Three hard-nosed investigators grilled me for information, obviously assuming that, because I was the infamous Everett Lester, I was high on drugs, filled with rage, and guilty of Endora’s murder. Coogle, a handsome, dark-haired man of about fifty, came back into the tiny room with a fresh cup of coffee and cooled off his colleagues.
“The bottom line, the thing these men want to hear from you, Mr. Lester, is—did you kill Edith Rosenbaum?” Coogle asked. “You’ve told me, but I would like you to tell them—in your words.”
Looking at the floor, I shook my head. “No, I did not.” Brian patted me and told me it was okay to go on. “The last thing I remember was that we sat down to do a séance, to try and communicate with my old girlfriend, Liza Moon, the actress. The next thing I knew, I was calling my manager to tell him about the…Endora.”
I also explained my motives for pretending to participate in the séance, to find out who was trying to hurt Karen Bayliss. But they weren’t interested in Karen or the fire at her home halfway across the country.
When it came time for urine and blood samples to be taken, I told the investigators that Endora had obviously put something in my drink before the séance, because I was dizzy and eventually must have passed out.
When the results from the tests came back, they confirmed the presence of a foreign substance, which chemists couldn’t specifically identify. They could, however, conclude that properties from the substance were consistent with those found in certain psychotropic drugs, which are often used to aid hypnosis.
Soon after Brian refused to allow me to submit to a polygraph test, my phone began ringing with calls from loved ones who had started to hear or see the news. Mary called from her car, Jerry Princeton from his office, and Karen phoned in tears from her new home.
“I can’t talk now,” I said, as investigators signaled for me to end the call and get back to business. “I’m sorry. I did not do this, Karen.”
“I know…I know. I was afraid of this, so afraid. But it’s going to be okay, Everett. Do you hear me? Don’t give up on me, and don’t give up on God. He’s with you. I promise He is. I’ll be watching—and praying.”
“I know He’s with me…I’ve got more to tell you, good news. But I’ve got to go now.”
My trial had recessed for the day. About thirty minutes ago, I decided to play a few of my new songs during leisure time. So I took my acoustic guitar to a corner of the main recreation area and quietly began strumming and singing.
To my amazement, more than three hundred inmates gathered on the floor in front of me, on chairs and couches, and standing along the perimeter and upstairs hallways of this packed atrium. Most of the guards were looking on as well.
“I met a nineteen-year-old kid in a hospital in New York a while back,” I found myself sharing with the crowd. “He had tattoos, drug problems, a bad attitude, no conscience—a lot like me.” I smiled. “And maybe a lot like you…”
The place was silent, except for my voice echoing across the atrium.
“When I left him, I signed my autograph with a Scripture from the Bible. And do you know, that kid—with all his anger and vileness—said to me, ‘Hey, cool. What is this, about Jesus?’ And I said, ‘Yes, it is.’ And it struck me since that night that my goal in this life should be to share what Jesus Christ has done for me—and what He can do for you.
“By the way—” I began to strum softly—“that Scripture is from the book of Matthew, chapter 11, verses 28 to 30. It goes like this:
‘Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.’”
Several screams and catcalls echoed about the atrium, as I launched hard into the new song I’d been working on, called “Blind/Faith.”
I led you down a dead-end street,
I didn’t care if you would die,
I took your money and I stole your heart,
I pushed you out when you didn’t know how to fly.
It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,
Will you let Jesus in?
It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,
Will you forgive me for my sin?
It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,
This is your chance to be born again.
Don’t say you don’t believe in Him,
Don’t say He’s just a lie,
Listen to His voice it’s callin’ you,
“I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”
It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,
Will you let Jesus in?
It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,
Will you forgive me for my sin?
It was the blind leading the blind, my friend,
This is your chance to be born again.
A warm, breezy night had fallen by the time Miami-Dade police agreed to release me. Gray Harris had flown in from New York, rented a car, and driven to the police department. Although Mary and Jerry wanted to come down from Ohio to be with me, I urged them not to. I was ready to be alone.
Together, Gray, Boone, and I dodged the plethora of reporters and photographers that had camped out in front of the precinct. Staying close to each other, pressing through the crowd, we wormed our way into Gray’s rental and took off into the night.
I sat in the backseat, staring at the passing lights, as Boone filled Gray in on the details of the case. Although physically and mentally spent, I felt different than usual. The facts swirling around Endora’s death were incriminating, yet I felt an unexplainable peace.
“What’ll happen next?” I asked from the dark.
“You’ll be brought in for further questioning.” Boone hesitated. “There may be an arrest.”
“You mean Everett?” Gray asked.
“Yes. The police are likely to come after him with everything they’ve got. Between his persona and the evidence at the crime scene, things aren’t in our favor at this point.”
“What then?” I asked.
“Hopefully, the judge appointed to the case sets bail so you can be out until the trial. But that’s not definite.”
The sound of the Lincoln’s tires against the clean streets filled the car.
