by David Archer
“So,” she said, “you think you might know something about what happened to me?”
“We have a theory,” Dixon said. “I’m sure you’ve heard that there have been some other women who have also gone through this?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “It scares me to death, because a couple of them had been arrested for murder. I’m terrified they’re going to show up and arrest me for some crime I don’t remember committing.”
“That’s exactly why we’re talking to you,” Dixon said. “We’re working on the theory that these women, and probably yourself included, were actually brainwashed into doing what they did. If we can prove it, then they are not guilty of any wrongdoing, and neither would you be. There are precedents in the law about things like this, and it’s the person who did the brainwashing who is ultimately responsible for the crimes that are committed as a result.”
She gave him a halfhearted grin. “Well, that’s a little bit comforting,” she said. “I’ve actually started going to a counselor, trying to get some sense of just what happened during that time, and it seems like I’m getting little flashes of memory—but there’s nothing concrete, you know? I can’t make sense out of it, at least not yet.”
“Well, if something comes up, you let us know. In the meantime, we’ve come across a connection between you and all of the other women who have been going through this experience. All of you, it seems, were at the Rivers Center about two years ago. All of you were from the same group.”
Melinda’s face lost expression. “Rivers Center? You mean, this is happening because I went there?”
“All we can say at the moment,” Dixon said, “is that there is a definite connection. Ms. Cummings, can you remember any of the staff that you worked with when you were there?”
The woman closed her eyes, apparently deep in thought. “Well, we all met Dr. Loftin,” she said. “That was just once, I think, during the initial orientation. After that, we had group leaders that we all had to listen to, and we went to daily counseling sessions. Those were group sessions, the kind where you sit around in a circle and everybody’s expected to speak up.”
“How did you handle being there? Did you have any problems?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Oh, I hated it at first,” she said. “It was absolutely miserable. They wake you up at a ridiculously early time and then you have to go and run around the track, do exercises, I mean, it was rough. The counseling groups were in the afternoon, and for the first month or so, most of us wouldn’t even speak. When we did, it was usually just to complain about everything else.” She grinned. “And then, all of a sudden, it suddenly dawns on you that it just isn’t all that bad after all. You start to feel better, you start to get into shape and think more clearly. At that point, some of it actually became fun. We’d start talking in the group and letting out some of our frustrations and fears. I can honestly say it changed my life for the better.”
Dixon nodded. “Let’s go back to the staff members,” he said. “Who was your group leader?”
“Oh, gosh, let me think.” She closed her eyes again, and they could see her lips moving silently for a moment. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at Dixon. “It was a guy named Jared, but that’s all I remember. The group leaders are people who have already been through the program, and they volunteered to stay on to help others. Over the group leaders, there are the counselors. I remember mine was a man named Dr. Mitchell.”
“Dr. Mitchell? Did you ever meet a Dr. Cardwell?”
Melinda narrowed her eyes. “Cardwell? Oh, you mean Liz. She was the main psychiatrist there, she was in charge of the counselors. We all got to talk to her, usually at least once every other week.”
“Okay, good,” Dixon said. “Can you tell me about those sessions?”
Melinda blinked. “Sure,” she said. “It was like—well, they were one-on-one sessions, and—it was like, we’d sit down in her office and just talk about what was going on, and what I’m feeling, stuff like that.”
Chance leaned forward. “Did she ever give you any kind of medication?” he asked.
“Medications? Well, yeah, sometimes. If she thought I was too tense or something, she give me a shot to help me relax. She said it helped me to let out my feelings, and that would help me to get over my addiction.”
“Uh-huh,” Dixon said. “Ms. Cummings, did she ever talk to you about hypnotism?”
“Oh, yes,” Melinda said. “You know, I always thought I was one of those people who could be hypnotized, but she said I went right under with no problem. We were able to learn a lot that way, about why I became addicted so easily. She said it really helped in my treatment.”
“What kind of things did you talk about while you were under hypnosis?” Dixon asked.
Melinda’s face went blank. “Well, I don’t really know. She said that was kind of the point, that I wouldn’t remember what we actually talked about, because that was how we got to the root of the problems.”
Dixon and Chance and looked at one another, and then Dixon turned back to Melinda. “Ms. Cummings, you said you started going to counseling? What kind of memory flashes have you been getting?”
The woman’s expression suddenly underwent a rapid transformation, going from perfectly blank to a split second of anger, and then there was a flash of fear before it went back to blankness again.
“They’ve been kind of strange,” she said. “It’s like I can almost remember something, but then it just disappears. Like, in one of them, I remember walking with someone and talking, but I can’t remember who it was or what we were talking about. Then there’s another one where I—oh, it’s hard to talk about, but it’s like I look at my hands and they’re all covered in blood. That’s the only one that seems to have anything to do with blood, but I feel this sense of panic every time I think about it.”
“What does your counselor have to say about that?” Dixon asked.
“She doesn’t know what to think,” Melinda said. “She says it could be something to do with fear, that maybe I’m afraid of getting hurt or something.”
