “In my hand, gentlemen, I have articles from several different newspapers that interviewed Higgins after his arrests. He seems to think we’re the ones to blame for him losing his licenses to practice. He goes on and on about trumped-up charges, faked breathalyzer results—he’s sure one drink couldn’t be a problem for him—and dimwitted cops. Apparently, cops are so busy writing bogus tickets for the fine money, we fail to mete out real justice. He goes on to say that someone with his level of intelligence would never get caught committing an actual crime because we’re too stupid to catch him.”
“He’s a blowhard. How does that help us?” Randy asked.
“Do you know what MKUltra was?” Chief Sanchez asked.
“Never heard of it,” Randy replied. He looked at Danny, who shook his head.
“MK what-tra?” Frank looked as confused as Randy felt.
“It was a CIA mind-control program, more or less, that ran from the 1950s into the ‘70s. Spooky spy stuff. And guess whose father worked on it.”
“No way,” Danny exclaimed.
“Yep. Higgins bragged about that, too. How someone with the right technique could get anyone to do anything, and the cops would never be able to figure it out.”
“So, you think he might be using those techniques on people?” Danny asked.
The chief shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. But you have to admit, it’s strange.”
“He does use hypnosis at his clinic,” Danny replied.
“Yeah, but even with hypnosis you can’t get somebody to go against their values, right?” Frank asked.
“I’ve heard that, too.” Randy mulled it over. “But what if you thought you were doing a good thing? Take Andy. His wife told us he got upset at the thought of someone drinking and driving. Shortly thereafter, he shot up a bar.”
“I don’t know. Convince someone to commit murder to save lives?” Danny scratched his head. “You’d have to bring out some pretty deeply buried feelings to do that.”
“Didn’t Ann say Andy’s father did jailtime for a DUI? That could have done it.” Frank said.
“It’d have to be a two-pronged approach.” Randy said. “Find a subconscious belief to exploit, then use hypnosis to cash in on that exploitation. Still sounds awfully improbable. Do you think that’s enough to get us a warrant, Chief?”
“If you approach Judge Kirkman, it might be. He’s always spouting off some new conspiracy or another. Or talking about an alien invasion or the government taking over our lives. This is right up his alley. First thing tomorrow morning take him all this stuff.” Chief Sanchez handed the printouts to Randy. “Tell him what you found out talking to the families and see if he bites. If he doesn’t, we’re stuck finding out more on our own. If he does, we’ll search the clinic until we find the noose that’ll hang Higgins. I’ve got twenty bucks that says he’s behind all this.”
“No bet,” Randy replied.
“Then let the games begin, boys. Let me know when you get the warrant. If you get it, that is. But don’t talk to anybody else yet. It’s Kirkman or nobody.”
Randy touched a finger to his forehead in a casual salute. “Gotcha. We’ll keep you posted. And thanks for doing all that research. Saved us a lot of time.”
“You’re welcome. Now get out of here. I need to get home.”
When they left the office, Frank let out a low whistle. “I’m impressed. I wouldn’t expect someone in his position to stoop to grunt work.”
“That’s why he’s the chief,” Randy said. “He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. Let’s just hope we get the warrant. I want to find something that’ll prove Higgins destroyed Rick’s life and the lives of the others so bad I can taste it.”
“For Rick!” Danny and Frank said in unison.
Randy smiled at his determined companions. For Rick. We’re comin’ for you, Higgins.
THIRTEEN
Judge Kirkman was already in court when the officers showed up and they cooled their heels until lunchtime. Kirkman was happy to sign the warrant. A little too happy. Once he started rambling on about the government and mind control, Randy got antsy. Then Kirkman drifted off onto something called Project BLUEBIRD.
I can’t take much more of this! Randy slid one hand in his pocket and fingered his phone. How can I get Margaret to bail me out, without looking at the phone? He toyed with the idea of using their special 911 code but knew he’d pay dearly since it really wasn’t an emergency. Randy nodded at the judge’s latest comment and tried to feign interest while deciding on a course of action. Before he could put any plan into action, the clerk came in to tell Judge Kirkman the court was ready to reconvene, and Randy breathed a sigh of relief. Hallelujah! Thank you for saving me from Margaret’s wrath. Randy quickly stood up before Kirkman could say he needed a few more minutes.
“Thank you so much, your Honor. Sorry for taking up so much of your time. Come on, guys.” The officers rushed from the room as fast as they could without making a spectacle of themselves, but before they hit the door, Randy caught the disappointed look on the judge’s face. He’d have started on canaries or parakeets next.
“I thought we’d never get out of there,” Danny said as they got into Randy’s vehicle. “How can such a wackadoodle keep his seat on the bench?”
“Beats me,” Randy replied, starting the car.
“Either of you know what Project BLUEBIRD is?” Frank asked from the backseat.
“Beats me.” Randy said again.
“I’d guess something to do with birdwatching, but I doubt Kirkman would be into that. Unless they were alien birds.” Danny snickered.
