The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15

by Catherine Coulter

  “Yeah, I know, even though I told him about Blessed murdering our visitor from Alaska. And no, I didn’t try to tell him Blessed somehow whipped up a bear to savage his corpse. We’ve got Blessed on a dozen felony charges, even if the FBI forensic team doesn’t find anything definitive to tie Blessed to Mr. Spalding’s murder.

  “You know, Ox, I hate to say this, but truthfully, I don’t think we even have a chance to get Blessed to the lawyer stage. I have this gut feeling it’s not going to be long before he walks out of this fine hospital, a load of stymied folk in his wake.”

  “Let me kill him, Ethan, here and now, a pillow over his face; it’ll be over in no time.” Ox sounded dead serious.

  Ethan shook his head. “I wish we could, Ox, believe me. It’s a nice fantasy, but it’s no way for law officers to talk. The FBI people will be arriving soon, and they’re going to take him out of here, to Quantico.”

  “He might be gone as soon as he’s out of pain,” Ox said. “Do you know Belle wouldn’t come near me when I got home from seeing Dr. Spitz on Saturday night after Blessed stymied me? She sniffed and growled, danced around me like she was afraid of me, but at the same time she wanted to attack me. Scared me to my boots. Took me a good hour to talk her down.”

  “Now that’s interesting. I’ve got to remember to mention that to the FBI docs when they show up tomorrow.” Ethan paused, looked down at the thin, middle-aged man who didn’t look like he could even raise a single finger. “Keep your eyes on him, Ox.”

  “You know I will, Ethan.” Ox settled himself into the easy chair, pressed the button to bring up the footrest, and grinned at his boss. “Now, I could get used to this. Why would the bigwig hospital guy go all the way to Croatia when he could stretch out in this Cadillac of a chair all day, drink a Bud?”

  37

  DR. HICKS, A TOP FBI forensic psychiatrist, was also an extremely competent hypnotist in his own right, and a huge Beatles fan. He didn’t wait for the rest of the FBI team, he arrived by himself that afternoon, his eyes bright with excitement, like a kid on Christmas morning, Ox thought. Dr. Hicks introduced himself and shook hands with Ox. Ox waved over at Blessed. “There he is, sir.”

  Dr. Hicks turned immediately to look down at the motionless middle-aged man. He shook his head. “So this is Blessed Backman. An interesting name, don’t you think? He looks harmless enough. Talk to me,” he said, turning his formidable attention on Ox. “Tell me what this man did to you.”

  Ox told him. “…I wasn’t there, you know, inside my own brain, at least not until the pain got me back into myself.” Ox jabbed his fingers through his flattop. “Sounds stupid and weird. You believe me?”

  Dr. Hicks was frowning down at Blessed again. “Of course I believe you.”

  He pinched the back of Blessed’s hand. Blessed didn’t react. Dr. Hicks lifted the blindfold, then his eyelids, stared at him a good minute, then said, “Hmmm. How long has he been like this?”

  Savich said from the doorway, “I told Sherlock you’d be here, no way would you wait for the team. You didn’t even check in at the B-and-B or stop at the men’s room or eat a bagel, did you?”

  Dr. Hicks gave Savich a really big smile. “I didn’t even eat an apple. I couldn’t wait to see this guy. Drs. Chambers and Bailey will be here tomorrow. I’ll tell you, the report you gave them had them flying at me with questions and speculation, not to mention a cargo bay full of disbelief. I left them with their heads together, plotting out what kinds of tests, what kind of restraints, to arrange for him at Quantico. We can get an MRI here to see if there’s a brain tumor. We can see if he can bend spoons, that sort of thing, later. I hope he comes out of it soon. I really want to talk to him.”

  Savich nodded. “Come outside with me for a moment, Dr. Hicks.”

  Once in the hallway, Savich looked at Sherlock, who nodded and said without preamble, “We appreciate your enthusiasm, Dr. Hicks; that’s one of the reasons we called you. But we’ve got a major security problem here until we get Blessed to Quantico. We need to keep him in this room while he’s here.”

  Dr. Hicks said thoughtfully, “I can’t begin to imagine such power, to actually make someone willing to kill themselves. And you, Savich, you are immune to him. Life never ceases to amaze, does it?”

