Cole Perriman's Terminal Games (38 page)

“I know. It must be awful to be here.”

“I don’t sleep well, anyway.”

“Insomnia?”

“That’s right.”

“Me, too. It’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.”

“Well, we can do this some other time, if you prefer.”

Finch let out a hiss of indignation.
“Some other time?”
she said. “Oh, Christ.”

“Shhh,” Kelsey said.

Stalnaker shook his head vigorously.

“No,” Stalnaker said. “I want to do it now.”

“Okay. But I’m just saying, I don’t want to put you through anything you’re not up to. If you get too tired, just let me know, and we’ll stop.”

“I will.”

“Do you know what hypnotism means?” Gusfield asked.

Stalnaker shrugged. “A way to get at the truth, I guess,” he said. “A way to reach parts of the mind you’re not normally aware of. I guess it always seemed so obvious that I never thought about it very much.”

“‘Obvious’ is a good word for it, Myron,” Gusfield said, speaking quite softly now. “It’s got to do with suggestion. It’s a matter of accepting an idea that’s been suggested to you. Hypnosis happens when
I
say something and
you
act as if you believe what I say. It’s pretty much that simple. In fact, it’s so simple that a lot of people don’t even believe it exists.”

Stalnaker was looking at Gusfield intently. The psychiatrist’s voice became markedly slower. “A lot of perfectly good scientists and researchers think it’s a con job, a fraud, a snake oil kind of deal. Me, I’ve practiced it hundreds of times, and I still consider myself something of a skeptic about the whole thing. I still don’t know what to believe. For example, what would happen if I told you, right here and now, that your right hand was a balloon filled with helium? That it was lighter than air? That it was so light, you found it hard to hold it down on the table? That all you had to do is relax just a little and your hand would float right up into the air?”

Stalnaker stared at Gusfield blankly for a moment. Then his right hand and forearm rose slowly up off the table.

“Close your eyes, Myron,” Gusfield said. “And your hand isn’t light anymore.”

Myron closed his eyes and lowered his hand.

Breckenridge gasped slightly. “That shrink’s
good,”
he said.

“No,” Finch replied with a cynical edge. “Your
client’s
good.”

Nolan wondered.

One of them’s good. We’ll have to wait and see which one it is.

Excerpt from an unsworn statement made by Myron Stalnaker to Harvey Gusfield, M.D. while under hypnosis; videotaped 2:30
p.m
., Saturday, February 12:

GUSF1ELD: Myron, I want you to go back to the very early morning hours of Wednesday, the ninth of February. I’m talking about the time that’s been worrying you, the time you can’t account for. Return to wherever you were at that time. (pause) Are you there now, Myron?

STALNAKER: Yes.

Gusfield
: Where are you?

STALNAKER: I’m watching what Auggie’s doing.

GUSFIELD: Where is Auggie?

STAINAKER: He’s in a … small … enclosed. (pause) It’s a confessional booth. A church confessional.

GUSFIELD: And where are you watching Auggie from?

STALNAKER: Behind his eyes.

GUSFIELD: From inside Auggie?

STALNAKER: That’s right.

GUSFIELD: What is Auggie doing?

STALNAKER: He’s pretending to be a priest. He’s giving comfort to a man. The man is making a confession.

GUSFIELD: What is Auggie wearing?

STALNAKER: A priest’s outfit. And a ski mask with a clown’s face on it.

GUSFIELD: Where did Auggie get the priest’s outfit?

STALNAKER: He stole it one night from a local community theater.

GUSFIELD: Did you watch him steal it?

STALNAKER: Yes.

GUSFIELD: From behind his eyes?

STALNAKER: That’s right.

GUSFIELD: And where did Auggie get the ski mask?

STALNAKER: He knitted it himself.

GUSFIELD: And you watched him knit it?

STALNAKER: Yes.

GUSFIELD: How did he do it?

STALNAKER: With my hands.

GUSFIELD: Do you know how to knit, Myron?

