We took seats and watched and listened to the one-sided phone conversation. It was clear Backus was listening to messages and responding to them. Not all seemed to have something to do with the Poet investigation.
“Okay, what about Gordon and Carter?” he said after the messages were apparently finished with. “What’s the ETA? That late? Damn. Okay, listen, three things. Call Denver and have them go to the evidence in the McEvoy case. Tell them to check the insides of the gloves for blood. If they find blood, tell them to start exhumation proceedings. . . Right, right. If it’s a problem call me right away. Also, tell them to see if the police took GSR swabs from the mouth of the victim and if they did, have it all sent to Quantico. That goes for all the cases. The third thing is James Thompson will be FedExing to the lab from out there. We need substance identification ASAP. Same with Denver, if it comes. What else? When’s the conference call with Brass? Okay, we’ll talk then.”
He hung up and looked at us. I wanted to ask what he meant by exhumation but Rachel spoke first.
“Six rooms? Is Gordon coming out here?”
“He and Carter are coming here.”
“Bob, why? You know—”
“We need them, Rachel. We are hitting critical mass on this investigation and things are moving. At the most, we are now ten days behind this offender. We need more bodies to make the moves we’re going to have to make. It’s that simple and that’s more than enough said about it. Now, Jack, did you have something to say?”
“That exhumation you are talking about. . .”
“We’ll talk about that in a few minutes. It will become clear. James, tell them what you found on the body.”
From his pocket Thompson pulled four Polaroid photos and spread them on the table in front of Rachel and me.
“This is the left palm and index finger. The two on the left were taken with the one-to-one. The other two are ten times magnified.”
“Perforations,” Rachel said.
“Right.”
I didn’t see them until she had said it, but then I recognized the tiny punch holes in the lines of the skin. Three in the palm, two in the tip of the index finger.
“What is it?” I asked.
“On the surface it looks like nothing more than pinpricks,” Thompson said. “But there is no scabbing or closing of the wounds. They occurred close to time of death. Shortly before or possibly after, though there wouldn’t be much of a point to it after.”
“Point to what?”
“Jack, we’re looking for ways this could have been done,” Backus said. “How could veteran, tough cops be taken like this? Control is what we are talking about. It’s one of the keys.”
I waved a hand toward the photos.
“And what does this tell you?”
“That and other things may indicate hypnosis was involved.”
“You’re saying this guy hypnotized my brother and these others into putting a gun in their mouths and pulling the trigger?”
“No, I don’t think it’s that simple. You have to remember that it is quite difficult to use hypnotic suggestion to override the self-preservation instinct in an individual’s mind. Most experts say it’s flatly impossible. But if a person is susceptible to hypnotism, that person can be controlled to varying extents. He can be made docile, manageable. It’s only a possibility at this point. But we have five perforations on this victim’s hand. A standard method of testing for hypnotic trance would be to prick the skin with a pin after placing the suggestion that there will be no pain. If the patient reacts, the hypnosis is not working. If he shows no signs of feeling the pain, he is under trance conditions.”
“And controllable,” Thompson added.
“You want to look at my brother’s hand.”
“Yes, Jack,” Backus said. “We’ll need an exhumation order. I believe the files said he was married. Will his widow allow this?”
“I don’t know.”
“We may need your help on that.”
I just nodded. Things were getting stranger all the time.
“What are the other things? You said the perforations and other things may indicate hypnosis was involved.”
“The autopsies,” Rachel answered. “None of the victims’ blood screens came out totally clean. Each one had something in his blood. Your brother—”
“Cough syrup,” I said defensively. “From the car’s glove box.”
“Right. It ranges from over-the-counter things like cough syrup to prescription drugs. One of them had Percocet, which had been prescribed for a back injury eighteen months earlier. I think that was the Chicago case. Another one—I think it was Petry in Dallas—had codeine in his blood. It came from prescription Tylenol with codeine. The prescription bottle was in his medicine cabinet.”
“Okay, so what’s it mean?”
“Well, individually it meant nothing at the time of each of these deaths. Whatever came up on the blood screen in each case was explained by the victim’s access to it. I mean, it’s reasonable to believe that if someone was going to kill himself, he might take a couple of the Percocets from the old prescription bottle to calm himself. So these things were dismissed.”
“But now they mean something.”
“Possibly,” she said. “The finding of the perforations suggests hypnosis. If you add to that the introduction of some chemical suppressor into the blood, then you begin to see how these men may have been controlled.”
“Cough syrup?”
“It could possibly enhance a subject’s susceptibility to hypnosis. Codeine is a tested enhancer. Over-the-counter cough medications don’t have codeine in them anymore but some of the replacement ingredients could still act as similar enhancers.”
“Have you known this all along?”
“No, it was just something that had no context until now.”
“Has it come up before? How do you know so much?”
“Hypnosis is used fairly often as a law enforcement tool,” Backus said. “It’s also come up on the other side before.”
“There was one case several years ago,” Rachel said. “There was a man, a Las Vegas nightclub kind of guy who did hypnotism as his act. He was also a pedophile. And what he’d do is, when he’d do shows at county fairs and so forth, he’d get close to kids. He had a children’s act, a matinee, and he’d tell the audience he needed a young volunteer. The parents would practically throw their kids at him. He’d pick the lucky one and say he had to go backstage to prepare the child while some other act was going on. He’d hypnotize the kid back there, rape her and then through hypnotic suggestion, wipe the memory. Then he’d trot the kid onstage, do his act and then take her out of the trance. He used codeine as an enhancer. Put it in their Cokes.”
“I remember,” Thompson said, nodding. “Harry the Hypnotic.”
“No, it was Horace the Hypnotist,” Rachel said. “He was one of our interviews on the rape project. At Raiford down in Florida.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, “Could he—”
“No, this is not him. He’d still be in prison in Florida. He got something like a twenty-five-year bid. This was only six, seven years ago. He’s still inside. He’s got to be.”