Chance was watching her closely. “But you don’t think that’s what it means,” he said. “You think it means something else, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “At first, I just thought it was weird, but then I heard about these other women who have been arrested for murder, and I…”
“Do you remember the knife?” Dixon asked suddenly, and Melinda’s eyes went wide.
“It was heavy,” she said, and then she blinked. “Wait a minute, why did I say that? I don’t remember any knife.”
Dixon tried to look sympathetic. “Consciously, you don’t,” he said. “But the only reason you would have said that is because you have a subconscious memory of it. Ms. Cummings, we believe that Dr. Cardwell was experimenting with some of the people at the Rivers Center, probably working out the technique she was using to brainwash people into doing things they wouldn’t normally do. Every single one of these cases is related to that group at the Center, and that’s the only group where she had any contact with the Center’s clients. No other group of people who went through their programs has experienced anything like this, so it’s almost certain that you were brainwashed and programmed just like the others.”
Tears began to run down her cheeks. “Then, you’re saying I probably did kill somebody? Then, why haven’t the police come after me?”
“There could be a number of reasons,” Dixon said. “Have you ever been fingerprinted? Were you ever arrested, or in the military, or at any job where they took your fingerprints?”
She shook her head. “No, not that I can remember.”
“That would be one reason, then,” Dixon went on. “It’s highly likely that, if you did commit such a crime, there were either no witnesses at all or they haven’t been able to identify you. If your fingerprints are not on file anywhere, even fingerprints wouldn’t help them to track you down.”
“But tha
t doesn’t mean they won’t,” she said. “Right? If I did something like that, then sooner or later they’re going to find me. Right?”
“I’d say there’s a pretty good chance of it, yes. It’s important for you to remember, though, that it actually wasn’t you that did whatever it was. In a case like this, you were not the perpetrator, you were simply the weapon the perpetrator used.”
“And what does that mean? Life in prison, instead of the death penalty?”
“Oh, no,” Dixon said. “When someone is completely under the influence of another person, to the point that their own free will is completely overridden, then that person cannot be held liable for their actions. It’s the person who had control who’s considered to be the guilty party.”
Melinda picked up a box of Kleenex from a side table and wiped away her tears. “Is there anything else we need to talk about?” she asked. “Because I really think I need to call my counselor and see if I can get in to see her today.”
Dixon nodded. “That might be a good idea,” he said. “I think we’ve got everything we need for right now, and we really appreciate you taking the time to talk with us.” He took out a pad and scribbled his number, then passed it to her. “If you think of anything else, or if you need our help, please give me a call.”
The two men rose and walked out of the house, climbed into the pickup and backed out of the driveway. They were quiet for a moment as Chance drove down the street, but then he turned and looked at Dixon.
“Cardwell’s programming people to commit murder,” he said. “That poor woman is going to have to live with knowing she probably killed somebody, and she will be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life.”
Dixon shook his head. “I think we can avoid that,” he said. He took out his phone and dialed, and a moment later Chance heard Detective Jensen’s voice through the speaker. “Bobby, it’s Pete Dixon again. I need you to do me a favor. Can you check for any open murder cases anywhere in the country in the last six or eight weeks where the perpetrator seemed to be an unknown female? She’s Caucasian, about late twenties, maybe five foot five with dark hair.”
“What’s this about, Pete?” Jensen asked.
“It has to do with Yolanda Martinez and Maggie Bingham,” Dixon said. “I hope to be able to hand you proof pretty soon that those women were brainwashed and not culpable, but I think I’ve stumbled across a third one. You can call me back at this number, you got it?”
“Yeah, I got it. Give me a little time, and I’ll see what I can find. But, Pete, this is gonna be a pretty hard case to prove.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dixon said. “You just let me worry about that, okay?” He hung up the call and put the phone back into his pocket.
He turned to Chance. “Okay, who’s next?”
FOURTEEN
Chance didn’t get the opportunity to answer, because Dixon’s phone rang. He glanced at it, then answered it on speaker. “Pete Dixon,” he said.
“Mr. Dixon, this is Michael Dalton,” they heard. “I have a check in my hand for you, and I wondered where I can find you so I can hand it over.”
Dixon grinned. “We were right, then? That is your wife?”
“It’s Mary, yes,” Dalton said. “The doctor took my call, and asked her if she would like to speak to me. She agreed, and she said as soon as she heard my voice, the memories started to come back. She remembers me, she remembers the kids, it’s all coming back. We’ll be flying out tonight to go and see her, and hopefully bring her home.”
“That’s awesome, Mr. Dalton,” Dixon said. “If you like, just tell me where you want to meet up and we’ll come straight to you.”
“I’m actually still at work at the Venetian, and I’ll be here for another couple of hours. Any chance you could swing by?”
Dixon looked over at Chance, who nodded. “Twenty minutes,” Chance said.
“We can be there in twenty minutes, if that’s okay,” Dixon said.