STALNAKER: No.

GUSFIELD: Do you know where Auggie learned to knit?

STALNAKER: No.

GUSFIELD: Are you … is Auggie still in the confessional?

STALNAKER: Yes.

GUSFIELD: What’s happening now?

STALNAKER: The man making the confession is becoming agitated. He stands up. He yanks away the … the lattice between himself and Auggie. He looks at Auggie. Auggie holds a little flashlight up to his own face. Auggie … shoots the man … in the chest.

GUSFIELD: Now what’s happening?

STALNAKER: Auggie is coming out of the booth and looking at the man. I think the man is dead. Auggie pulls the man forward. I think Auggie wants to see whether the bullet came out through the man’s back. It didn’t. Auggie begins to wrap the man up in … a heavy plastic sheet with … red stripes. (pause) It’s my shower curtain. I’d wondered what happened to my shower curtain.

GUSFIELD: Myron, I want you to leave that scene now. I want you to come back to the present, to this room. I want to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Auggie.

STALNAKER: All right.

GUSFIEID: Why did Auggie kill Howard Cronin?

STALNAKER: I can’t answer that question.

GUSFIFID: Why not?

STALNAKER: Because I’m just a cell. A cell doesn’t make decisions. A cell doesn’t understand.

GUSFIELD: Could you explain that a little more clearly for me, Myron?

STALNAKER: Can a cell on the tip of your finger tell you why you fall in love or why you smoke too much? A cell bears witness. A cell sees, smells, tastes, touches, hears. A cell carries out its role. And a cell remembers. A cell can’t claim to understand.

GUSFIELD: So you are a cell in Auggie’s body.

STALNAKER: That’s right.

GUSFIELD: Does a cell feel guilt or remorse over the actions of the rest of the body?

STALNAKER: Of course not.

GUSFIELD: It seems to me that “cell” is a strange metaphor, Myron. It seems to me that you are actually Auggie’s body—his hands, his arms, his legs.

STALNAKER: It’s not a metaphor at all. I’m a cell. That’s a literal fact.

GUSFIELD: I see.

STALNAKER: No, you don’t see.

GUSFIELD: Can you explain it more clearly, then?

STALNAKER: No.

GUSFIELD: Do you know who created the Snuff Room performance of Howard Cronin’s murder?

STALNAKER: I didn’t know there was one.

GUSFIELD: There was.

STALNAKER: I didn’t know it.

GUSFIELD: Who do you think created it?

STALNAKER: I suppose Auggie did.

GUSFIELD: You didn’t see him do it?

STALNAKER: I told you I didn’t know there was one. Maybe somebody else saw him do it.

GUSFIELD: Myron, I would like to talk with Auggie now.

STALNAKER: How?

GUSFIELD: I was hoping he might speak to me through you.

STALNAKER: He won’t do that.

GUSFIELD: Why not?

STALNAKER He’s not here.

GUSFIELD: He’s not inside you?

STALNAKER: No.

GUSFIELD: Where is he?

STALNAKER: In the Basement.

GUSFIELD: What is the Basement?

STALNAKER: Auggie’s home.

GUSFIELD:
Where is
the Basement?

STALNAKER: I can’t tell you that.

GUSFIELD: Is that because you don’t know, or because you’re unwilling to tell me?

STALNAKER: I can’t answer that question.

GUSFIELD: Why not?

STALNAKER: Because I can’t.

The questioning went on for at least another half hour. Dr. Gusfield periodically tried different methods of induction, taking Stalnaker into progressively deeper hypnotic states in hopes of getting more lucid answers. None came. Again and again, Gusfield asked to speak with Auggie. And again and again, Stalnaker said that Auggie was not present.

In the meantime, the four behind the one-way mirror were perspiring from the heat. The air in the booth seemed to be getting thinner. Nolan actually began to wonder if they would run out of oxygen before the interview came to an end. Breckenridge and Finch didn’t help matters much by muttering profanities at each other throughout the whole ordeal. Nolan wished they wouldn’t breathe so much.

