“You’re kidding, right?”
At least he didn’t hang up. “It’s called forensic hypnosis, conducted by trained professionals whose job is to help solve cases just like this one.” Again, another long pause.
“If I agree to go to your hypnotist, and it’s shown that I didn’t kill Rakel, am I going to be free and clear? No more person of interest hanging around my neck?”
“Look, I’m going out on a limb talking to you right now. A big limb. I hope that proves to you I want to get at the truth just as badly as you do. You were there, Zach. You’ve got information that for some reason you can’t recall, and that information may lead to an answer about how Rakel really died.” Taggart wasn’t about to relay Peyton Sayre’s suspicions about Regan sharing an existence with Mitch Bannock, or her story about what had happened in the hotel room. Zach Regan was still a big question mark as far as Taggart was concerned.
“If you can’t give me any guarantees, though, I don’t see why I should agree to this,” Zach said, and then, “Hold on, I have another call.”
“Wait, Zach. I can’t give you any guarantees, but I can tell you this. What we’re asking you to do is a very structured process done under controlled conditions. We have a certified hypnotist who’s been briefed on your case, and she’s ready to help you remember.” Taggart paused for a second, waiting for Zach to respond. He didn’t. “If you want to take the call, and we both know who it is, go ahead, but think about this. Rakel is dead, and none of us know for certain what actually happened that night. I want to know, and so do you. If you want to tell your lawyer that I’ve called, that’s your choice. Just think about it, Zach.” That was it. All he could say, all he could do.
The line was silent.
Taggart hoped Zach knew that he had laid his case—and his reputation—squarely on the table by talking to him directly.
“I’ll give it some thought, Detective,” Zach finally said. “I have to take the other call now.”
Before Taggart could say another word, Zach hung up.
Taggart put his phone down. “There you go, Jack. I just laid my pecker right on the table. He’s talking to his lawyer right now.”
“What did the kid say?” Jack asked.
“I think I convinced him, but I’ve learned to never underestimate the persuasive power of a sleazy lawyer who’s trying to make his friggin’ Lexus payments.”
“You did the right thing, Jim.”
“If you’d have told me a month ago that I’d call a suspect—okay, a person of interest—directly and suggest he go to a hypnotist, I’d have called you an ass.”
“You call me that anyway.”
“You are an ass, Jack. Sometimes.”
“That’s what they called me at the academy. Jack Ass Mauger.”
Taggart’s phone began to ring. “Want to bet this is his lawyer?” Taggart said.
“I don’t gamble. Answer your phone, Jim.”
Taggart was surprised by the voice on the other end.
“Detective, this is Zach Regan.”
“Hello, Zach,” Taggart said. From across the desk, Jack shot him a curious glance.
“You were right,” Zach said. “It was Mr. Tellez. He’s probably trying to call you right now. He’s kinda pissed.”
Great. He told his lawyer, Taggart figured.
“He said exactly what you said he would,” Zach said. “I told him I wanted to undergo hypnosis, regardless of his arguments against it. I’m ready whenever you are.”
Taggart smiled and gave Jack a thumbs-up. “We can set up an appointment for you tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. Will that work?”
“That’s fine. Like you said, we both want to know the truth, and I’m ready to face whatever that truth might be. I need to know.”
Taggart was becoming ever more convinced that Zach honestly didn’t know what’d happened that night. His partner’s hunch might just be correct. “We’ll see you tomorrow at nine, then.”
Taggart hung up and said, “Give Trish Holloway a call, Jack. Tell her we’re a go for tomorrow.”
“Gotcha.”
As his partner rose to leave, Taggart added, “And Jack, you owe me for this one. This spooky shit had better work.”
39
“Good morning, Mr. Regan. Zach, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Zach Regan.” Nervous didn’t quite describe how Zach was feeling. He hoped that in the next hour or so—or however long it took to conduct a hypnosis session; he wasn’t quite sure—he’d finally know exactly what happened the night Rakel died. He’d either be proven innocent, or his life would be over.
