“But,” Koesler made a gesture of helplessness, “what else was there to believe? There was no other explanation. I do not believe that God needlessly multiplies miracles. And, ordinarily, I do not credit miraculous sorts of coincidences such as this one. But, as I’ve said, and as we would agree, there was no other explanation.
“Until . . . until earlier this afternoon. I was talking with a young man about transcendental meditation and contemplation. And I mentioned to him a theory that the altered state of consciousness sometimes achieved as an element of contemplation is a form of self-hypnosis.
“Then, suddenly, I recalled that at that party, in this very same room, Angie Mercury was telling me about their early life together. How Cindy had dived right in to join him in his theatrical career. How, together, they had done musicals and almost every imaginable form of show business entertainment, including nightclub acts.
“And part of their act was the ever-popular hypnosis shtick. Where volunteers from the audience come up on stage. They are hypnotized and given sometimes silly, sometimes awe-inspiring, post-hypnotic suggestions. I think we’ve all seen such acts. As a result of a post-hypnotic suggestion, a perfectly normal person will cluck like a chicken. Or another will find it impossible to lift his right arm.
“Recall, gentlemen, because it is important in what we will consider now, if a subject is going to slip into a hypnotic state, it takes a qualified hypnotist only a few moments to induce the trance.”
The three officers and the doctor nodded in agreement. Each was familiar with such demonstrations. Cindy remained immobile.
“Well, according to Angie, this was one of the acts he and Cindy had performed. And he had added that, possibly to relieve boredom, or for whatever reason, they had switched roles from time to time, one of them working the audience, the other playing the part of the hypnotist.
“So, Cindy is not only capable of hypnotizing people; from all indications, she is proficient in it.
“At this point in my reasoning, I began to put together another concept. An alternative, if you will, to the plot that had Emma acting spontaneously and impulsively.
“We already know that the Chase, Hoffman, and Mercury households had on hand a supply of Black Leaf 40, which comprises a powerful nicotine poison. Jacqueline LeBlanc had the potential of extracting nicotine from cigarettes. And poor Bishop Ratigan, God save him, not only had a nicotine bomb, he was all unwittingly responsible for the others having a supply of a controlled substance. So, everyone, including Cindy, had access to the type of poison that was actually used.
“And, as a result of what I have just postulated, we know that Cindy had a motive for wanting Emma silenced.
“Now, let me combine what I witnessed at the scene of the murder with what I think went on behind the scene.
“When I entered the Harvard Room, where the Martin party was being held, I naturally looked around for people I knew. The first ones I saw were Emma, Cindy, and Louise Chase, who were standing together talking with Mr. Chase. Then I watched the three women—as it turns out, they were the only women in the whole room I actually knew—anyway, I saw the three of them cross the room, go down the hall, and enter the ladies’ room. I remember reflecting on the phenomenon of women never visiting the rest room alone, but always in couples or groups.
“That was when Cindy had the opportunity of quickly inducing in Emma a hypnotic state and offering the post-hypnotic suggestion that, at a given signal, she would take her husband’s Rob Roy and drink it herself.
“There is nothing in that suggestion that would conflict with either Emma’s morals or standards. It would be in keeping with her usual custom of doing things impulsively—and show up her husband at the same time. And Dr. Scholl here has assured me that the usually strong-willed Emma would be even more apt to submit to the hypnotic state and suggestion since she had been drinking.”
“Just a moment, Father,” Inspector Koznicki felt that he must play devil’s advocate since someone eventually would, “do you not think you are assuming too much at this point? All you saw was the three women going into the ladies’ room together. You have no way of knowing what went on while they were in there.”
“That’s true, Inspector. But remember, I’m trying to build a hypothesis that will stand or fall only when it has been completely explicated and examined.