“Your condo is off-limits, Ev,” Gray said, looking for me in the rearview mirror. “I’ve rented a house in Bal Harbour Village. It’s plenty big. Bigger than you need, but it’s all I could get. We have it indefinitely. I figured the three of us could stay there tonight until we see how this thing plays out.”
“I need to go somewhere tomorrow,” I said. “Is that okay, Brian?”
“Ah, Miami-Dade didn’t place specific restrictions on you yet, but they—”
“Good,” I said.
“They did say you should be readily available, in case they want to bring you in for more questioning, which I’m certain they’re going to do.”
“I need to make a one-day trip, that’s all. Then I’ll be here for the duration.”
“Where are you going?” Gray asked.
“Kansas.” I turned to look into the night. “Topeka, Kansas.”
Brian walked quickly from the jury box to the witness stand and back to our table, as if he had just consumed a large portion of superhuman protein breakfast food. Spinach, perhaps.
Boone was on a roll. Earlier today, he brought Jerry Princeton to the stand as a character witness and, as expected, Jerry’s testimony couldn’t have been more glowing. Boone compared my old, selfish, destructive lifestyle to the man Jerry had come to know. Jerry explained how I had reached out to Olivia Gilbert’s family and shown remorse for my action toward the young girl. He also spoke at length about how I had kicked my drug habit and become a Christian.
Most recently, Boone finished questioning the chemist who found traces of psychotropic drugs in my bloodstream following Endora’s murder. The young man confirmed th
at the chemicals could indeed have had an altering effect on my “mood, perception, mind, and/or behavior.”
That was a good thing. And now Boone was out to further prove Endora’s desire to control me.
“I would like to take us back to the testimony of Charlie LaRoche, Everett Lester’s friend and the former drug dealer for DeathStroke,” Boone announced. “You may recall, Mr. LaRoche told this court that Everett confided in him that he felt like his mind was being manipulated in some way by Madam Endora Crystal.”
Frank Dooley rolled his eyes and began conferring with the attorneys to his right and left.
“It just so happens that we have with us today a gentleman who can further enlighten us about things such as mind manipulation. He is known the world over as a master hypnotist. His name is Dr. Cary Golde.”
After outlining Dr. Golde’s long list of academic credentials—including degrees from Stanford and UC Berkeley—Boone read various testimonies from clients who had previously called on the good doctor for experiments with hypnotherapy, astral voyages, dream therapy, and self-hypnosis.
Boone clasped his hands together. “Like it or not, there is a whole spectrum of New Age metaphysical activity going on all around us. After you hear the testimony of Dr. Cary Golde, I want you to ask yourself—is it possible that Everett Lester is an innocent man who was unknowingly caught up in this…bewitching spirit realm.”
Dooley was on his feet before Boone finished the sentence. “Your Honor,” Dooley practically yelled, raking his hair with his hand. “Is this Mr. Boone’s closing argument? Because if I’m not mistaken, there’s a witness on the stand, waiting to be questioned.”
“Enough interjection, Mr. Boone. Let’s go ahead and proceed with your witness.”
“Fine, Your Honor,” Boone said, easily shaking off the interruption. “Dr. Golde, let’s get down to it.”
Dr. Golde sat relaxed and smiling at the stand, probably thrilled to be the recipient of so much free PR. He was about fifty-five years old, with curly black hair, bleached white teeth, and an expensive olive-colored suit.
“Let’s keep this as simple as possible, shall we?” said Boone. “Give us a brief background, if you will, on hypnosis and its popularity today.”
“Hypnosis has been used for centuries to treat pain and illness and to control bad habits, enhance performance, and combat phobias.” Golde rubbed the tip of his long nose with a bright white handkerchief. “It’s far more popular today than most people realize.”
“Briefly, what is hypnosis?” asked Boone.
“The mind works at two levels—conscious and subconscious.” Golde used his large hands to help explain, the hankie still in one of them. “At the conscious level, the mind causes the body to perform daily activities, such as washing the car, going to work, or cooking dinner. Meanwhile, the subconscious mind causes the body to perform daily functions that we don’t even think about, like breathing, swallowing, heart beating, and such.
“During hypnotism,” Golde continued, “the conscious mind is subdued, making the subconscious mind more readily open to instruction, or manipulation. In essence, the subconscious mind can be instructed what to do and, in turn, can preside over the body accordingly.”
“You used the word manipulation.” Boone took his jacket off and laid it across the back of the chair. “Can a mind be manipulated while under hypnosis?”
“I don’t mean to make your question sound…repetitive or trite, but that is basically what hypnosis is: manipulation of the mind.”
Dooley squirmed ever so slightly in his chair.
“Dr. Golde, most hypnotherapists would say that hypnosis is all good, that it is a science that has helped thousands of people overcome their problems,” Boone said. “One of our previous witnesses, Twila Yonder, even testified under oath that Madam Endora hypnotized individuals to help them conquer problems such as weight control, drug addiction, insomnia, and other phobias. So while some believe no harm can come from hypnotherapy, you disagree. Is this correct?”
