by David Archer
Chance shook hands with the man. “Same here,” he said.
“Rex,” Dixon said, “we need a quick flight to Reno. Got anything heading that way soon?”
“Nothing scheduled,” Amherst said, “but I’ll be glad to fly you up there.”
It took only a few minutes to settle on a price, and Chance handed Amherst a debit card. Fifteen minutes later, they had grabbed their bags and were in the air.
The airplane was a twin-engine Beechcraft, with a pair of turboprop engines that could almost rival a small jet for speed. The flight lasted slightly less than an hour and a half, including the time it took to take off and land. When they arrived at Reno, Rex pointed to the little building that was his Reno terminal—he said it jokingly, the little building was barely more than a sign for his company—and told them there would be a plane available whenever they wanted to return to Vegas. They thanked him, then went to the Enterprise desk to rent a car.
It was too late to consider visiting Maggie Bingham in the jail, so they went to a cheap motel and paid cash for room, then found a nearby restaurant and got dinner. When they got back to the room, Chance took the first shower and then called Gabriella again while Dixon got his own.
There was nothing new to report, and he didn’t want to mention that a local organized crime boss might be onto them, so he kept the conversation light. He told Gabriella to try to keep Carmelita’s spirits up, because he was really beginning to believe they were going to be able to prove Yolanda had been brainwashed.
Afterward, he took out the Maxim and stripped it down. He’d read enough about ballistics and how each bullet fired could be matched to the gun that fired it to be cautious, so he dug into the bottom of his bag and took out one of the six spare barrels he had bought for the guns. He switched them out quickly, then carried the original outside and dropped it into the back of a pickup truck parked near the back of the lot.
The following morning, after a quick phone call, Chance got the name of Maggie's lawyer in Reno and called him to make an appointment. He and Dixon checked out of the motel and got some breakfast, then went to meet with the lawyer.
The lawyer, Roger Pinkham, welcomed them into his office. “Now, let’s get this straight,” he said. “You’re actually working on another case, but it’s connected to my client’s case?”
“Yes,” Dixon said. “I don’t know if you heard, but a couple of weeks after your client was arrested, there was another case that’s almost identical. A young woman named Yolanda Martinez was arrested for a murder that she can’t remember committing, either. Mr. Simmons and I have been looking into that case, and we discovered a connection between the two of them.”
“And that connection would be?” Pinkham asked.
“Both your client and ours went through a drug rehab program at a place called the Rivers Center, down by Las Vegas, two years ago. They were in the same group, and there have been at least eleven other women from that group who have had similar experiences. They wake up and find that weeks have suddenly passed, even though they can’t remember a thing. As far as they know, they went to bed one night and got up the next morning, but somewhere during that night an entire month or more may have vanished. Now, we’ve already determined that at least one of those other women was probably involved in a murder, and the police are handling that now. However, as I’m sure you’re aware, there are cases that have happened in the past where the courts have ruled that a person who is brainwashed is not responsible for their actions. It’s the person who did the brainwashing, the programming, who was actually guilty of the crime, while the brainwashed person is considered an additional victim.”
Pinkham was scribbling notes seriously. “Yes, I’ve heard of such cases,” he said. “I can’t say I’ve ever paid much attention to them, because I never imagined I would ever be involved in such a case. I take it you honestly believe that’s what happened to Ms. Bingham?”
Dixon nodded. “To her, and to our client and several others. We thought we would check with you and see if there’s anything she might have said to you that would help us track down the person responsible for this.”
Pinkham looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know what it would be,” he said. “Until this moment, I hadn’t even considered such possibility. She’s already been through a psychological workup, and the doctors say she’s perfectly sane. They agree that she seems to have blocked out any memory of what happened, but that doesn’t help us figure out what went on during the missing weeks. Until you walked into my office, I was pretty much a loss as to how to even approach this case.”
“Well, we’re hoping to have some solid evidence to back up our claims fairly soon,” Dixon said. “You know that we visited your client a couple of days ago?”
“Oh, yes,” Pinkham said. “She was all excited about that, but I couldn’t make head nor tail of what she was trying to tell me. I guess you must’ve given her some idea of what you believed?”
“We did, yes. Frankly, we were hoping that we might jog a memory that would help her regain some idea of what happened to her.”
SIXTEEN
Pinkham looked at him for a moment, then reached into a desk drawer and took a file out of it. He laid it on his desk and opened it, then began looking through some of the pages that were clipped to its top.
“According to the detectives here,” he read, “Ms. Bingham showed up here about six weeks ago posing as Rita Carpenter. Under that name, she became fairly well known around the nightclubs in the city over the next couple of weeks, and seemed to have an endless supply of money. She often bought drinks for groups of people, sometimes even for the house. She also had an incredibly outgoing personality, according to everyone who had met her during that time. On the night in question, she was seen by a number of people with the murder victim, Walter Burns, apparently having a really good time at one of the clubs. They were seen leaving together about ten o’clock that evening, and were seen at a restaurant shortly after that. They seemed to remain at the restaurant until just after midnight, and then security video caught them entering Mr. Burns’ hotel room. Sometime later, about 3 AM, Ms. Bingham appears on security video as she left the room, and Mr. Burns was found dead in the room the next day, when housekeeping went in to clean up. Police were called, and Ms. Bingham’s fingerprints were found on the knife that was protruding from the victim’s chest, as well as on his wallet.”
