by Barbara Paul
Megan needed help in carrying the burden. So when she got home she went down and pounded on Gus’s door. The minute he let her in she started talking and didn’t stop until the whole story was out—and then she demanded that he think of something.
Unfortunately, he did. “If it was Bogert who changed the shipping orders,” Gus said, “maybe he’s not working alone. Maybe someone told him to do it.”
Megan looked bewildered. “But why?”
“I have no idea. But if somebody is out to get you, wouldn’t Bogert make a good inside man? Somebody with access to you?”
“That sounds a little paranoid, Gus.” She sank down in the lumpy armchair and wished she hadn’t. “Why don’t you get these springs fixed?”
“Listen, Megan. Two unusual things have happened to you recently. Somebody stole thirty-eight hours of your life, and then there’s a gross shipping error that could only have been deliberate. Is it unreasonable to assume that these two out-of-the-ordinary happenings might be connected?”
“Oh, they’re not connected, Gus. Bogert didn’t have anything to do with my lost weekend.”
“How can you be so sure? Megan, I’m convinced it was a ‘they’ instead of a ‘he.’ Whoever got you that weekend, I mean. Look at everything that was done—kidnapping you, driving your car back, slashing the tires of that police car, carrying you to the golf course. It’s just too much for one person to handle all alone. There had to be at least two of them.”
She sighed. “You think of the most cheerful things.”
“Megan. I think we ought to go to the police.”
She didn’t answer immediately. Then: “We go to the police, and I tell them I think an unknown somebody hypnotized me and forced me to screw up a Glickman shipment. Then what happens?”
“Well, they investigate.”
“They investigate what? More to the point—they investigate whom?”
“Er, uh—oh.”
Megan nodded. “They investigate me. Gus, I can’t have cops running around Glickman Pharmaceuticals asking questions about me. Not now.” How Bogert would love that.
“Are you in trouble at work?”
“No, no—nothing like that. It’s only that—well, just take my word for it. Now is not a good time for me to be investigated by the police.” Mr. Ziegler would be most disapproving. Megan noticed the expression on Gus’s face and laughed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Gus! I haven’t done anything I don’t want the police to find out about! It’s just that I’m involved in some heavy office politics right now and I have to tread carefully.”
He believed her—because he wanted to believe her. “Tell me about Bogert.”
“He’s a vindictive, power-happy, underhanded bastard,” she remarked without emphasis.
“That gives me a very clear picture,” Gus said expressionlessly. “Now tell me about Bogert.”
Megan grinned. “I don’t know anything about him outside the office.” So she told him what she did know, stressing the fact that Bogert was the only one who could have altered her shipping plans if she hadn’t done it herself.
“This other man-Unruh?”
“He’s out of it,” Megan said. “He even has trouble calling up straight-line information from the machine. He’d never have been able to make the necessary changes.”
“Can I come visit you?”
“What?”
“At Glickman. So you can point Bogert out to me.”
“Gus—are you going to play detective again?”
“Yup. Are visitors allowed?”
“Not without a reason for being there.”
“Couldn’t I be someone delivering a package to you?”
“You’d have to have credentials from the delivery service, and then I’d have to go down to the reception desk and sign for the package there. Security’s pretty tight.” She smiled ironically. “Bogert’s doing.”
“Well, then, when you leave work.”
“I’ve never seen him leave the same time the rest of us do.”
“Damn it, there’s got to be some way for me to find out what this guy looks like.”
Megan thought for a moment. “His picture was in one of the company publications—I remember seeing it. I’ll see if I can track it down. What are you going to do?”
“Find out if he’s on the take … who else’s payroll he might be on.” At that Megan started laughing so hard that Gus’s feelings were hurt. “Well, I might find out something—you never know unless you try.”
Megan wiped her eyes and let her laughter trail away. “Oh, Gus—it all seems so improbable. The whole thing. But Bogert isn’t part of any conspiracy. If he’s out to get me, it’s for personal reasons. Because I one-upped him. I one-upped him good.”