At last, Gusfield brought Stalnaker out of his trance. Stalnaker sat shaking in his chair, stunned and horrified and on the brink of hysteria. Gusfield soothed and comforted Stalnaker until he became calmer.

Then Gusfield came into the observation booth and closed the door behind him. The place was preposterously crowded now. It reminded Nolan of some old college prank—like cramming as many students as possible into a telephone booth.

“Lieutenant Kelsey,” Gusfield demanded, “you’ve got to get this man out of his jail cell and into a hospital.”

Breckenridge immediately chirped up gleefully. “I knew it!” he said. “Looney tunes, right? Certifiably bonkers!”

“Don’t gloat yet, counselor,” Finch said.

“So what is he, then?” Breckenridge said, badgering Gusfield. “A full blown paranoid schizophrenic?”

“No,” Gusfield said tiredly.

“What, then? An MPD case?”

“It’s too soon to tell.”

“Come on! You’ve got to have a theory!”

“I don’t have a theory!”
Gusfield barked. “I’m not even saying that Stalnaker’s insane. All I’m saying is that he’s a danger
to himself
right now, and to no one else. He requires close psychiatric observation. I think he learned a great deal more from that session than any of the rest of us did and he didn’t like what he found out.”

“I’ll have him transferred to a psychiatric unit,” Kelsey said. “But I want him kept under close guard.”

“That’s fine,” Gusfield said.

“Good. Now let’s get out of this hellhole.”

After they stepped out of the booth, Nolan turned to Gusfield. “Could I ask Stalnaker a few questions?” Nolan asked.

“That’s not advisable,” Gusfield said.

“Look, you can stand right behind me. You can stop me at any time.”

Gusfield groaned disapprovingly. Then he said, “Come on. But go very easy.”

Nolan sat down across the table from Stalnaker. He could see that Stalnaker was trembling slightly. Nolan introduced himself politely.

“I just have a few more questions,” Nolan said to Stalnaker.

Stalnaker nodded silently.

“Did you ever know a man named G. K. Judson?” Nolan asked.

“The airline owner?”

“That’s right.”

“I read about him in the papers. I saw him in the news. He was murdered, right?”

“That’s right. You didn’t know him personally?”

“I don’t exactly travel in those circles, Lieutenant,” Stalnaker replied with just a trace of wryness.

“What about a woman named Renee Gauld? In Los Angeles?”

“I don’t know anyone in Los Angeles.”

“She was murdered, too, Myron. She was drowned in her own bathtub. After a party.”

“I don’t remember anything like that.”

“Did you—did
Auggie
know somebody named Sapphire?”

Stalnaker looked at Nolan with interest.

“Yes, Auggie knew her,” Stalnaker said. “Auggie quarreled with her.”

“Were you there when they quarreled?”

“Yes, I was. I typed in the words.”

“Have you seen Sapphire since then?”

“No.”

“Do you have any idea what happened to Sapphire?”

“No.”

Nolan paused before his next question.

“Does Auggie know somebody named Elfie?” Nolan asked.

Stalnaker thought hard for a moment.

“Yes,” Stalnaker said. “I believe he does. He seems to rather like her.”

“Is Elfie ... in any
danger
from Auggie?”

A puzzled look crossed Stalnaker’s face.

“How could she be in danger?” Stalnaker asked with apparent amazement. “She’s only a cartoon character.”

Nolan felt Gusfield’s hand on his shoulder.

“That’s enough, Lieutenant,” Gusfield said.

Nolan thanked Stalnaker, rose to his feet, and left the room.

*

A short time later, Nolan and Kelsey were debriefing one another in Kelsey’s office. They really couldn’t find a great deal to say about the case.

“Sounds like he did the Cronin killing, all right,” Kelsey said. “But it doesn’t sound like he had much of a concept of right or wrong when he did it.”