  “You’re right about that,” Savich said. “I’m also going to set up a video camera in the room so we can monitor Blessed remotely. I sure hope it doesn’t happen, but it’s possible, given Dr. Truitt’s skeptical response to Blessed’s hypnotic ability, that we just might get a live demonstration if the hospital staff doesn’t believe us. If this does happen, I just hope no one gets hurt.”

  “Let’s have Dr. Truitt attend him,” Ethan said. “See what he does.”

  Savich said to Ethan, “That would be justice. Ethan, you okay with this? If Blessed does try anything, there’ll be living proof on film. A defense lawyer could claim it was all staged, but we’ll worry about that when we need to.”

  Dr. Hicks held up his hands, palms out. “Hey, wait, I want to speak to him first, listen to his voice, have him talk to me. I want to look into those eyes of his. Why can’t I do it? If he does anything to me, Ox here can smack me.”

  Savich said, “Tell you what, sir. If he wakes up while you’re here, you can have a go at him. But his blindfold stays on. No more victims for him on my watch.”

  Ethan said, “When you get that camera set up, Savich, I’ll see that Ox drags his chair out here into the hall.”

  38

  “IS ANYONE THERE? How can I know if anyone’s there if I can’t see?”

  “Yes, I’m here, Mr. Backman. I’m sorry about the blindfold. I’m your nurse, Cindy Maybeck. Do you need anything, sir?”

  His voice sounded weak, querulous. “I need you to take off this ridiculous blindfold.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I was told to leave it in place, for my own protection, not that I believe it, but I have to follow orders. Let me take your pulse, listen to your heart.”

  Blessed felt her lift his wrist, place two fingers against the pulse. “It’s that hick sheriff; he’s torturing me because we had a disagreement. Here I’m old enough to be his daddy and he’s afraid of me. Isn’t that a kick? Listen, how would you like to lie in darkness, Nurse, with your hands strapped down? I can’t even scratch my nose. It’s inhumane, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Backman. I was told—”

  “I hurt; I hurt real bad.”

  “Now, sir, you had a shot of morphine not an hour ago. Why don’t you try to sleep? Sleep will make you heal faster. You want me to scratch you anywhere?”

  Blessed hissed out a moan but didn’t say anything more.

  Cindy took his pulse. Nice and slow and regular. Then she put a cuff on his good arm and a stethoscope below it. He had good pressure, a little on the high side but nothing to merit alarm. She straightened, looked down at him. She said softly, “Don’t cry, Mr. Backman, you’re getting the blindfold wet.”

  He sobbed.

  “You’re going to make yourself all itchy if you don’t stop crying, Mr. Backman.”

  “Just wipe my eyes for me, Nurse. Please. What can I do? My hands are tied down, I’m helpless.”

  She held herself silent for a few seconds. She’d heard Dr. Truitt say all of these precautions were ridiculous; he was an old man, for God’s sake. But then the sheriff and the FBI agent had told everyone not to remove his blindfold and why. He could hypnotize someone instantly? She’d never heard of such a thing. She agreed with Dr. Truitt. This poor old man, shot twice, helpless as a foal—she said, “I really shouldn’t, I’d be disobeying orders. Oh, all right, but only for a moment. It’ll be our secret, all right? You promise you won’t tell anyone?”

  His voice was liquid with tears. “I swear I won’t say anything, Nurse.”

  Cindy eased the blindfold over the top of his head. She wiped away his tears. Real tears, she saw, and she knew Dr. Truitt was right. This poor man couldn’t do anything to
anybody. She studied his pale face for a moment. No, surely he couldn’t—Blessed Backman opened his eyes and looked up at her.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. “You’re quite pretty, all that blond hair. Is it real?”

  “Yes,” Cindy said, “from my grandmother.”

  “You’re a pretty, helpful girl. Unfasten the straps on my wrists.” He smiled up at her.

  Cindy didn’t hesitate. She unfastened the straps and straightened to stand next to the bed, unmoving.

  Blessed slowly eased onto his side, pressed his palm to his bandaged shoulder, and sat up. He winced, cursed softly.

  Cindy said, “Can I help you?”