“You don’t know what connections he might have,” Gus said stubbornly. “You don’t know anything about him. Megan, you’ve turned this into an either-or situation. Either a hypnotist got to you or Bogert is trying to sink you. Bogert could be linked to your missing weekend—it’s possible.”
But she was shaking her head. “Bogert wouldn’t use a hypnotist to get at me. It’s just not his way of doing things, Gus. It’s, well, it’s too subtle. Bogert goes in for things like name-calling—the frontal attack.”
“I don’t mean he thought up the plan. But he could be the other guy who helped the hypnotist, couldn’t he?”
Megan still refused the idea. “It is either-or, Gus. Bogert or a hypnotist. I’d bet on it.”
You are betting on it, Gus thought. “Find the picture?”
“I’ll find the picture,” she promised.
CHAPTER 7
A week later, Henrietta Snooks looked up from the report lying on her desk and stared at Gus Bilinski in open amazement. “You hired a detective?”
Gus nodded; it had cost him almost as much as he earned in two months. “If Bogert’s the one behind Megan’s trouble, then he had to be investigated.”
“But a detective, Gus—”
“I thought of doing it myself. But when I told Megan, she, uh, well, I decided she was right. It was too tricky. So I hired a professional.”
I hope she didn’t laugh at him. “What did you want to find out?”
“Either that he had some connection with a hypnotist, or something that would eliminate him as a suspect altogether. You see, I just didn’t believe Megan’s lost weekend and the misdirected shipment of Lipan were unconnected. And if Bogert was responsible for the Lipan, then he must have had something to do with the weekend as well. Reasonable?”
“If your original assumption is correct. Lipan and the weekend might not be connected at all.”
“Okay, that’s still an if. But Bogert’s the only clear enemy Megan seems to have. I was thinking maybe if he was in cahoots with whoever hypnotized Megan, a detective could find out about it.”
“But he didn’t?”
Gus shook his head. “He says there’s nothing at all in Bogert’s life that he could see except work. He lives and breathes security. He’s been with Glickman twenty-one years—the very epitome of the loyal and trusted employee. No personal life to speak of. Wife left him. One son, who left home the minute he graduated from high school. That was four years ago and his father hasn’t seen him since. Bogert has no close friends—casual drinking buddies in the neighborhood bar, that’s all. The detective says he’s made no bank deposits outside his salary check from Glickman.”
Snooks raised an eyebrow. “How’d he find that out?”
“Banks don’t protect your financial privacy now the way they used to. All he had to do was ask.”
Snooks held up the detective’s report and looked a question at Gus.
“I want you to read it,” Gus said, “and see if you can tell if he’s the sort of man who could be bought. Frankly, he sounds too straight-arrow to be true. He’s one of those guys who drive around with little decals on their cars saying ‘God Bless America.’ That makes me not trust him right there.”
Snooks g
rinned. “You’ve got a suspicious mind, Gus. Some people are exactly what they appear to be. All right, I’ll read it. You understand all you’ll be getting from me is a guess? I can’t analyze a personality solely on the basis of a detective’s report.”
“I know. Just see if you can spot anything.” He sat back in his chair to wait while she read, trying not to fidget.
Snooks scanned the report quickly once and then went back for a slower read. Horace W. Bogert had been born fifty-two years ago in Pittsburgh’s West End district. Snooks smiled; it had been years since she’d come across anyone named Horace. Bogert’s wife had taken off ten years ago, leaving him with a twelve-year-old son. The boy had left home as soon as he was of legal age and had never come back. Snooks thought she’d like to know a little more about why both wife and son ran away from this man.
Gus’s detective had spent only six days in dogging Bogert’s footsteps, so what he’d come up with was only a sampling of the security chief’s life, not a thorough study. But those six days had shown a man who lived for his job. Bogert went home only to sleep and change clothes. No sexual partner had appeared during those six days, and no friends. A great deal of Bogert’s time was spent driving between Pittsburgh and Bethel Park, his two charges—Glickman’s corporate headquarters and the lab. The detective said Bogert kept three guns in his home and one in his car. Snooks grunted. He didn’t find that out by asking.