“Sir, that will be fine. Again, I can’t thank you enough, but hopefully this check will express some of how grateful I am. I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”
The line went dead without another word, and Dixon put his phone back into his pocket. “Were you serious about letting me keep this reward money?” he asked Chance.
“I was serious. You and I have our own deal, and Mary Dalton wasn’t part of that. I’m glad we were able to find her for him, but that was really all you. I never could’ve done it on my own, anyway.”
“Which reminds me,” Dixon said, “I need to take you by to introduce you to Josephine. She’s a little on the odd side, but she can definitely come in handy, and I suspect you’re going to need her once in a while.”
They arrived at the Venetian Hotel a short time later, and Chance sat in the truck while Dixon went inside. He figured he had a few minutes, so Chance took out his phone and called Gabriella.
“Hey, baby,” he said when she answered. “How’s everything going back there?”
“We’re doing mostly okay,” Gabriella said. “The only real problem is Carmelita, but she’s holding on the hope that you will be able to accomplish something.”
“I think we will. We’re pretty sure we figured out who is behind this thing, but Pete says we have to get evidence that would convince a prosecutor. If we can, then the charges against Yolanda should be dropped fairly soon. It’s just a matter of proving that she and several others were brainwashed.”
“That sounds so terrible,” Gabriella said. “I mean, just the thought that someone could trick you into actually killing somebody, that’s terrifying.”
“From what I understand, it’s not that they were tricked into it. It’s more like their entire personalities are temporarily turned off, and a whole new personality takes over. That one has been programmed to believe that the person they target has to die. Once the target is dead, I guess the programming tells them to go home and resume their normal lives right where they left off. To me, that’s even scarier than just being manipulated into committing a crime.”
“Yeah, really. Chance, be careful. Anybody who could do that kind of thing probably has people ready to protect them. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Chance grinned. “Neither do I,” he said. “I just want to help Carmelita and her daughter, but it turns out I’m helping several other people at the same time.”
He could hear the smile in Gabriella’s voice. “That’s because that’s what you do,” she said. “You saved me and my kids, remember?”
“Yeah, but that was different. I’m not in love with these people, I just want to help if I can.”
They talked for a few more minutes, and then said goodbye. Chance had just hung up the phone when Dixon came walking out of the hotel. He climbed inside the truck and looked at Chance, his face almost shining.
“I guess Mrs. Dalton is making a sudden and miraculous recovery,” he said. “He was talking to her when I got in there, and told her how we were the ones who figured out who she was, then he handed me the phone. That lady thanked me over and over, I was starting to get embarrassed.”
Chance grinned at him. “But did you get the check?”
“That I did,” Dixon said, and he held it out for Chance to see. “I think I need to go put this in the bank. You mind to stop by First American?”
Still grinning, Chance said, “Just tell me which way.”
Thirty minutes later, with the check safely deposited into Dixon’s account, the two of them selected the next victim from their list and were on the way to speak with her. They were less than ten minutes away when Dixon’s phone rang, and he answered it on speaker.
“Pete Dixon,” he said.
“Pete, it’s Bobby Jensen. Listen, I ran those open cases like you asked, and I think I got a hit on the woman you were talking about. A man named Keith Hightower was killed four weeks ago, stabbed to death in a hotel room. Witnesses gave a description of the woman with him that matches the one you gave me to a T, and ther
e is a bit of security video that shows her. I’m sending you a picture that was cut out of that video, can you tell me whether it’s the girl you’re talking about or not?”
“Let me check,” Dixon said. He opened his messages and found the picture, then frowned as he showed it to Chance.
“That’s Melinda Cummings,” Chance said. “What we do now?”
“Unfortunately, I have to give that information to Bobby, and he’ll have to act on it. Bobby, you listening?”
“I’m listening, but I couldn’t make out the name. What was it again?”
Dixon gave him Melinda’s name and address. “Listen, do me a favor and be gentle, okay? This girl honestly does not remember what actually happened, and I’m pretty close to nailing the person behind it.”
Jensen was quiet for a moment. “Look, Pete,” he said finally, “I know you. Before you started drinking, you were the best investigator I’ve ever known. Are you truly sober?”
“Haven’t had a drink in a couple of days,” Dixon said. “Solving this case is pretty important to me, for reasons of my own, and I’m seriously considering AA when this is over. Might be nice to get my life back, you know?”
“Okay, then,” Jensen said. “I’m going to talk to this woman, but I’m not going to arrest her just yet. I’m going to trust that you know what you’re talking about, and that she’s not really the guilty party. On the other hand, it might help if you’d give me the name of your suspect. I could be working on it from this angle, maybe help gather enough evidence to do some good.”
“The name is Dr. Elizabeth Cardwell, but to be honest, I’m not quite certain enough, not just yet. Give me a little more time, but I promise you will be the one I call when it comes time to make the arrest. Fair enough?”
“Okay, Pete,” Jensen said. “I’ll check her out from my end, and if I find out anything I’ll let you know. Otherwise, I’ll be waiting for that call.”