The Vanished (21 page)

Chapter
26

1

There was a knock on the door, and Devon, who was sitting on the sofa with his shoes off, said, “Come in.”

The man who entered the dressing room was about five feet ten, of medium build and had short brown hair and a bland, clean-shaven face. He was the kind of man you wouldn’t look at twice on the street, which was a good thing for someone trying to stay under the radar.

“Hi, Mister LeRoy. My name’s Tom Powell. I’m a big fan of yours.”

Tom’s face seemed familiar. It took Devon a few seconds to remember where he’d seen him: the guy was one of the audience volunteers from today’s show.

Why didn’t he tell Tom to go pound sand? There were two reasons. First, he was bored and could use some chit-chat. And second, there were tremendous admiration and awe in Tom’s eyes, and Devon was in the mood to be praised.

“Please have a seat.” Devon pointed at a chair near the mirror.

“It was amazing.” Tom sat down. “Your show. Just amazing.”

“What did you like the most?”

“I liked everything.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

“Can you really control other people’s minds?”

“What do you think? You saw me in action, didn’t you?”

“Those people did everything you told them to. I think that’s mind control. How long did it take you to learn hypnosis?”

“Two years.”

“Can you teach me hypnosis?”

“Why do you want to learn it?”

“I think it’s a very useful skill.”

“You’re not going to use it to rob a bank, are you?” Devon smiled.

“No, no. I’m not going to use it for anything illegal.” Tom shifted in his chair.

Devon rose from the sofa, stepped up to Tom, and put him in a trance. Then he locked the door and sat down.

“Why do you want to learn hypnotism, Tom?” he asked.

“I want to punish David Miller.”

It was an interesting twist.

“Who’s David Miller?”

“He used to be a prosecutor in Tucson. He put me in prison. My sister’s married to him.”

“How long were you in prison?”

“Six years.”

“What were you convicted of?”

“Burglary.”

“What did you steal?”

“I didn’t steal anything. I was innocent. It was a miscarriage of justice.”

Tom had spent six years behind bars for a crime he hadn’t committed. That was a real tragedy.

When Devon was eleven, his aunt’s gold ring went missing while he was visiting her. His mother accused him of stealing the ring and gave him a harsh talking-to. She was so angry she smacked him upside the head several times. He was grounded for a month, which upset him greatly, but what hurt him the most was that his own mother didn’t believe him. Devon was never able to prove he hadn’t taken the ring, and he still remembered how painful that experience had been.

“How do you want to punish David Miller?” Devon asked.

“I want to make him kill someone so he’ll go to prison for murder.”

It was a cunning plan, and Devon liked it.

“Who is David going to kill?”

“Some random person.”

There was nothing wrong with revenge. People had been taking vengeance for as long as mankind had existed. A thirst for revenge was one of the cornerstones of human nature and generally played a positive role. It was fear of revenge that kept the world from plunging into a nuclear war—mutual assured destruction and all that.

If vindictive people scare you, you must remember that it’s very easy to avoid falling victim to revenge: don’t treat others unjustly.

If you’re not vengeful, that’s your business, but don’t condemn those who are because the Bible says, ‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’

Speaking of ‘an eye for an eye,’ Devon didn’t think that the punishment must match the injury. If someone had caused you to serve six years in prison for a crime you hadn’t committed, it was okay to kill him and not just beat him up. 

“When I count to three, you will wake up,” Devon said. “One, two, three.”

When Tom came out of the trance, Devon said, “I know why you want to learn hypnotism,”

“You do?”

“And I’m willing to help you.”

Why did he want to help Tom?

First, he sympathized with the guy. Second, he loved challenges, and hypnotizing someone to commit murder was a very interesting challenge, to say the least. And third, he was bored, he felt a craving for adventure.

Devon waited for Tom to say something, but Tom made no reply.

“I’ll help you punish David Miller,” Devon said. “I know that you want to make him commit murder.”

“Did you… Did you just hypnotize me?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to help me?”

“Yes.”

“Can you make a person kill another person?”

“It depends. I’ve never done that, so I can only guess.”