“Google it, Frank. You’ve got time. With this traffic, it’ll take us at least twenty minutes to get to the clinic. Danny, text Susan and tell her we’re a go. They can meet us out there. And tell her to let the chief know we got the warrant.”
“Whoa,” Frank said.
“What’d you find?”
“A Top-Secret CIA document from April 1950. It must have been declassified. Assuming this isn’t internet BS. It allocated over $65,000 for the project.”
“Isn’t that about a bazillion dollars in today’s money?” Danny asked.
“Wait just a second.” Frank’s fingers tapped on the phone screen. “$65,000 in 1950 is worth about ten times that today.”
“Couldn’t resist, huh, Frank?” Danny asked, laughing.
“Does it say what the project was about?” Randy asked.
“Interrogation techniques using drugs, hypnosis, and polygraph.”
Danny glanced over his shoulder. “Kirkman’s favorite topics. What else ya got?”
“This is mostly the budget. We’ve got salar
ies for several high-level military personnel, equipment, supplies, stuff like that. I’ll see what else I can find.”
“This traffic is killing me. We could probably have gotten there faster by walking.” Randy grumbled.
A moment later, Frank piped up again. “I found another site that references a 1951 memo saying the research would address specific problems. I’m going to paraphrase, but... they wanted to find out if they could create an action by post-hypnotic control to make someone do something contrary to an individual’s basic moral principles and how quickly those results could be achieved.” Frank paused, then barked out an excited exclamation. “Oh! You’ll love this! Could they ‘seize a subject, and, in the space of an hour, have him crash an airplane, wreck a train, et cetera?’ Sound familiar?”
Randy hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “It sounds like what the chief said about MKUltra.”
“It sure does,” Danny agreed. “I can’t believe all that stuff was going on and the public didn’t know about it. Maybe the judge isn’t such a wackadoodle after all. Who knows what’s going on nowadays?”
Randy frowned as he drove into the clinic parking lot. “Hey, don’t you start thinking weird conspiracy stuff, too. You go off on enough tangents without me having to listen to that.”
“Wait,” Frank interjected. “Okay, this explains it. The reason it sounds so similar is that project BLUEBIRD evidently spawned project ARTICHOKE, which became project MKUltra. I guess they’re all iterations of essentially the same thing.”
After pulling into one of the many empty spots in the lot, Randy cut the engine and turned to his partner. “With a little luck, we’ll find something in here that proves Dr. Higgins is trying the same thing.”
Once again, the waiting room was empty when the officers walked in. Mrs. Winslow looked up in surprise from her post at the reception desk.
“Good afternoon. We have a search warrant for the clinic.” Randy handed the paper across the desk into Mrs. Winslow’s hesitant hands.
“Oh, my! Dr. Higgins isn’t here right now. He’s running a quick errand. Doesn’t he need to be here?”
“No, ma’am,” Randy said. “We don’t need his permission to search, so we can get started without him.”
“Well, all right, if you say so. What do I do?”
“You don’t do anything, ma’am. We just need you to stay out of our way.” Danny motioned away from the desk with his most congenial smile. “If you would, please, sit in one of those chairs over there in the waiting room.”
She remained seated firmly on her chair, one hand on the desk phone. “May I call Dr. Higgins and let him know you’re here?”
“Yes, ma’am, you can, and then please go to the waiting area.” Randy turned as the entrance bell tinkled and the rest of their team walked in. “Perfect timing. Frank, have you met Susan and Marty, our evidence technicians? You three check out the storage room and client rooms. I’ll start here at the front desk.”
“I'll head to Higgins’ office. Let me know if you find anything,” Danny said.
Mrs. Winslow hung up the phone but lingered at Randy’s elbow. “Is there anything I can help you find, detective?”
“No, ma’am. Just wait over there, if you would, please.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t discuss that. Just head to the waiting area, please.”
“All right. If you need any help, let me know,” she replied.
Randy hunted through the reception desk but found it surprisingly devoid of paperwork. “Mrs. Winslow, what’s in this drawer? It’s locked.”
“Uh... That’s where I keep my purse.”
“Would you mind opening the drawer, please?”
“Of course.” She reluctantly fished a key out of a tiny pocket in her snug slacks. “Are you going to look through my purse? It’s pretty messy.”
“No, ma’am, the search warrant doesn’t cover employees’ personal property.” Randy immediately regretted that he hadn’t been able to get Judge Kirkman to roll over on that. Considering how relieved the receptionist looked, he should have tried harder.
Crap.
The purse was the only thing in the drawer, and it was zipped up tighter than a baggie. So much for getting a look inside. With a sigh, he slid the drawer shut and addressed Mrs. Winslow. “I’m through here. You can return to the desk if you’d like.”
“Thank you, but I’ll wait over there. Those chairs are much more comfortable than this one. May I take my purse with me? I might need a Kleenex.” Mrs. Winslow put her finger underneath her nose and sniffed. “I have a slight cold.”