He looked up at Dixon again. “As you can see, they had a pretty solid case against my client. I was looking at the strong possibility of a plea bargain, but the best I could hope for would be to keep her off death row, with all this evidence. Now, if you can get me something solid about this brainwashing theory of yours, I can move for acquittal on the basis of reduced competency. If she wasn’t capable of stopping herself from doing what she was programmed to do, then she can’t be held liable for the crime.”
“That’s exactly what I’m hoping to prove,” Dixon said. “If we can, then there are probably several women who will be cleared of murder charges before this is over.”
Pinkham looked at him for a moment. “Were there any kind of drugs involved in this brainwashing?”
Dixon’s eyebrows lowered. “We believe there were, yes. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’d been curious about the drugs and alcohol in my client’s system. A drug test revealed traces of benzodiazepine and scopolamine, and if we look them up, both are listed as hypnotics. They have been known to cause people to do things they don't remember doing, and wouldn't do under normal circumstances. There are certain medications that include those drugs in their formula, and most of them have a warning right on their label: 'After taking this medication, you may find yourself getting up out of bed while not being fully awake and doing things that you do not know you are doing. It is possible that you may not remember that you did anything during the night, but reported activities have included driving a car (“sleep-driving”), making and eating food, talking o
n the phone, having sex, and sleep-walking.' There are even a few cases of people even killing people and not knowing it.”
Chance looked at Pinkham. “Geez, are you serious?”
“There was a man who was taking an antidepressant using some of these medications, and he was arrested in the act of shooting one of his best friends dead, while another man walked into a convenience store and opened fire—fortunately not killing anybody—even though he had never been in that store before in his life. Neither of them had any idea what they were doing at the time, and even the police officers who responded said they seemed to be only half awake when they were arrested. When it turned out they were on these kinds of medication, they both got reduced sentences because they weren't in control of themselves, and there are others who have been acquitted of manslaughter and murder! I learned that the effect is even worse if alcohol is involved, and all the witnesses said Ms. Bingham was drinking constantly during that time. People have been known to do things like eating playing cards with mustard on, and scopolamine is one of the most commonly used date rape drugs of all, now! Somebody slips it into your drink, and you lose all inhibitions against doing things you know you shouldn't, but since you don't remember what you've done, there's no guilt. Most of the victims either never know what happened to them, or they just think they decided to have sex on a whim.”
Chance shook his head. “Okay, we already knew there was some kind of potent drug involved in this thing,” he said, “and it sounds like exactly the right recipe for somebody who’s out to brainwash people into committing crimes. The question is, how do we prove it?”
“Gentlemen,” Pinkham said, “I think it might be a good idea for us to go see my client together. Do you have time to accompany me?”
Dixon nodded. “Yes, and I think it’s a great idea.”
Pinkham smiled. “Give me just a couple of minutes, and we can head down to the jail. I think it might be a good idea for you to speak with the detective on her case, as well, if you don’t mind. Would that be all right?”
“I think it would be an excellent idea,” Dixon said. “I just hope he has an open mind.”
It took Pinkham about five minutes to get ready, and then they all drove to the jail together. The lawyer had called ahead and arranged for the detective to meet them, and he was waiting in the lobby of the jail when they arrived, holding a file folder under his arm.
“Detective Rockford,” he said, “this is Peter Dixon and Bill Simmons. They are private investigators from Las Vegas, and they’d like to ask you a couple of things about the Maggie Bingham case.”
Rockford snorted. “Okay. What do you need?”
“Detective, we’ve actually been hired to look into another case, but we found a major connection to Ms. Bingham’s case. To be perfectly honest, we believe that Ms. Bingham and our client, and several other women, have been brainwashed into committing murder.”
“Brainwashed?” Rockford asked. “Are you serious? There’s an incredible amount of evidence that makes it pretty clear this woman killed Walter Burns. You honestly expect me to believe that somebody hypnotized her into doing it?”
“Not exactly,” Dixon said, “but close. Brainwashing is a lot more than just hypnosis, and involves literally overwriting a person’s natural personality and will to create a new personality that will do what it’s told. It turns out that both our client and Ms. Bingham, and the other women I mentioned, were all exposed to someone who appears to be capable of doing just that.”
Rockford sat on a bench in the lobby. “Okay, you don’t really sound like a nutcase. Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me what you got?”
“Detective,” Dixon began, sitting on the bench beside him, “all of these women attended the Rivers Center’s drug rehabilitation program two years ago. There was one staff member there, a psychiatrist named Dr. Elizabeth Cardwell, who was using hypnosis and medications as part of her treatment regimen. We believe she may have stumbled across a means of literally programming people to do certain things, and those things could include murder.”
“Yeah, but two years later? Does that make any sense at all?”