“Of course, he could have been faking that whole hypnotism scene,” Nolan said.

Kelsey shook his head. “Gusfield doesn’t seem to think so. And Gusfield knows his work. We’ve brought him in on more than a few cases.”

“Gusfield didn’t let me ask Stalnaker a lot of questions.”

“That’s because Gusfield’s convinced that Stalnaker doesn’t know very much. Stalnaker probably told you everything he had to tell.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Still, I wish I could have talked to Gusfield a bit more. He shot out of here in a hurry.”

“He’s like that—a real quiet type.”

“Sullen’s more the word.”

“Well, the truth is, I think he just plain doesn’t like people.”

“That’s kind of an odd characteristic for a shrink, isn’t it?”

“I guess. But I’m sure Gusfield’s told us all he can right now—which is that Stalnaker’s suffering from some kind of dissociative disorder.”

“I sure do hate insanity defenses,” Nolan said, shaking his head.

“I reckon all cops do. But this one’s Omaha’s problem, not yours. Anyway, we’re grateful for your help. We might never have caught Stalnaker if it weren’t for you folks, and at least he’s off the streets. Wish we could have returned the favor. I know you were looking for some link with those two cases in L.A. But we’ve already checked out Stalnaker’s whereabouts during the last month, and he’s been in town the whole time.”

“Hey, at least I got to see a Nebraska winter,” Nolan said laughing.

“Indeed you did,” Kelsey chuckled. “So what are your plans for this evening? My wife and I would love to fix you dinner—a real nice, heartland meal with lots of fat and cholesterol. You know, real down-home heart-attack cooking.”

Nolan laughed. “Sounds great, but I’d hate to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing. Hell, it’s the least we can do in return for dragging you to hell and gone for no good reason. And it’d give Emily an excuse to cook up something special with all those vegetables we’ve canned and frozen for the winter.”

“You keep a vegetable garden?” Nolan asked with interest.

“Sure. Flowers, too.”

“Me, too.”

“No kidding?”

“Well, not like I did back when the kids were still at home,” Nolan said. “But I still do some planting.”

“I’d never have guessed that from an L.A. man.”

“Why not? We’ve got a year-round growing season.”

“Keep any tomatoes?” Kelsey asked.

Nolan smiled. “I once had a vine that lived three years.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding.”

“And I’ll bet your roses bloom all year round.”

“Pretty close to it.”

“Well, that settles it, sir,” Kelsey said emphatically. “You’re not getting out of Omaha without the two of us having a long talk about gardening. Your presence is definitely required tonight at my dinner table.”

“It’s settled, then,” Nolan said with a smile.

*

That night, Nolan shared a pleasant evening with Michael Kelsey, his wife, Emily, and their two young children. Emily Kelsey served roast beef, baked potatoes, and home-grown green beans from the freezer. The kids talked about school, Emily talked about goings on in the neighborhood, and Mike Kelsey chattered about sports and politics and, of course, gardening.

Nolan was pleased that the dinner table never turned to cop talk. Myron Stalnaker’s name was never mentioned once. Nolan realized that it had been ages since he had spent any time among people talking about nothing in particular. All his interactions with his fellow officers—even Clayton—centered on work, and he’d had very little social life outside the force. All this small talk was pleasant and relaxing. But at the same time, Nolan missed the depth of feeling and companionship he had experienced with Marianne. He was almost unbearably anxious to see her again.

After coffee and dessert, Nolan said his thank yous and farewells to the Kelseys and returned to his hotel. But even after a full meal and idle pleasantries, he found it hard to sleep. Nolan didn’t much look forward to telling Coffey just how little he had managed to learn about the killings of Judson and Gauld.

But more importantly, he was worried about Marianne. Myron Stalnaker’s capture had done nothing to ensure her safety. As Nolan lay in his hotel bed, he was seized by a sudden panic at the idea of Marianne being in some sort of danger while he was more than halfway across a continent. He immediately reached for the telephone to dial her number.