  He looked up at her and smiled again. “No, thank you, Nurse. That is much better. Now, I want you to bring my clothes.”

  Cindy walked over to the patient’s closet that held his shirt, trousers, and shoes. She pulled them off the hangers. “I don’t see any underwear or socks,” she said.

  “It’s all right. Bring them to me now.”

  Cindy turned back with the clothes over her arm.

  “I want you to go outside and talk to that guard, distract him; you’re pretty enough to turn the head of a dead man. Flirt with him, keep him busy until I call you. Then you can bring him in with you, all right?”

  “All right.”

  In the hospital room next door, Savich, Ethan, and Dr. Hicks were watching them. Savich said, “Well, that didn’t take long. Do you think Dr. Truitt will believe us now?”

  “You said Dr. Truitt is a skeptic, Savich. He could say this was all a performance.”

  “Good, you sound just like a defense attorney,” Savich said. “We’ll play it out some more, until and unless he acts against the nurse, then we move fast.” But he didn’t want to. Savich watched Cindy Maybeck walk out of the room, knew she wasn’t really there in her own head. Still, letting this go on was a risk, but he prayed it was a manageable risk. He forced himself to set aside all his doubts and fears. He drew in a deep breath. They watched a middle-aged man, thin and scrawny, his shoulder and arm hugely bandaged, slowly swing his legs over the side of the bed.

  “I can’t believe he can move around as well as he can,” Dr. Hicks said. “Maybe along with his abilities, he’s also able to influence his own body somewhat.” He shrugged. “Who knows?”

  They watched Blessed Backman slowly stand up and strip off the puke-green hospital gown, wincing and weaving a bit. They watched him awkwardly pull on his pants, then stare at the shirt. There was no way he could get himself into it, not with his shoulder bandaged so thickly, not with the pain the movement would cause him.

  Blessed called, “Nurse, come here, please.”

  Cindy opened the door and came in. She never looked away from his face. He said, “I need you to help me into this shirt.”

  She did. He swore the whole time. They could see the pallor, the beads of sweat on his forehead. “He’s in pain,” Dr. Hicks said, “but he’s still functioning. Amazing.”

  Blessed asked Cindy, “Where are my shoes?”

  “I left them in the closet.”

  “Get them for me.”

  She did. She went down on her knees and helped him into his shoes.

  “All right. I want you to ask the deputy to come in here, tell him you’re concerned that I might be getting free and you want him to check on me.”

  Cindy nodded and turned to leave the room.

  “That’s it,” Ethan said, and he and Savich were out of the room in a second flat. “You will stay outside,” Savich told him. “No arguments.” Savich walked past Nurse Maybeck into the hospital room to see Blessed reaching for his watch on the side table.

  It was all on film.

  “You!”

  “Yeah, it’s me, your worst nightmare, Blessed. Go ahead, give me your best look, come on, give it a try. Sorry, not going to happen. Party’s over. That was some performance you gave us.” He nodded up at the camera, Blessed’s eyes following his. Savich didn’t think he could hypnotize people on the other side of the camera, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. He blocked his view. He looked over at the nurse, who was looking blankly at nothing at all, simply standing outside the doorway. Savich said to Blessed, “Get your clothes back off and I’ll help you with the gown.” Savich stripped him down because Blessed was cursing him, trying desperately to stop him and not succeeding. Blessed yelled to Nurse Maybeck, “Help me, Nurse. Help me!”

  “What is that agent doing to him? Let me go!”

  But Ox grabbed the nurse by her arms and lifted her bodily onto his shoulders to get her away from the room.

  Savich got Blessed back into the hospital gown and flat on his back. Blessed stared up at him, panting with pain, his eyes burning wild and hot in his white face. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to skin you and make a lamp out of your hide. I’m going to bury you so deep no one will ever—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Savich forced the straps around his wrists, clipped them to the bed railings, and slipped the blindfold back over his eyes.

  “It’s okay, Ethan, you can come in now.”

  “This is amazing,” said Dr. Hicks, who stood in the doorway beside Ethan. He stared from Savich to Blessed, who was still panting from the pain. “That was the most incredible psychic phenomenon I’ve ever seen.”

  Dr. Truitt appeared next to him in the doorway. “They paged me. What’s happening here?”