“No, ma’am. Please leave your purse where it is.” More comfortable, or do you want your purse as far away from me as possible? Mrs. Winslow was a horrible actress. Still, he couldn’t keep her away from the desk or her purse indefinitely. But if felt good to make her wonder what he knew.
After a quick nod of acknowledgment, he went to help Danny in Dr. Higgins’ office. “Have you found anything?”
“I’ve found files for the infamous five—Rick, Lloyd, Andy, Nelson, and Hank. We’ll study those back at the station. And I’ve boxed up the rest so we can go through them later. What did you find?”
“Nothing. I really wish Judge Kirkman hadn’t been so adamant about not letting us search Mrs. Winslow’s things. She keeps her purse in a locked drawer, and she got pretty skittish when I asked her for the key. She said her purse was messy, but it seemed like more than that.”
“Women and their purses. Should we send Frank back to ask Judge Kirkman for another warrant?” Danny asked.
“I doubt it would do any good. Besides, without any evidence against her, there’s no way he’d agree. We’ve got nothing new, then?”
“One other client name did sound familiar. Saul Young. I just can’t remember where I heard it.”
“That’s funny, it does to me, too. The chief did all that research. Maybe he’ll remember. Call him. I’m going to turn this office upside down. There has to be something here.”
Danny pulled out his phone. “Man, the reception in here is terrible. I’m going outside. I’ll be right back.”
“You know where I’ll be.”
Randy went straight to the desk and rummaged through the center drawer. Pens, pencils, note paper, gum wrapper... Nothing out of the ordinary. Too bad there wasn’t a receipt for LSD. That would have worked.
Randy sighed, closed the drawer and searched the rest of the desk. Twenty minutes later, he leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. Damn. Nothing. The office was sparsely furnished. Other than the file cabinet, which Danny had already cleaned out, there was nowhere else in the room to hide anything. There had to be something in the desk.
He looked back down at the uncooperative piece of furniture. Quickly glancing at the door to make sure he was alone, he closed his eyes, tented his fingers, and bowed his head.
Oh, worthy desk, reveal your carefully guarded secrets. Randy peeked out of one eye. Nothing. Stupid desk!
Resigned to failure, he put his palms flat on the desk and started to stand. But his hands weren’t on wood, they were on a large leather blotter which shifted beneath his weight. Randy quickly sat back down as inspiration struck. Eagerly leaning forward, he lifted the blotter and peered underneath. Nothing but empty desk. As he put it back in place, he caught a flash of something beige on the underside of the blotter and lifted it all the way up.
It was a sticky note with IM2gd4EV1 written on it. What the heck? A smile slowly replaced his frown. It was a password. Randy flicked the paper as he stared off into space. He looked at the note again and read each character aloud. Then it all clicked into place.
I am too good for everyone.
Winner, winner chicken dinner! You just keeping thinking that, Mr. Smarty Pants. I’ll see you in prison or die trying. He carefully returned the password and sat back in disgust just as Frank and Susan came into the office.
Susan held up a clear injection vial about the size of her ring finger. “Didn’t you say the clinic didn’t use drugs?”
“I did.” Randy took the vial and rotated it slowly. Colorless liquid swirled inside the unmarked glass. “Wonder what this is.”
“Any chance the doctor is diabetic?” Susan asked. “It could be insulin, although I’d expect it to be labeled. In fact, I’d expect anything in a vial like this to be labeled.”
“Anything legal, you mean.”
“Exactly. I’ll have to run some tests on these. I found about a half-dozen in a wipe container, like the kind you have on a kitchen counter. Except there were no wipes, and I’m pretty sure this isn’t a cleaner. It was behind the full containers in one of the storage-room cabinets.”
Danny sauntered through the door. “Janitorial supplies? You’re supposed to be looking for evidence, not cleaning house.” He stopped short when he noticed the vial. “What’s that?”
“We don’t know. Susan found about a half-dozen bottles of it.”
“Could it be LSD?”
“I suppose. It’s colorless and odorless, although it could just be water. Why?” Susan asked.
“Saul Young was the VIA bus driver on our list. Remember the chief saying there were drugs in his system?” Danny asked.
Randy smirked. “Let me guess. LSD.”
“Traces of it, but yes.”
“Well, this just gets better and better.” Randy tapped the doctor’s desk. “I wonder where his laptop is. He was using it when we interviewed him the first time.”
“Maybe he took it with him. Hopefully, he’ll have it when he shows back up.” Frank took the vial in his gloved hand and held it up to the light. “Looks like water.”
“Too bad Judge Kirkman wouldn’t buy off on a warrant for his house,” Danny said. “If he doesn’t come back with the laptop, we won’t get a look. No telling what’s in there.”
“Keep your fingers crossed,” Randy said. “So far, we don’t have much.”
“That might not be entirely true,” Susan said. “I’ve checked all the rooms. Most are unremarkable, but one is a little strange. Come on. I want your opinion.” She motioned for them to follow and left the office.