“I don’t think they were programmed for these crimes back then,” Dixon said. “However, it’s quite possible that they were programmed in such a way that Dr. Cardwell could easily reactivate them and program them again. Did you ever see the old movie, The Manchurian Candidate? The people who were programmed simply received a phone call, and suddenly knew what they had to do. In this case, I think they might’ve received a call or message telling them to contact Dr. Cardwell. It would probably be a simple matter, then, for her to reprogram them to actually commit these crimes.”
“Geez, this sounds like something out of a science fiction movie. You’re really serious, though, aren’t you? Okay, so you think it’s this Dr. Cardwell is doing this. Got any proof?”
“Not yet,” Dixon said. “At the moment, this is all circumstantial evidence. We know that she has had access to all of these people who were involved in that sort of thing, and she has the skills necessary to do this sort of mental manipulation. We believe that she stumbled across a cocktail of drugs that will lock in her programming, so that it’s just as powerful years later as it was when she implanted it.”
Rockford looked at him for a moment. “Any idea how you’re going to prove that? I’ll tell you now, I would need to know how to begin looking for evidence to back up a theory like that.”
“I’ve got some ideas,” Dixon said. “I just need you to be willing to consider the evidence when I bring it in. I really don’t believe Maggie Bingham had any idea what she was doing when she killed Mr. Burns, and if we can prove that she was brainwashed into doing it, then it’s Dr. Cardwell who is actually guilty.”
Rockford chewed the inside of his cheek and mulled over what he was hearing. “Tell you what,” he said after a moment. “Let’s all go talk to her together, can we do that?”
Pinkham cleared his throat. “As long as you understand that I may instruct her not to answer your questions,” he said.
Rockford nodded. “That’s not a problem,” he said. “Frankly, I’m more interested in hearing what she has to say about all this.”
Pinkham arranged for Maggie to be brought to an interview room, and the four of them were escorted into it. Maggie was brought in a moment later, and seemed nervous when she saw Detective Rockford in the room.
“Mr. Pinkham?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
“Maggie, you’ve already met these two gentlemen,” Pinkham said. “We’ve been talking with Detective Rockford about their theory, that you were brainwashed and are therefore not responsible for anything you might have done. He wanted to sit in with us while we talk about this a bit. Is that all right with you?”
Maggie glanced nervously at the detective, but then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Good, good,” the lawyer said. “Maggie, I know they told you about their theory. Have you had any thoughts about it? Has it brought back any memories or anything?”
Maggie started to smile, then glanced at the detective again. Her smile disappeared as she turned back to her lawyer. “I’m not really certain it’s a memory,” she said, “but I have been getting these little flashes of what I think is the inside of a nightclub. I mean, it feels like a nightclub to me, and I can tell there’s a lot of people around and a lot of loud music, and when it happens, I think about holding a drink. Does it make any sense?”
“It might,” Dixon said. “From everything I’ve read about this sort of thing, it’s usually the way memories start to come back. Just little flashes at first, and then they will gradually expand.”
The smile reappeared. “Then maybe I really am starting to get some of it back,” she said. “I mean, I’m not sure I really want to remember everything, but I have to say it would be nice to have some idea of what happened to me.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it would,” Dixon said. “Ms
. Bingham, have you thought much about all this since we talked the other day?”
“Like I could think about anything else? Of course I have, but again, all I get is little flashes. I don’t really see any kind of memories, I mean nothing I can put my finger on, but it just feels like something I should recognize.”
“Can I say something?” Rockford asked, and Pinkham nodded his head. “Ms. Bingham, we have a number of witness statements indicating that you were quite a party girl at the nightclubs here, but everything in your background suggests that you’re not really much of a drinker. Now, if I were going to point to any one thing that makes me believe there might be some truth to this wild theory, that would be it. Detectives down in Las Vegas have checked you out pretty thoroughly, and everything they come up with say that all of this behavior our witnesses report is completely out of character for you. I’m leaning toward believing there’s some truth to this, right at the moment, and anything you can come up with to help us prove it is only going to increase the chance of you getting out of here someday soon. If I show you some photographs that we’ve gotten hold of, pictures of you during the time period in question while you were being Rita Carpenter and having a really wild time in the clubs around the city, do you think it might help you remember?”
Maggie looked at him, and it was obvious that she was a little afraid of what those photographs might reveal, but finally she nodded. “It’s worth a try, I guess,” she said.
Rockford laid the file folder on the table and opened it up, then started flipping through a stack of photographs. He handed one at a time to Maggie, and watched her face as she looked at each one. She would examine it, then lay it on the table in front of her when she took the next one.
“There’s something familiar about this place,” she said, pointing at one of the photographs. “I actually think it might be the one I’m seeing in those flashes. I don’t know why that one stands out, but it does. Oh, this is the man I ran into back in Vegas. Jim Wilson, that was his name. He said he was a traveling salesman and he and I had—well, we had a little bit of an affair, I guess. He had a couple of pretty revealing photographs of me of his own.” She looked up at Dixon and Chance. “Did you get hold of him?”