  A half-dozen hospital personnel were soon clustered around Dr. Truitt, looking from Savich to Blessed Backman, who lay on his back, moaning, blindfolded, his wrists strapped down.

  Ox stood beside the bed, staring down at Blessed Backman like he could kill him and enjoy it. Savich turned to the hospital staff. “It’s over now. We do have a little something to show you, Dr. Truitt, you and the staff. It’s a video in the next room. You’re in living color, Blessed. Maybe this will help keep you in solitary confinement for the rest of your miserable days.”

  Ethan said, “I don’t suppose there’s a prayer of keeping all this away from the media?”

  “We can try,” Dr. Hicks said. “Some of these people won’t want to confess to another soul that they saw a man take over another person’s mind so easily. Some simply won’t believe it. But the media will sensationalize any hint of psychic powers. Even if no one believes it, they’ll come like locusts.”

  But Savich knew it would get out, knew Blessed’s family would find out fast that they had him. What would they do?

  Cindy Maybeck stood beside Ox, rubbing her arm where he’d hit her. She’d recognized him when he’d first arrived with Sheriff Merriweather. He’d given her a parking ticket last year. She looked up at him. “Why did you hit me?”

  “Because that nice old codger took away your brain for a while. You’ll be okay now. Do you have a headache?”

  She shook her head, frowned. Ox knew she didn’t understand, but maybe she would when he explained it to her over dinner at Marlin’s Mexican if she said yes. He’d also teach her how to parallel park.

  39

  BRICKER’S BOWL, GEORGIA

  Wednesday afternoon

  “Joanna described Bricker’s Bowl well,” Sherlock said, staring around her. “It’s like the whole town’s at the bottom of a gigantic soup bowl. Very cool. It makes me want some chicken noodle. How many people live in this valley?”

  “Around five hundred souls,” Savich said.

  “It looks like nobody’s come or gone in a lot of years. It should be in black-and-white, like that old movie Pleasantville. Look, Dillon, there’s a cell tower, power lines, all the modern conveniences. Somehow they look out of place. I’m thinking the Backmans would have to be careful about what they do around here, you know, not soil their own backyard.”

  “Joanna did say she saw Blessed stymie the young guy taking pictures the day they buried Martin Backman’s urn in their cemetery.”

  Sherlock said, “And his brother Grace stopped him.”

  Savich picked it up. “Blessed did te
ll the young man he wouldn’t remember anything. Neither did Ox or Glenda or that nurse at the hospital. Blessed would have to be very careful, though, or sooner or later he’d face a mob.”

  Sherlock nodded. “And we’re talking years upon years living here, Dillon. Look there, cows grazing, goats munching away. Makes me feel better. But what I don’t understand is why Blessed doesn’t simply walk into a bank and stymie a teller and walk out with a gazillion bucks. No one would remember he was even there.”

  “Maybe he’s tried it. They could have a lot of cash stuffed in those graves. We’re going to find out, I promise you that.” Savich turned the rented Camry into the first filling station, Miley’s. A young boy with buzz-cut wheat-colored hair was putting air in a couple of tires on an ancient Honda. A heavyset woman was seated inside the Quik Mart, the cash register in front of her, staring at them through the glass.

  Sherlock said, “That woman’s looking at us like we’re trouble. Fact is, though, if I lived anywhere near the Backmans, I wouldn’t just be paranoid, I’d move. We don’t need gas, Dillon. Why’d you stop?”

  He said, “That woman sitting at the register was looking at us even before we pulled in. I want to sit here awhile before I get out of the car and fill the tank. We’re two strangers, doing nothing, and she looks like she’s on red alert. This might end up being interesting.”

  “I hope we luck out and find Caldicot Whistler here. He’s probably the key to this Children of Twilight cult, maybe to all of it.”

  “I finished putting together what MAX could find about him this morning,” Savich said. “He’s thirty-seven years old, a graduate of Harvard Law who worked for four years in a private law firm in Manhattan, then took off without a forwarding address after he was turned down for a partnership. No wife, no kids. Actually he has no living relatives that MAX could locate.

  “We have a four-year gap until we pick him up again here in Georgia, leading this Children of Twilight cult. Surprisingly, it’s the only mention MAX could find about him.