Bogert had started at Glickman as a lowly guard and worked his way up. Last year he’d been given a twenty-year service medal, an automatic honor bestowed on everyone who stayed around long enough to warrant it. But he’d also received substantial raises periodically, presumably in concert with increased authority and responsibility. The security chief was in good standing with his employer.
“It’s not much to go on, Gus,” Snooks sighed. “He looks to me like a man who’s put all his eggs in one basket.”
Gus stared at her. “That’s your scientific conclusion?”
“I told you not to expect much. Look. His instincts are conservative in the most literal meaning of the word—he wants to conserve, to protect, to make secure. A defensive man. His personal life collapsed when first his wife and then his son both turned their backs on him. He didn’t do such a hot job of ‘conserving’ his marriage, so he channeled all his energies into his work. He didn’t try to build a new marriage and he doesn’t put his trust in friends. He puts his trust in guns. He’s a man who’s suffered loss and he’s going to fight tooth and nail to preserve what he’s got left. And what he’s got left is Glickman Pharmaceuticals. The company is his family.”
“So you’re saying it’s not likely he could be bought?”
“On the face of it, no.”
Gus looked skeptical. “I dunno. Isn’t it always the oldest, most trusted bank employees who do the most embezzling? Then everybody’s always so shocked.”
“Long-time employees who embezzle aren’t after just the money, you know. They’re hitting back at their employers. They all have some kind of grudge—sometimes they just feel they haven’t been properly appreciated all those years. If Bogert had been passed over regularly for promotion—then yes, he could very easily turn against Glickman in frustration. But the company has consistently supported him and rewarded him. Therefore Glickman is to be defended, not betrayed.”
“But Megan is part of Glickman. Why would he be hounding her if—”
“No, that’s not the way it works. Bogert is the guardian at the gate, Megan’s the upstart newcomer who in his eyes poses a threat to what he’s trying to preserve. And she’s a woman, Gus—women don’t seem to be a part of his life, not since his wife left. Her sex makes her an outsider in Bogert’s tight little world. I’d say he’s a man who’s found a line of work he’s eminently suited for.”
“So he’d definitely not be open to bribery.”
“I can’t say ‘definitely.’ The evidence is too skimpy. I’m just saying it isn’t likely Bogert’s on the take. Unless, of course, Bogert does have a grudge against Glickman that he’s managed to hide from everybody, including your detective. But it doesn’t seem likely, Gus.”
“Damn.” Gus scowled. “So he probably didn’t have anything to do with Megan’s missing weekend after all.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Snooks agreed. “You wanted him to be in on that, didn’t you? Why, Gus?”
He shrugged. “He was the only lead we had. Now that seems to have fizzled out, we’re back to where we started. Which is nowhere. Well—thanks, Snooks. We did sort of semi-eliminate him as a suspect.”
“For all the good it does us.”
Gus stood up to go and gave a quick glance around. “Nice office,” he said, and left.
Snooks placed her foot on her desk drawer and propelled herself backward to the window. In a few minutes Gus came bobbing along the sidewalk, moving in a jerky scarecrow motion that suggested he had more energy than he knew what to do with. He was enjoying playing detective, working at unraveling the mystery of Megan’s missing weekend. No, Snooks told herself, there was more to it than that. Gus wasn’t too proud to call in outside help when he thought he was in over his head. He wanted to help Megan more than he wanted to indulge his puzzle-solving proclivities.
Snooks smiled. Having a friend like Gus Bilinski spoke well for Megan. She made good choices.
Gus and Snooks sat at a small table in Megan’s kitchen devouring a pizza Gus had sent out for.
Megan stood in the doorway watching them. She was in a touchy mood and said something she was usually able to restrain herself from saying: “How can you eat that junk?”
“With our mouths,” Snooks said with complacency, and took a big bite.
