“And?”
“And four years later, Kenneth Marks’s second wife disappears into thin air.”
“Yeah,” he drawled. There were dark circles under his eyes. I wondered if he had been rotated to the night shift. Then I remembered the dispatcher telling me earlier that he was on patrol. “I’m sure the task force is looking very carefully into the affairs of Ken Marks.”
“But if he’s our perp, there’s one thing I don’t understand.” I told him about Marks’s offer to pay me two million dollars to find Lydia’s killer and forgo telling the police. “Isn’t that a crime?”
“Not the offer. It becomes one if you actually did it.”
“But my point is, if Marks is our man, why would he make an offer like that?”
He shook his head. “No idea. If I had an idea, Teddy, I probably wouldn’t be a patrol officer.”
“Should I tell the task force?”
“That’s up to you.”
“Would you?”
“You bet I would.”
“Where are they with all this? Do you know?”
“They believe Lydia was alive when she was taken into the Smokys. Killed where the hikers found her.”
“How do they know that?”
“Logic, Ruzak. It would be next to impossible to hike twelve miles from the nearest road, up a mountain, and through dense woods carrying deadweight like that, unless you’re Paul Bunyan.”
That had been my theory, and I felt a flush of pride that I was thinking along the same lines as professional law enforcement.
“How was she killed?”
“Multiple blows to the head by a heavy object. Still working on what that object might be, but that and the kill zone pretty much rule out a professional job.”
“How come?”
“Professionals don’t operate that way—too much risk. A professional kills on first contact, quickly, and disengages ASAP from the kill zone. If Lydia Marks was a contract job, she would have been taken in her house in the dead of night, one shot through the head as she slept, or something like that. The way she was taken and killed—way too many opportunities for witnesses and mistakes.”
“So they think it was somebody she knew.”
“Or it still could be some psychopath, a stranger killing her.”
“Which is another point for Kenneth. He was in Brussels when she died.”
“Some people just have crappy luck, Ruzak.”
“His luck isn’t so crappy. At least he’s still alive.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
PARKER HUDSON MET FELICIA AND ME AT THE THERAPIST’S office on Wiesgarber, between Kingston Pike and Papermill Drive, within walking distance of the Krispy Kreme place on the Pike. As we drove past, I pointed out to Felicia the HOT sign was lighted.
“We can’t stop, Ruzak,” she said. “We’re late as it is.”
“I like to sit at the counter and watch the conveyor belts in the oven room with all the rows and rows of fresh doughnuts going down the line.”
“Maybe you should work a second job at the Krispy Kreme.”
“But then I’d weigh about four hundred pounds.”
Parker Hudson was not late. He was standing by his Mercedes in the parking lot, wearing a windbreaker over a polo shirt and tan slacks.
“What’s that?” He pointed at the recorder I was carrying.
“A tape recorder. This has evidentiary potential.”
“ ‘Evidentiary potential’?”
“Teddy reads the dictionary in the John,” Felicia said.
“Old habit,” I told him. “What do you read?”
“ Field & Stream and Golf Digest. Sometimes The Wall Street Journal.”
“Seems too heavy.”
“Depends on the bathroom I’m in.”
Felicia laughed, for some reason. She was wearing a navy blue pantsuit with a white blouse and only moderately high heels. Parker Hudson eyed her backside appreciatively as we went through the door. It doesn’t matter how old you get; the procreative drive stays with us to the grave. They say Picasso fathered children well into his old age. But being an artist, of course, he never really grew up, and responsibility wasn’t high on his list. Not that he couldn’t afford a stableful of progeny. I saw somewhere that his signature on a check for a million dollars would be worth more than the check for a million dollars.
It’s probably hard to make a living solely practicing hypnotherapy, so Dr. Stephanie Fredericks also practiced your regular type of therapy. The diplomas on her walls said she had a Ph.D. and an M.D. from Michigan State. The receptionist gave Parker Hudson a stack of forms to fill out, including a medical release form stating he couldn’t hold Dr. Fredericks liable if she regressed him to memories that drove him crazy. Under the question of who was financially responsible for the account, he wrote, “THE DIC.” I guessed this was his way of registering his protest to the whole hypnosis angle.
“You should do it, too, Ruzak,” Felicia said.
“How come?”
“Maybe you’ll get the tag right, even a description of the driver.”
“Yeah.”
“ ‘Yeah,’ you might if you did, or ‘yeah,’ you’re gonna do it, too?”
“Our appointment is only for Parker. Maybe I’ll come back.”
“I don’t see how I can be morally obligated and yet you have a choice,” Parker Hudson said. He was clearly nervous.
“Memories usually get repressed only if they’re involving some kind of catastrophic event,” I said. “Like the dead baby geese.”
“You’ve done some research into repressed memories?” he asked.
“I’ve looked into it.”
“Oh, he talked to the shrink about five minutes,” Felicia said. “Don’t listen to him.”
I gave her a look. Whose side was she on? My palms were sweating at the thought of being hypnotized. I’d never been what you might call a control freak, but the thought of entering some kind of altered state that included the danger of quacking like a duck unnerved me.