“I’m Trish Holloway,” she said, shaking Zach’s hand. “Please, come in.”
Zach was immediately struck by the warmth of her smile, not to mention her subtle British accent. A pair of overstuffed leather recliners sat in one corner of her office, with a small table in between. On the table sat a miniature tape recorder. Nearby, a video camera sat on a tripod, its lens pointed at one of the chairs.
“Take a seat, Zach,” Trish said, motioning to the chair at which the video camera was aimed.
Zach sank into the large, comfortable chair, a little wary of the camera and the tape recorder.
“How are you feeling today?” Trish asked as she sat down in the recliner next to his.
“Fine,” Zach answered. But he wasn’t fine. He was scared to death. He noticed Trish was already scribbling notes on a pad of paper, probably recording her initial impressions.
“Good, good. Have you ever been to a hypnotist before?” Trish asked.
“No ma’am, I haven’t.” Zach couldn’t help but feel a little calmer just from listening to the sound of her voice. He’d once watched Bedazzled three times in a row, just to hear Elizabeth Hurley talk.
“Right. Well, first off, let me explain to you what hypnotism isn’t,” Trish said. “It’s not a trance where a person can be forced to do something he doesn’t want to do, which means I can’t place a suggestion in your head to jump out of a window if I ring a bell.”
“That’s a good thing,” Zach said, smiling.
Trish knew he was feeling more at ease, and she was making a connection, a vital part of her preparatory work. “To put it in very basic terms, hypnosis is a way to talk to a person’s subconscious mind. The subconscious is always there, and functions whether you’re awake or asleep. It’s a built-in safety feature that can protect a person from harmful memories or events that are too troubling or painful for the conscious mind to deal with. What I do is open up a doorway for the subconscious mind to speak.”
“Will I remember anything?” Zach asked.
“Some people can recall everything that’s going on around them, while others can’t. Every person is different.”
Zach glanced at the video camera and the tape recorder. Both appeared to be running.
Trish noticed his questioning look. “Ah, my spy equipment. It’s there to catch anything I might miss in my notes, and for your protection, too. Since this is part of an official investigation, there are guidelines I follow to make sure any evidence is gained in the correct, legal manner. If I do something wrong—which I never do—then it’ll catch that, too.”
Zach nodded.
“When we begin, I’ll ask you to tell me exactly what happened, to the best of your knowledge. When we’ve done that, I’ll guide your subconscious mind to a place where it can speak to me. Do you have any questions before we begin?”
“No, no questions,” Zach said. “I’m ready when you are.”
Trish settled back in her chair, and crossed her legs. “I’d like to start with your story. Tell me what happened. Where you start, and what you tell me, is entirely up to you.”
Zach quickly summarized his relationship with Rakel, from the time he’d first met her at Kayman’s to the moment he’d checked in at the hotel.
“That’s where it all ends,” Zach said. “That’s where I stop remembering.”
Trish reached beside her c
hair and picked up a metronome. She placed it on the table, and it began to tick, tick, tick. A slow, relaxing rhythm.
“Close your eyes, Zach. I want you to settle back in your chair and relax.”
Zach closed his eyes. The chair was incredibly comfortable.
“I want you to relax your body, Zach. Every part, every limb.”
Her voice was soft, soothing.
Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .
“Now your fingers, Zach, relax your fingers, your hands.”
Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .
“Now I want you to relax the rest of your body, Zach. That’s it, you’re doing fine.”
Zach didn’t feel like he was slipping into a trance, but he could feel an amazing sense of relaxation slowly covering his body from head to toe.
“Think of a comforting place, a place where you’re happy,” Trish continued. “There are good feelings there, good memories. I want you to go to that place, Zach.” Zach’s breathing had grown much deeper. His eyes fluttered under his eyelids, as if he were looking around another place. He’d entered a hypnotic state, and rather quickly.