“What does it depend on?”

“A person’s suggestibility.”

“I want him to do it in public so there’ll be a lot of witnesses.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Can you make a person commit suicide?”

“I believe some people can be hypnotized to commit suicide. You said your sister’s married to David. Why didn’t she put in a word for you with him?”

“She married him after the trial. She was supposed to ruin his life, but she betrayed me.”

“Your sister married him to avenge you?”

“Yes.”

“And David doesn’t know that?”

“I don’t think he does.”

“How did she betray you?”

“She fell in love with this motherfucker. At least that’s what she says. I think she fell in love with his money.”

“Is he rich?”

“Yeah. A rich uncle died and left him all his money.”

“Tell me about your case.”

When Tom finished telling his story, Devon asked if there was anyone else Tom wanted to punish besides David Miller.

“Yes. Andy Woulard,” Tom said.

“The guy that sold you out? What are you going to do to him?”

“I’ll probably kill him.”

“I think he deserves it.”

“What about the judge? He didn’t have to give you the maximum sentence, but he did.”

Tom nodded. “You’re right. I guess he needs to be punished, too.”

2

Tom came up with the idea of faking his death after he had read a story about a British billionaire who was suspected to have staged his death to avoid dealing with the imminent collapse of his business empire.

A typical blood donation was one pint, which was about two cups. They spilled and splashed three quarters of a pint of Tom’s blood in his living room and garage to make it look like he had been stabbed to death and then disposed of.

Although Devon didn’t expect Tom to get caught by the police, he decided to leave no evidence connecting him to Tom—just in case. He used a disposable cellphone to call and receive calls from Tom. All his email communications with Tom were conducted through an anonymous email account created specifically for this purpose. Whenever he was in Tom’s house or rode in Tom’s car, Devon wore gloves in order to avoid leaving fingerprints. Devon never went to Tom’s place in a car that could be traced to him. He always had Tom take him there and back.

Tom never asked Devon why he was helping him. Perhaps Tom was afraid Devon would change his mind about helping him if he stopped to think about it. Tom was a smart man. If something works, don’t mess with it.

They made their first strike seven months after they staged Tom’s death. The judge got off easy. He died of a heart attack when he saw a machete in Tom’s hand. The funny thing was, Tom wasn’t going to use the machete, at least not at that particular time.

Tom was pissed off. He didn’t even get a chance to punch Judge Gutterud in the nose—that big meaty nose, which had made Devon think of anteaters and facial tumors.

Unlike Judge Gutterud, Andrew Woulard was as healthy as a horse and as tough as a badger. He was still alive after Tom had beaten him mercilessly for ten minutes with a baseball bat (Tom must have spent some of that time making up for what he had been unable to do to the judge). Devon didn’t participate in the beating; he was just a spectator. Tom killed Woulard by stabbing him in the heart with a kitchen knife. They buried the body in the desert forty miles north of Tucson.

It was Devon’s idea to frame David Miller for the murder of his daughter. He thought it was a more elegant and cruel way to punish David than the one Tom had in mind.

Tom told Annie that her parents had given her away because she was epileptic. It broke the girl’s heart, she cried for a week after hearing the terrible news. Devon didn’t enjoy Annie’s suffering, but he found it amusing how gullible little children were. If she had been five years older, she would have questioned the veracity of Tom’s claim and might even have tried to contact the Millers.

Tom told the girl he was her new father, and she accepted it. Just to be on the safe side, Devon hypnotized Annie to forget David and Carol Millers. He doubted he had completely wiped the Millers from Annie’s mind, but he believed he had managed to turn them into a vague memory, which was good enough for his purposes.

Ten days after he abducted Annie, Tom suggested that they coerce David into confessing to killing his daughter.

“You said he’d confess on his own, but he hasn’t,” Tom complained. “We have to force him.”

“He’ll do it, we just need to wait a little longer,” Devon said. “You’re impatient. Your impatience will be your downfall, mark my words, John.” (Tom’s new name was John Baker, and Devon called him John even when no one was around.)

They waited one more week, and then Tom mailed David a disposable cellphone.