“However, at this point, I should tell you that before coming here this afternoon, I called Louise Chase and asked her if she could remember anything unusual or out of the ordinary happening when she and Emma and Cindy visited the ladies’ room at the club. After some thought, she told me that one thing had surprised her. Cindy had asked if she would mind leaving her alone with Emma for a while, saying she had something personal to discuss with her sister-in-law. So, Louise had left the other two in the powder room adjacent to the toilet section. The two of them were alone, then, for several minutes.”
The other men in the room seemed to gaze at Cindy more intently.
Father Koesler shifted in his chair. Though eager that the others understand his hypothesis, he was in no great hurry to rush through its explanation lest he omit a vital consideration.
“After I saw the women enter the ladies’ room, I looked about for other people I might know. I spotted Frank Hoffman, whom I had seen earlier talking to the Martins. Frank was with Angie and Bishop Ratigan, so I joined them. We talked a bit about the private papal audience that the bishop had secured as a gift Frank could present to the Martins. Then, Cindy and Emma joined us.
“Frank got angry because he was standing there with an empty glass in his hand and no waiter had come to serve him another drink. A nasty argument began between Frank and Emma. At this point, Cindy left the group to find a waiter. It was the only time Cindy was away from the group. She was with the group, as was I, during the crucial time when the drink was poisoned. So, how could she have poisoned the drink? How, unless she had arranged for someone else to poison it for her?”
“The waiter,” suggested Koznicki, softly.
Koesler pointed at the Inspector as if he had won a game of charades. “The waiter,” Koesler affirmed. “I believe the newspapers mentioned that the waiter in question had a work history of a lot of odd jobs, among them some in show business.”
The others nodded.
“If you check into it, and I’m sure you will,” Koesler nodded at Koznicki, “I think you will find that this particular waiter may have worked with the Mercurys or at least in a hypnotic act. Which doesn’t really matter.
“In any event, I believe what happened at this point was that Cindy quickly beckoned the waiter into a quiet corner, and just as quickly led him into a shallow hypnotic state and suggested that besides bringing him the presently called-for drink, that at a future signal from her, he would fetch Frank another drink. Only this time, he would pour the contents of a vial—she may even have told him the vial contained something like cold medicine— into Frank’s drink before presenting it. None of which would have offended the waiter’s hypnotized sensibilities. And which would not have interfered with his passing a polygraph test, as she would have programmed him to forget the posthypnotic suggestion had been made.
“So, Cindy returns to the group and the waiter replaces Frank’s glass with another—harmless—Rob Roy, the one already mixed.
“The argument between Frank and Emma intensifies; and, when Jacqueline LeBlanc arrives on the scene, the volcano erupts. I remember that while the furor was going on, Cindy summoned the waiter and asked him to get Frank another drink. I thought it a bit odd since Frank had not completely drained his previous drink. But I believe that—asking the waiter to get Frank a fresh drink—was the prearranged signal of the posthypnotic suggestion. The waiter picked up Frank’s perfect Rob Roy, and poured into it the contents of the vial—possibly the so-called ‘cold medicine’—Cindy had given him.
“Next, I remember that when the waiter returned with the drink—which we would later learn was poisoned—he
simply stood on the fringe of the circle. Then Cindy said something again—something like, ‘Your drink is here, Frank.’ That, I believe, was the verbal cue that triggered the posthypnotic suggestion for Emma, who took the glass from her husband, downed the contents, and died, almost instantly.
“And that, gentlemen, is my theory of what happened Monday evening. The wrong person did not die. Emma was the intended victim all along. As the result of a rather complex and ingenious plot, Cindy was able to make everyone think her brother was the intended victim, and everyone’s attention was thus diverted from the actual victim and the actual perpetrator.
“And,” Koesler emphasized, “just in case anything went wrong with her plan, as a sort of fail-safe measure, Cindy was able to be right on the scene. If, for example, Emma did not reach for Frank’s glass, or if she had hesitated—if for any reason the posthypnotic suggestion did not work, Cindy was right there to, say, take Frank’s glass from him or even ‘accidentally’ knock it out of his hand.