“Can you see it, Zach?” Trish asked quietly. “Can you see the comforting place?”
“Yes, I can see it.”
“What do you see?”
“It’s a house. I’ve been here before.” Zach moved his hand, as if picking an item off a table. “This is a picture of all of us. That’s Jenna, and that’s Timmy.”
Trish immediately recognized both names from the brief she’d been given. “Who are Jenna and Timmy, Zach?”
“Jenna is my wife.” Zach knitted his brows, as if confused. “Why are you calling me Zach?”
Trish leaned forward in her chair. “Zach is your name, isn’t it?”
“No,” Zach said. “My name is Mitch.”
Trish was surprised how quickly Mitch Bannock had emerged. She’d been briefed on the details of the case by Jack Mauger, and had been a little skeptical of the whole “dual existence” theory of his. But now, she wasn’t so sure. Zach apparently had no knowledge of Mitch Bannock. His emergence at this point in the session was unexpected. “My name is Trish, Mitch. Trish Holloway. May I ask you your full name?”
“My name is Mitchell Bannock. You’ve got to help me.”
Trish was shocked by the desperation in Zach’s voice, but it wasn’t his voice anymore. He sounded different. Older. “Why do you need help, Mitch?”
“I need to find Jenna. I need to find her soon.”
In the past, Trish had treated individuals with multiple personality disorder, and had watched her patients switch from personality to personality, listening as their voices changed to match the character of the personality that was speaking. But never before had she heard what she was hearing now. Zach was speaking, but the timbre was different, as if his vocal cords had suddenly changed their structure. She hoped the tape recorder and video camera would catch the difference, too. “Why do you need to find Jenna, Mitch?”
“There’s not a lot of time left. It’s trying to stop me from finding her.”
“What’s trying to stop you, Mitch?”
“Something evil. A shadow with many names.”
For some reason, Trish felt an icy shiver drip down her back.
“The girl,” Zach suddenly said.
Trish hoped this was a possible reference to the murder. “A girl, Mitch? What girl?”
“Her name was Rakel. It wanted the boy to kill her, but I wouldn’t let it happen.”
“Who is the boy?” Trish asked.
“Zach. His name is Zach.”
“Is Zach there with you now?”
“Yes. I’ve spoken to him, but he doesn’t listen. I’ve tried to show him things, but he hasn’t understood. There’s not much time. I have to find Jenna.”
Trish saw Zach was becoming agitated, jerking his head from side to side, his eyes moving rapidly under closed eyelids. “Can I speak to Zach, Mitch?” she said quickly.
“Yes.”
The agitation began to slow. “Thank you, Mitch. Can I speak to you again if I need to?”
“Yes, you can.”
Zach’s agitation ceased. His breathing returned to its slow, deep rhythm. “Zach?” Trish said.
“Yes?”
Trish was stunned by the sound of Zach’s voice. It had changed again, and now Zach was speaking. She’d never seen—or heard—anything like this. “Are you still in the comforting place? The house?”
He nodded his head.
“Good. You’re doing great. Now I want you to tell me about the girl we spoke of earlier. Rakel Anders. I want you to tell me about the night you met her at the restaurant.” Trish waited for Zach to respond as the seconds slowly ticked by, patiently waiting for his subconscious mind to find its way.
“There’s a storm coming,” Zach finally said. “I think we should turn back. It’s really snowing. I want to go back, but Rakel doesn’t want to.”
“Why?”
“She wants to be with me,” he said, quietly. “She wants to have sex. There’s a hotel. She wants us to stop.”
Trish knew this was the point at which Zach’s conscious memories of that night ceased. His breathing began to quicken, and he gripped the arms of the chair tightly. “Zach, I want you to move back from what you’re seeing now. I want you to stand to the side and watch what’s happening, like you’re watching a movie. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes. Yes, I can do that.”
Trish watched as Zach’s breathing once again returned to normal. “Good, you’re doing just fine. I want you to tell me what you’re seeing.”