On June 27, six days after David’s guilty plea hearing, Tom asked Devon what they were we going to do with the girl.

“We’ll see,” Devon replied.

“Do you want to kill her?”

Devon scratched his chin thoughtfully and said, “Do
you
want to kill her?

Tom shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You think you should keep your promise to let her go in six years?”

“Maybe I should.”

“Besides, she did nothing wrong, right?”

Tom nodded.

“Are you getting soft, John?”

“No,” Tom said in a slightly indignant tone.

“It’s okay to be merciful.” Devon paused. “We don’t kill without reason, we’re not maniacs.”

Devon had no problem with killing David Miller’s daughter. Contrary to common belief, a child’s life was not precious. Thousands of children died in car crashes and other kinds of accidents every year, and the world was doing just fine. Besides, epilepsy was incurable, so they would save Annie from a lifetime of misery by killing her. A lifetime of misery and loneliness. Who would marry a woman with epilepsy? There weren’t going to be many suitors, that was for sure.

Speaking of epilepsy, because Dilantin and Tegretol were prescription drugs, they didn’t provide Annie with medication, so she simply had to endure the seizures.

“Let’s keep her alive, then,” Tom said.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you? It’s too late for that, my friend.”

“No, I’m not having second thoughts.”

Chapter
27

1

A minute after Vincent fell asleep, Devon called Tom and said that he was on his way. Tom’s Ford Focus was in a paid parking lot one block from Devon’s hotel. Devon’s plan was to move Vincent to Tom’s car, leave his Camry at the hotel, and go to Tom’s house in Tom’s Ford Focus.

Glancing at Vincent, Devon grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat, opened it, and took out an Astros baseball cap and a pair of thin leather gloves. He put on the cap and the gloves and tossed the bag into the backseat. The cap was part of his disguise, as were his sunglasses, which he slipped on before starting the car.

When he reached the lot where Tom was parked, Devon pulled into the space to the left of Tom’s Ford and switched off the engine.

“Vincent, I want you to open your eyes right now,” he said.

Vincent opened his eyes. His stare was vacant.

“Now I want you to step out of the car.”

When the investigator climbed out of the Camry, Devon closed the door and said, “Now get in the back of the car on your left.”

Vincent did as instructed, and Devon followed him into the backseat of the Ford Focus.

“Who is he?” Tom asked after Devon made Vincent fall asleep.

“A private investigator. He asked me about you.”

“Why did you bring him here?”

“I want to ask him a few questions.”

“Are you sure he’s asleep?”

“If he wakes up, use your stun gun.”

Followed by Tom, Devon drove to his hotel, left the Camry with a valet, and then got in Tom’s Ford.

2

When Devon walked into the living room, he saw that Tom had covered the entire floor with plastic sheeting, as he had requested. Devon commanded Vincent to sit down in the chair in the center of the room, and he did. Tom settled on the couch. Devon told Vincent to close his eyes, then took the wallet from the investigator’s pants pocket and studied the driver’s license.

“John, give me the handcuffs.” He put the investigator’s wallet on the coffee table.

Tom gave him the handcuffs, and he said, “Vincent, get up.”

When the investigator stood up, Devon cuffed his hands behind his back and then ordered him to sit down.

“Vincent, did you tell anyone you were meeting Devon LeRoy today?”

“No,” Vincent replied.

“Why did you ask Devon about Tom Powell?”

“I’m looking for a kidnapped girl by the name of Annie Miller. I believe she was kidnapped by Tom Powell. I think Tom Powell or his accomplice hypnotized Annie’s father, David Miller. I wanted to find out if it was Devon LeRoy who taught him hypnotism.”

Devon and Tom glanced at each other.

“Do you think it might be Devon who hypnotized Annie’s father?” Devon asked.

“Yes.”

“Who hired you to look for Annie Miller?”

“David Miller.”

“Have you told David Miller about Devon LeRoy?”

“No.”

“Why do you think Annie was kidnapped by Tom Powell?”

“David put Tom in prison eight years ago. Tom kidnapped Annie to punish him.”