“And Cindy,” Koesler addressed the still immobile woman, “Dr. Scholl assures me that we will more than likely be able to induce another hypnotic state in the waiter. And, in such a state, he should be able to recall the events of Monday evening and tell us about your leading him to an altered state of consciousness, and also about the posthypnotic suggestion you gave him. I came here first, rather than to the waiter, out of deference to you. So that you could tell us why you did it.
“Even though we know that you were trying to protect your husband—his career as well as his lifestyle, which was just about as important to him as life itself—I still don’t understand how a good woman, good mother, and good wife could actually plan and carry out a murder. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”
At this point, Koznicki raised a cautionary hand to Koesler. “Mrs. Mercury, it is my duty to inform you that you have the right to remain silent . . .” As the Inspector continued with the Miranda warning, a strange thing happened. Slowly, Cindy removed her hand from in front of her face. She looked up at Koesler with a most peculiar smile. Suddenly, she no longer resembled Cindy Mercury. Something had transformed her. Or at least there was enough changed about her eyes and mouth that she looked like a completely different woman. Koesler had seen such a transformation before only in movies with the aid of cinematical special effects.
“That’s right, priest . . . Cindy could . . . not have . . . done it.”
It was Cindy speaking, but not with her voice. Not even close. It was the same peculiar, androgynous voice that Koesler had heard twice before in a confessional setting.
“Cindy what—?” Koesler half rose from his chair.
“No . . . let her talk, Father.” Dr. Scholl, from behind Koesler, put a restraining hand on the priest’s shoulder. “If Cindy didn’t do it, who did?”
“You’re smart men—or, at . . . least you’re supposed to be . . . smart men. You figured out . . . everything else. Why . . . couldn’t you figure out . . . it was me?”
“I guess we weren’t so smart after all,” Scholl replied. “Tell me, who are you?”
There was a long pause while Cindy’s lips worked wordlessly. Then, “Why, I’m . . . Audrey, of course.”
“Of course you are,” said Scholl. “How stupid of us not to recognize you. Have you been with us before?”
“With the . . . priest, twice.” She sneered. “But, he didn’t . . . recognize me. Even when I . . . promised him I . . . would see him again.” She laughed; it was a diabolic sound.
Koznicki looked inquiringly at Koesler, who shook his head and soundlessly mouthed, “Confession: the seal.” Koznicki nodded and returned his gaze to Cindy—or Audrey.
Sergeants Ewing and Papkin’s attention was riveted on her.
“So,” said Scholl, “you were with us more than just the two times you visited with Father. When else were you here, Audrey?”
“At the party at the . . . Collegiate Club, fool! How else could I . . . have killed Em.”
“So, it was you who killed Emma Hoffman! Did you do it the way Father described?”
She looked at Koesler with loathing. It almost seemed as if she were going to spit on him. “Yes! Lucky . . . guess, priest.”
“Tell us about it, Audrey.”
She smiled crookedly, as if envisaging something both satisfying and evil. “I made sure Emma had . . . enough to drink so she wouldn’t be too . . . alert. I waited until there were no others in the . . . powder room. Then I asked . . . Louise to leave us alone. I . . . massaged Em’s neck while she . . . sat in front of the mirror. It took only a few. . . moments and she was under, at least enough to accept the suggestion.”
“Didn’t your voice frighten Emma?”
“I used . . . Cindy’s voice. I also borrowed her skills as . . . as hypnotist.” She giggled, a little girl who had done something naughty.
“What was the signal that would trigger the posthypnotic suggestion?”
“When I . . . said, ‘Here’s your drink, Frank,’ she would show him who’s boss, take the glass from him and drink it down.”
“How about the waiter?”
“Him . . . too. I . . . never worked . . . with him before. But I’d seen him in . . . a hypnosis skit once. He was a . . . good subject. I recognized him once . . . before when I was at . . . the club. In fact, when I saw him there . . . before, that’s when I began to build my . . . plot. I . . . knew I could hypnotize him. When I was confident I could . . . hypnotize Em, the plan was complete.”