“Personally, I think it’s all a bunch of hogwash,” Parker Hudson said. “I don’t think it works, and haven’t there been studies that show a lot of repressed memories aren’t really memories at all, but manufactured to fit someone’s expectations?”
“No stone unturned,” I said.
“Unless the stone is resting on your big fat behind,” Felicia said.
“You know,” I said, “I’m getting pretty tired of the remarks about my butt. I know I have a big butt. You don’t have to point it out every five minutes.” The receptionist was staring at me, but I didn’t care. “I don’t point out your pug nose to you.”
“I beg your pardon? You don’t point out my what? ”
“Are you two married?” Parker Hudson asked.
“Good God, no,” Felicia said, and that broke the tension—at least for her—and she laughed.
The inner door opened and Dr. Fredericks leaned out and smiled, waving us in. She was an attractive lady in her middle fifties, maybe, dressed in a conservative business suit with sensible heels. She led us to her office and I made the introductions. She explained how the procedure worked and what we could expect. Parker might remember more details, she said, or he might remember nothing new at all. She admitted she might not even be successful at putting Parker under; a lot depended on the patient. Parker sat directly across from her and rubbed the pads of his thumbs against his palms.
“Where do we do this?” he asked.
“Right here,” Dr. Fredericks said. She had a very melodious voice, which probably came in handy in her line of work. “Just remember, hypnosis isn’t magic and it has nothing to do with mind control. Our goal is to lower your normal inhibitions and let what bubbles to the surface bubble.”
Her voice and manner seemed to calm Parker somewhat, and he followed her obediently to the sofa.
“How would you be most comfortable, Mr. Hudson? Lying down or sitting up?”
“I might fall asl
eep if I lie down.” He sank into the sofa and closed his eyes, folding his hands over his stomach. Dr. Fredericks gave a little smile in our direction.
“What do you want us to do?” I asked.
“You can stay, if that’s all right with Mr. Hudson. Just be quiet, please. If you have any questions you want answered, write them down on that pad right there and pass it to me. Once we begin, the only voice I want him to hear is mine.”
She turned the lights down and pulled a chair close to the sofa. Soft music was playing through hidden speakers and I wondered when she had turned the sound on. I expected her to pull out a watch or hold up her pen, like on TV or in the movies, but she just started talking. Her spiel was very repetitive; she told Parker to relax and imagine himself completely at ease, in a place of his choosing, maybe on a little boat on a lake or, if he didn’t like water, lying on the shore in the shade. She went on like this for maybe five or ten minutes, and Parker Hudson didn’t move a muscle. For a second, I was afraid he had fallen asleep.
Then Dr. Fredericks said, “Parker.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to take you back now. I want you to imagine there’s a doorway in front of you. The door is closed right now. Can you see the door?”
“Yes.”
“Parker, on the other side of that door is yesterday. I want you to go to the door and open it. It isn’t locked.”
“Open the door?”
“Yes. Go ahead and open it.”
“Okay. I’m opening the door.”
I realized at that point that I had forgotten to turn the tape recorder on. I hit the record button and it sounded very loud in the space. Dr. Fredericks gave me a look over her shoulder and Felicia jabbed me in the side with her elbow.
“What do you see?” Dr. Fredericks asked Parker Hudson.
“Yesterday…”
“Now you aren’t just watching, Parker. You are really there, in yesterday. What are you doing?”
“Making a BLT.”
“You’re in the kitchen?”
“Yes. The lettuce is going bad. She should have picked up some fresh lettuce.”
“Your wife?”
“Yes. Damn it. She always forgets something, though she walks out the door with her purse stuffed with coupons and a list half a mile long. Always something. Then she’ll pick up a jar of pickles, when we have five jars sitting in the pantry. Or mustard. We’ll be out of milk but have sixteen bags of M&M’s lying around.”
“How is your sandwich?”
“Good, except the lettuce is wilted.”
Felicia looked at her watch. At this rate, we’d be on the lake with Parker by early fall.
“Parker, I want you to look up. Right in front of you is another door. Do you see it?”
“I’m not finished with my sandwich.”
“Do you want to finish your sandwich?”
“No.” He sighed. “I guess not.”
“Do you see the door?”
“Yes.”
“On the other side of that door is last week. I want you to go to it, open it, and tell me what you’re doing.”
“I’m playing golf. I’m losing. The rest of my foursome are drunk.”
“You’re not?”
“I never drink and play. But I’m losing, so maybe I should.”
This went on for another twenty minutes or so. She led him through door after door, until they came to the last door. I glanced down at my tape. It was sixty minutes per side and we were already halfway through side A. I wondered if I’d wake him if I had to stop and flip the cassette.
“Do you see the door, Parker?” Dr. Fredericks asked.
“Yes, I see it,” Parker said. His voice had been calm, but now there was an edge to it, the same edge as when he’d talked about the wilted lettuce.
“This is the last door, Parker. On the other side is the morning of April sixteenth. Does that date mean anything to you, Parker?”