“We’re in the hotel room, but there’s something wrong. I don’t feel right.”
“What do you feel?”
“It’s cold. Rakel is taking off her clothes, she’s saying things, ugly things, and I can’t move.”
“Just stand back and watch, Zach, like you’re watching a movie.”
“She’s drinking something, saying I put a drug in it, but I didn’t. She’s lying.” Eyes still closed, Zach looked at his arms, which were twitching on the arms of the chair. “I—I can’t move. Why can’t I move?”
“It’s okay, Zach. Tell me what you’re seeing.”
“She’s telling me to get her purse. She wants me to get something out of it. It’s a— It’s my box knife! But that can’t be! I left it at work! Rakel, why are you doing this? Why did you take my box knife?”
“Just watch, Zach.”
“She’s telling me to cut her. Oh God, she wants me to cut her! She says I want to. I don’t want to! I don’t!”
Trish was startled as Zach suddenly sat straighter in the chair, his fingers digging into the leather armrests. “What’s happening, Zach?”
“I—I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! I told her no, and I didn’t do it!”
Trish watched as an obvious sense of relief washed over Zach’s face.
“I’m leaving. I’m leaving her alone in the hotel room.” Zach waved an unseen object away from his face. “Flies . . . so many flies.”
“Don’t be afraid, Zach. You’re perfectly safe.”
“I can’t see anything. I got back in my car, and now I just can’t see anything.”
“Okay, Zach, I want you to relax again. I want you to find a place where you can rest. I want you to rest for a little while.”
“Okay. I need to rest.”
“Good, Zach, you’ve done so well.” Trish watched as Zach’s body sank deeper into the chair, completely relaxed. She waited until she was sure Zach’s subconscious mind had found a restful place, then asked, “Mitch, are you there? Can I speak to you again?”
“Yes.”
The response was immediate, almost as if he’d been standing silently to the side, waiting for Trish to call on him.
Trish was astonished by the change in Zach’s voice once again as Mitch Bannock came to the surface. “This is Trish, Mitch.”
“You know what happened now,
don’t you.”
“Yes, I do know. Zach told me what happened. May I ask you some questions, Mitch?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you live with your wife and son? Jenna and Timmy?”
“Lots of places. I was in the Army. We lived in Twin Creek last, where it happened.”
“Where what happened, Mitch?”
“We were murdered there. It killed Timmy, then Jenna, then me. But it didn’t stop us.”
“It didn’t stop you?”
“I have to find Jenna,” he said again, his tone impatient. “There’s not much time left.”
“Why do you need to find Jenna, Mitch?” Trish asked, wondering what he’d meant by “it.” She remembered the phrase he’d used earlier: a shadow with many names.
“You need me to find her. All of you do.”
“I don’t understa—”
“Because something wonderful is going to happen.”
“What is going to happen Mitch?”
The seconds ticked by, with no response.
“Mitch?”
Trish had one more question to ask. The biggest piece of the puzzle was still missing. Rakel Anders had been brutally murdered, and if Zach didn’t do it, then who did? Hopefully she could get Mitch to respond. “Mitch, the girl—Rakel—she was killed. Did you know that?”
Trish watched Zach frown, shake his head. “It takes them all when it’s done with them.”
“What does, Mitch?”
Zach balled his fists, began to scowl.
Trish didn’t like where this was going. She suddenly felt very alone, and cold. “Who killed Rakel, Mitch?”
Trish jumped when Zach opened his eyes, looked directly at her, and spoke, in Mitch’s voice.
“The little black shadow in your chests that you all pretend isn’t there. It killed her.”
40
“Jesus, Jack,” Taggart said, slamming the report down on his desk. “Am I really reading what I think I’m reading?”
“Yep. In black and white.” Mauger had brought Trish Holloway’s report to Taggart’s office as soon as she’d completed it, reading it himself on the way.
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