“Do you have any proof that Tom kidnapped Annie?”

“No.”

“Tom Powell died about a year ago. How can you think he kidnapped the girl?”

“Tom’s alive. I believe he faked his death.”

“Do you have any proof he’s alive?”

“No, I don’t.”

Devon was pleased to hear that. Mister Daley had nothing but suspicions, which were worthless without evidence.

However, the very fact of the investigation was bothersome.

“Who did you tell that Tom kidnapped Annie?” Devon asked.

“David and Carol.”

“Who’s Carol?”

“David’s wife.”

“David Miller confessed to killing Annie, didn’t he? Why do you think Annie was kidnapped?”

“David didn’t kill Annie. The kidnapper forced him to confess.”

“Did David tell you that?”

“Yes.”

Devon sighed. Sadly, his intuition proved correct: David Miller had broken the agreement he had made with Tom. He was supposed to keep his mouth shut, and instead he had blabbed to a private detective, even though his daughter’s life was at stake. What a jerk. David Miller wasn’t a man of his word.

This breach warranted punishment.

“When did David hire you?”

“In May.”

“When did he tell you that he’d been forced to confess?”

“In early June.”

“Who else knows that David was forced to confess?”

“His wife.”

“Anyone else?”

“I don’t know. David didn’t tell me.”

“What made you think Devon LeRoy helped Tom Powell?”

“I found a charge on Tom’s credit card statement for a ticket to LeRoy’s show in Vegas. I thought he’d met LeRoy after the show and asked him to teach him hypnotism.”

“Ask him when the last time was that he visited David in jail,” Tom said to Devon.

Devon relayed the question to Vincent, and the investigator said, “Eight days ago.”

3

When they were children, Carol would hide his toys and then walk around with a shit-eating grin on her mug, looking happy as a clam, shouting from a safe distance, “I’ll never tell you where it is because you called me an assface.”

The most annoying thing was that he couldn’t use force on her: first, Carol was a girl, and second, she was two years younger than him. Tom trembled with helplessness. The information he needed was stored in the disgusting head of this stupid girl, whom he wanted to tear apart like an enraged tiger but, unfortunately, wasn’t allowed to. He had wished thoughts were writings on tiny scrolls of paper, and he had pictured himself shaking all of the scrolls out of Carol’s skull through her ears or mouth and finding the one that contained the location of his gorgeous Hot Wheels Mustang.

As he watched Devon effortlessly extract information from Vincent, Tom couldn’t help admiring him. It was almost like mind reading.

Tom was glad to hear that Vincent had visited David Miller in jail eight days ago: the fact that David was behind bars meant that the police didn’t know he had nothing to do with Annie’s disappearance.

Tom was afraid that David had told the cops he was being forced to confess to killing Annie and that the cops had believed him. The news reports of David’s confession had not allayed Tom’s fears because they might have been disinformation, a trick to convince the kidnappers that David had complied with their orders. Even when David’s name appeared on the list of Collin County jail inmates, Tom remained doubtful. They didn’t visit David in jail because they thought it was too risky. Tom had become more inclined to believe that the police were not in cahoots with David after reading the transcript of David’s plea bargain hearing. Now his last doubts were gone. He was sure rich boy David Miller wouldn’t have moved into a jail cell just to make the charade look real.

“Any other questions, John?” Devon said.

“No.”

“Please tie him to the chair.” 

Tom did as he asked, and Devon said, “Vincent, when I count to three, you will come out of the trance. One. Two. Three.”

Vincent’s eyelids fluttered slightly, and a moment later he opened his eyes.

“What happened?” he asked, looking at Devon.

“Everything’s fine, Vincent.” Devon smiled.

Vincent glanced around and said, “Why did you tie me to the chair?”

He saw Tom, but his eyes didn’t linger on him. The bastard was trying to pretend he didn’t recognize Tom.

“Just in case,” Devon said.

“Did you cuff my hands?”

“Yes.”

“Where are we?”

“My friend’s place.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“An hour.”

“Did you hypnotize me?”

“Yes.” Devon nodded.