“Yes. It’s the day the goslings died.”
“How do you feel? Would you like to go through this door?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “Yes. I guess I do.”
“Then open the door, Parker, and walk through.”
She waited while he walked through.
“Where are you, Parker?” she asked.
“The trail.”
“You are walking on the trail?”
“Yes.”
“What do you see?”
“The park. The lake. The old fence. The field. Railroad tracks. The sun is just coming up. Mist on the water. I love that.”
“You love what?”
“The way the mist rises over the water in the early morning. The lake is perfectly calm and mist rises on the surface. Beautiful…”
“Do you see anyone else?”
“No, I’m alone. It’s very early. Dawn. Not a soul. I love this. My favorite time of day. Just me. Just me.”
He was smiling, content as a Buddha.
“Can you take a picture for me?”
“I don’t have my camera….”
“No, but try freezing what you see.”
“ ‘Freezing’?”
“Stop it. Like you’re watching a movie at home. Pause the movie.”
“Okay.”
“Did you pause it?”
“Yes. The mist isn’t moving now.”
“Good. Start it again. Remember you can pause the movie whenever you want to. Whenever I tell you to stop the movie, will you stop it for me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Are you still walking?”
“Yes.”
“Which direction are you walking, Parker?”
“East.”
“And you’re walking the trail on the north side of the road, so the road is on your right. And across the road?”
“The park and the lake. Oh, there’re some geese.”
I straightened in the chair and checked my tape. Felicia was leaning forward, her elbow on her knee, her chin on her fist.
“You see geese?”
“They nest here every year. I’ve seen these geese. I know these geese. Oh, it’s a family! The babies have hatched!”
“Where are the geese, Parker?”
“Right on the trail, about a hundred yards in front of me. Two adults and—let’s see—one, two, three, four, five goslings—no, six! I didn’t see that little piker behind one of the adults.”
“And still no people? Nobody on the trail?”
“No one. Oh, I wish I had my camera.”
“What are the geese doing?”
“They’re coming out of the field, crossing the trail. Going toward the road.”
“They’re leading the babies back to the water?”
“They must be…yes, there they go. The big male, he’s leading, and there they go! How orderly they are, in a perfect line. He’s leading the babies and she’s in the rear.”
“Now, Parker, I want you to stop the picture but keep the sound going. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“What do you hear?”
“He’s honking, just braying to beat the band. It’s like he’s saying, ‘Watch out! Get out of our way! Geese crossing!’”
“What else do you hear?”
“Other birds. The sound of cars, very far off. My own breath. Oh, now there’s something else.”
He fell silent with a small sigh.
“What else do you hear, Parker?”
“A car. It’s loud…getting louder…”
“Where? In front of you? Behind you?”
“Behind me…coming up behind me…”
“Okay, now I want you to start the movie again. You’re walking on the trail toward the geese; the geese are crossing the road toward the lake. And now you hear a car coming up behind you….”
“It’s going very fast….”
“You see the car?”
“No, but its engine…very loud… revving up.”
“Do you turn toward the sound, Parker?
”
“No . . . I’m watching the geese… middle of the road . . . stretched all the way across, like a cordon of geese….Oh God! Oh no!”
“Freeze the picture!” Dr. Fredericks raised her voice slightly. Parker was breathing heavily now and I could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“What do you see?”
“Black. Big. Middle of the road. Son of a bitch!”
“Describe it, Parker. What kind of car is it?”
“Oh God, it’s going to hit the babies!”
“Focus on the car, Parker. Is it still frozen?”
“Yes.”
“Then the babies are okay. Don’t worry about the babies right now. Look at the car.”
“It isn’t a car. It’s one of those gas-guzzling SUVs. It’s big. Big tires. Black.”
“Can you tell what make it is?”
He mumbled something and she repeated the question.
“I don’t know cars very well… makes of cars….It’s big and black and it’s very loud….Don’t they hear it? Do they hear it? Oh, they don’t know. They don’t know what’s going to happen. Do they know?”
“Parker, you are in control. You can stop the movie anytime you want. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I am in control.”
“Do you see the license tag? Can you see what state the car is from?”
“Oh, yes. Tennessee. It’s a Tennessee tag.”
“Are you certain?”
“It’s very clear….”
This was it. I knew what she was going to ask next. I held my breath.
“Can you see the numbers on the tag, Parker? Can you read them?”
“Oh dear God… dear God, those babies…”
“Parker, you’re looking at the SUV now. The movie’s stopped and you can study the car as long as you like. Are you looking at the tag?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m looking at it.”
“What are the numbers?”
“It’s letters…letters and numbers.”
“Ah, come on,” Felicia whispered. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“H…”
“The first letter is an H? ”
“Yes. I see it very clearly now. HRT. Those are the letters.”
I felt my heart thumping hard in my chest. I was going to solve this case. I was going to hand a terrific lead to the task force and maybe collect half a million dollars. Most importantly, I was going to keep my promise to Susan Marks.
The Highly Effective Detective Page 13