“It was a clever plan, Audrey.”
“Satanic . . . . Would you go so far . . as to say it was . . . Satanic?” she cackled.
“Maybe, maybe not,” ventured Dr. Scholl. “That will take a little study and involve our working together. You know you will have to be arrested, don’t you, Audrey?”
“It . . . doesn’t matter. You can’t hurt me!” she shrieked. “You can only hurt Cindy!”
Everyone was chilled by the weird, eerie cacophony.
Suddenly, the woman’s expression changed radically. Her eyes softened and her mouth smoothed. “I . . . I . . .” It was unmistakably Cindy’s voice.
She collapsed. But before she slumped to the floor, Dr. Scholl, who had been inching forward during his conversation with “Audrey,” caught her.
The three officers exchanged glances. Without a word, each asked the other if he had ever had a case like this. Each silently communicated: “Never.”
21.
“The phone is for you, Mr. Hoffman.”
Hoffman was surprised. He had not told anyone he had planned to stop off at the Collegiate Club after the funeral.
His loose schedule called for a brief stop at the club. He wanted to pick up his athletic gear and make sure all his bills were paid. That would pretty well tie up all loose ends.
He never would have thought the preparation for his own death could be such a satisfying experience. By now, he’d become quite at ease with the idea of his impending death. He was convinced that whoever was intent on killing him would succeed. Who could stop it? But with a good confession behind him and all the amends he was making for past sins, he was in pretty good condition to meet his Maker. Most of all, he hated the thought of having to part from the body he had taken such pains to keep youthful, trim, and healthy. What a waste!
After the club, he planned on seeing Jackie and making plans for their wedding. He was quite sure he would not live long enough to see that wedding, but it would be a kind touch to at least give her the pleasure of planning it. He considered the way he was feeling might be akin to what Ebenezer Scrooge felt after his encounter with the Ghosts of Christmas.
“Hoffman here.”
“This is Father Koesler, Frank. I’ve been trying all over to reach you.”
“What can I do for you, Father? I’m in a bit of a rush.”
“I’ve got some important news for you, Frank. Something you should know as soon as possible. That’s why I’ve been calling everywhere for you. The poli
ce think the case is closed.”
“The case? You mean they know who tried to kill me?”
“It’s a bit involved. There are parts of it you’ll find hard to believe. It’s important that we meet so I can explain this in detail.”
“Wait, Father. This is terribly important: Tell me all you can about it now.”
“OK, Frank. I’ll sketch it out now and later we can go over it more specifically.
“First of all, Frank, you were not the intended victim.”
“Not the—! Then, who—?”
“Your wife.”
“Em? That’s crazy. She took the poison from me.”
“That’s one of the reasons I want to go over this with you later.”
“But who do the police think did it?”
“Your sister.”
“Cindy? That’s ridiculous! My sister wouldn’t harm anyone. Why, she ushers spiders out of the house rather than kill them.”
“I told you this was complex, Frank.
“Listen to me: Your sister appears to have a serious pathological disorder. The psychologist seems to think she can be cured. But I want to assure you: If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about Cindy’s being convicted or sent to jail.”
“Do I have this correct, Father: There was no attempt made on my life? My wife was deliberately murdered by my sister, who may have been, say, temporarily insane?”
“That’s about it, Frank. At least in outline.”
“I . . . I don’t know quite what to say. Let me think about this. I’ll be in touch.”
Hoffman hung up the receiver and stood beside the phone in a numb state. He finally walked away without purpose or direction. He found himself seated at the bar. He knew not how he had gotten there.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Hoffman.”
The bartender approached, polishing the ever-spotted glass. “Sorry to hear of your loss, sir.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Your regular, sir?”
“What? Oh, no; just give me some Perrier.”
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