Megan looked at the stringy cheese and the greasy pepperoni and the cardboardlike crust and felt her stomach turn over. “All that fat and grease and starch—it’ll kill you. And you a doctor, Snooks!”
“Doctors are notoriously neglectful of their own health,” Gus said with equal complacency, and licked a finger.
Megan threw up her hands in surrender. “I can’t bear to watch. I have to go to the bathroom anyway.” She left them in peace.
When she came out of the bathroom, the phone was ringing. She moved to the extension by her bed. “Hello?”
“Full fathom five thy father lies,” the voice said.
“Yes.”
“Of his bones are coral made.”
“No.”
There was a click on the line; Megan replaced the receiver. “Wrong number,” she told the bed.
She went back to the kitchen: nobody there. They were in the living room, standing by the desk, both looking as if they’d just been told Armageddon was scheduled to begin in one hour. Snooks replaced the telephone receiver.
“What is it?” Megan asked them, not knowing whether to laugh or be alarmed. “What’s the matter?”
Snooks said, “Tell us about the phone call, Megan.”
Megan was confused. She gestured toward the desk. “You were the one on the phone, not me.”
“We were just listening in. You took the call, on the bedroom extension.”
“Snooks, what are you talking about? I didn’t take any phone call!”
Gus said, “Yes, you did, Megan. You answered the phone in the bedroom, we listened in here. We heard the conversation, if you can call it that. Don’t you remember any of it?”
Megan looked at the two of them as if she suspected them of conspiring against her—and then suddenly realized what it meant. “The reinforcement? The hypnotist just called me on the phone and … oh, my god.” She half collapsed against the wall, her face a picture of revulsion.
Snooks moved rapidly to her side and wrapped a beefy arm around Megan in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. “I think you’d better sit down. Come on, Megan.” She led her to the armchair. Megan sat down and started shuddering. “That’s right—yield to it. Get it over with.”
Gus fluttered around helplessly until Snooks told him
to sit down too; he took his usual place on the edge of the sofa. Eventually Megan’s shudders eased off. “This is hard for me to accept,” she said. “That someone would do such a vile thing to me. And why? I feel like a ticking bomb. What did he say to me on the phone?”
“I don’t think I’d better repeat it,” Snooks said. “That might provide additional reinforcement, you see. It was very brief—just two lines of poetry.”
“From The Tempest,” Gus inserted, and started to recite the rest of Ariel’s song.
“Don’t do that,” Snooks said sharply. “That might be the recall trigger.”
Gus’s bug-eyes grew even larger. “Of course—stupid. I’m sorry.”
Snooks turned back to Megan. “You say ‘yes’ to the first line, ‘no’ to the second line. Gus says you say ‘wrong number’ after you’ve hung up.” She sank down on the sofa and lit a cigarette. “There’s one encouraging thing about that phone call, though. It means you haven’t yet followed out the posthypnotic command. Otherwise he wouldn’t still be calling you to reinforce the suggestion.”
“Still be calling me? You mean there have been more of those phone calls?”
“Quite a few, Megan,” Gus said. “Always the same thing—yes, no, wrong number. Then you don’t remember getting the call. I asked you about it once, but you didn’t know what I was talking about.”
“I remember that,” she said shortly. “I thought you were a little bit crazy. Do you have any idea how frightening this is? To think that somebody I don’t even know could just … walk into my mind and control my behavior. My god.”
“Yeah, how about that, Snooks?” Gus asked. “I’ve always heard it’s impossible to force someone to do something under hypnosis that’s opposed to his, er, moral principles or something.”
Snooks gave a big sigh. “The only people who say that with any certainty are lawyers. The medical profession isn’t so sure. The law needs yes or no answers, you see. And there are enough experimental studies available to confirm the hypothesis saying you can’t be forced by hypnosis to do something against your will that the courts are satisfied. Laws vary, of course, but the courts generally take the view that a plea of innocence on the grounds that the accused was forced to commit a crime under hypnosis is just so much hogwash.”