“Strongly.” Golde nodded. “Hypnotherapy can be a marvelous tool, when used appropriately. That’s one of the ways I make a very good living.” He grinned, getting a few smiles from the crowd. “However, I have personally been made aware of a number of cases in which hypnotism has been terribly abused.”
“How has it been abused?”
“Under hypnosis, the minds of innocent people have been programmed, if you will, to commit robberies, to purposefully forget things, to become sick, to slander, to lie, and to assume other people’s identities. I’ve even heard of several cases in which people have been hypnotized and convinced to take their own lives. All of these things fall under the umbrella of what we in the profession call criminal hypnotherapy.”
Boone clasped his hands, took a few steps, and glanced around the room, giving the jury plenty of time to digest Dr. Golde’s testimony.
“Is there more?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Golde said, sniffling and dabbing his nose again with the hankie. “We’ve heard of cases in which people’s minds have been manipulated to make them hallucinate, to make them feel unbearable pain, and to perform all kinds of inexplicable behavior.”
“Including…murder?”
“Yes, including murder.”
Finally, a score for our side, as the courtroom lit up with surprise.
“Dr. Golde, why would a person allow himself or herself to be hypnotized in such a way?” Boone walked away from the doctor.
“Therein lies the enormity of the problem with criminal hypnotherapy. Through what we call disguised induction, a person can be hypnotized without even knowing it. It can happen fast, and it can happen in any number of ways.”
“What ways?” Boone asked, eyeing the jurors. “Tell us more about this disguised induction.”
“A good hypnotist can induce someone—and I mean gain complete control of him in a deep trance state—while that person sleeps, while he shares a conversation, even while he talks over the phone.”
The people in courtroom B-3 seemed stunned and excited by Golde’s testimony.
“And the subject of such hypnosis would never know he or she had been hypnotized, is that what you’re saying?” asked Boone, on the tips of his toes.
“Objection!” yelled Dooley from his seat. “Leading the witness.”
“Overruled.” Sprockett looked at Golde for an answer.
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying. It’s on the rare side, but it is reality.”
Boone walked toward me. “Dr. Golde.” He turned to face the jury and positioned himself right next to the chair in which I sat. “Please answer a very important question for the court today. Would it be possible for a good hypnotist—a professional—to hypnotize a man, have that man commit a murder with a gun, and have that man not remember one iota of that heinous crime?”
Dooley scrambled past his table to get to the bench.
Boone raced toward Judge Sprockett right alongside Dooley.
“Your Honor, what is going on here?” Dooley tried to whisper but failed. “Are you going to allow this, this…freak show? I object! Hearsay. Leading the witness. Conjecture!”
I felt chaos, relief, and tension all mixed together.
“Mr. Dooley, be seated.” Sprockett looked directly at the doctor over the top of his thin glasses. “Dr. Golde, answer the question.”
His face was slightly red as he concentrated on giving the answer he’d been trying to hold for the past minute. He cleared his throat. “Yes.” Golde leaned toward the mike. “Yes, I consider that murder scenario feasible indeed.”
With this, several reporters actually broke out their cell phones and began making calls.
“Let me say,” Golde raised his voice above the frenzy, “I’ve seen enough criminal hypnosis to sympathize with Mr. Lester’s case—”
“You were not asked your opinion, Doctor.” Dooley stood up with his arms outstretched. “Can we have some order, Your Honor?”
; Sprockett cracked his gavel repeatedly as Boone and I grabbed each other’s shoulders and laughed.
24
NEITHER GRAY NOR BRIAN thought I should go to Topeka. Boone was vehemently opposed. In fact, we ended up arguing about it into the night, when the three of us were way too tired to speak seriously—about anything.
In my heart, however, I had a hunch this would be my last opportunity to meet Karen in person for quite some time. I was already in hot water. And if this trip would turn up the heat more, then so be it.
The next morning in the back of a white limo on the way to Miami International, I phoned Mary to give her an update on the police interrogation and to tell her of my plans to visit Karen. I also asked about Olivia, whose condition remained the same.
I could tell Mary was surprised by my attitude that morning. She probably expected me to be in a deep state of depression over the circumstances in which I now found myself. However, there had been an evil about Endora so subtle, yet so eerily real and powerful…I must confess, I was relieved she was gone.
I felt as if my life was beginning all over again.
Certainly, I was concerned about the future, about the very real possibility of going to prison. Boone had made it sound as if he was surprised I wasn’t locked up already. But something was different that day. A peace had settled over me. It penetrated my soul and surpassed understanding.
When I told Mary I had finally surrendered my life to God, I thought she had literally passed out. The phone went silent for a long time. Then I heard her sobbing. She said she would call me later, when she could talk.
Meanwhile, I had a mission to accomplish—in about the next twelve hours.
The DeathStroke jet provided a beautiful view of the shiny lakes and flat farmlands of Kansas before it touched down at Forbes Field midday. I decided to rent a car, grab a bite, and run an errand before trying to locate Karen’s new residence at 1585 Primrose Lane.
Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol Page 22