“Can you untie me and take off the cuffs?”

“I’ll do it later.”

He must have already figured out why the floor is covered with plastic sheets, Tom thought.

“Are we in Houston?” Vincent asked.

“Yes. Please meet my friend Bill.” Devon pointed at Tom.

Vincent looked at Tom and said, “How are you doing, Bill?”

“I’m fine,” Tom replied.

“So what are we doing here?” Vincent asked.

“We’re having a chat,” Devon said.

Vincent appeared calm, but Tom sensed he was scared. Only a mentally retarded person wouldn’t be scared under the circumstances.

“I think I want to go to my hotel,” Vincent said.

“Don’t be scared. Everything’s going to be fine, Vincent.”

“I’m not scared. By the way, is Devon LeRoy your real name or your stage name?”

“It’s my real name. Do you like it?”

“It’s a good name.”

“Why did you ask me about Tom Powell?”

“Tom said he talked to you in Vegas.”

“You said Tom’s your friend, didn’t you?”

“Yes. He’s my friend.”

Devon took out Tom’s picture and held it up. “This is Tom, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“He looks just like my buddy Bill, doesn’t he?”

Vincent looked at Tom. “You know what? You’re right. He does look like Tom.”

“Did you lie to me about Joe?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you really have a friend who wants me to help him quit drinking?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me the truth, Vincent. You can’t hide the truth from me.”

“Cut the bullshit, man,” Tom said. “We know everything.”

“You told us a lot of interesting things while you were in a trance, Vincent,” Devon said. “We know you’re looking for Annie Miller. We know you suspect Tom kidnapped her.”

“Did he kidnap her?”

Devon glanced at Tom and said, “Yes. That’s why you’re here.”

“Is Annie alive?” 

“You think she might be alive?” 

Vincent hesitated and said, “Yes.”

“Do you really care about this girl? Or is it just about the reward Mister Miller promised to you?”

“I really care about her.”

“Don’t lie to me, Vincent.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“Okay.”

“So is she alive?”

“No.”

“You told David you’d let her go in six years.”

“And? People break their promises all the time.”

Vincent’s face darkened. “You… You’re pieces of shit. She was only five years old.”

“Her death was painless, if that’s any consolation.”

Grimacing, Vincent said, “You’re going to burn in hell, you motherfuckers!”

“Are you angry?” Devon asked.

“It shows, doesn’t it?” 

“You know, Canadian Indians have a very interesting method of trapping bears. They’ve been using it for hundreds of years. Here’s how it works. They hang a log and a big piece of meat on a tree, and then plant a couple dozen stakes in the ground under that tree. A bear smells the meat, climbs up the tree, and tries to get to the meat but can’t do it because the log is in the way. So the bear pushes the log away, the log swings aside, then comes back and hits the bear. The bear gets angry, pushes the log again and again and again until he finally falls from the tree and gets impaled on the stakes. A pretty clever trap, in my opinion. So let me give you a piece of valuable advice, Vincent: don’t get angry. Don’t be like this poor bear.”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

Devon laughed. “Vincent, you need to watch your mouth. My friend has a gun. He might shoot you.”

“Why did you kill Annie?”

“Maybe it was a joke.” Devon grinned. “Maybe she’s alive.”

“Are you married?” Tom asked.

“No,” Vincent said.

“Are you gay?”

“No.” To Devon, Vincent said, “Is Annie alive or not?”

“You’re so persistent. I like that.” Devon took Vincent’s cell and its battery out of his pocket and placed the battery back in the phone. Then he put the investigator into a trance.

“I’m going to dial Carol Miller’s number,” Devon said. “I want you to ask Carol if she’s in Houston. If she is in Houston, tell her you want to show her something important and ask her to come to this address.”

He wrote the address in his notebook and held the notebook so that Vincent could see it.

“Tell Carol you’ll explain everything when she gets here. Tell her it’s about Annie. After that you’ll say that you’ve got to run, and you’ll say goodbye.”

Devon dialed Carol Miller’s number, tapped the Speaker button, and then held the phone to Vincent’s mouth.