Your Eyelids Are Growing Heavy (25 page)

The policewoman was another sergeant, Sergeant Mayhugh. She'd gone with Megan when she left the building on her lunch hour; but instead of heading for a restaurant, they'd gone straight to Snooks's office in the Pittsburgh Psychiatric Clinic. Gus was there, fidgeting and pacing and doing nothing to contribute to a calm atmosphere.

“You're Gus Bilinski?” Sergeant Mayhugh said. “Say, I'm glad to meet you. That was a neat bit of detective work you did.”

That made him fidget even more.

Sergeant Mayhugh and Gus had watched as Snooks put Megan into a deep trance and planted the suggestion that all subsequent attempts to hypnotize her that day would fail.

Afterwards, Snooks had coached Megan on how to act the role of a hypnotized person. “The main thing is to appear relaxed. The hardest part will be not showing any nervousness. I've given you a posthypnotic suggestion that you will remain calm when you see Algren again, but you must also work at
appearing
calm. Answer all questions literally. Initiate nothing—Algren will get suspicious if you do. If he asks you if you know what time it is, say yes—don't tell him the time. Be absolutely literal-minded about everything. That's safest.”

“Whew,” said Megan. “I don't know if I can pull this off.”

“Just keep calm,” Gus squeaked nervously. “That's all you have to do.”

“You probably won't have to do much,” Sergeant Mayhugh said. “We think the real treatment won't start until they get you to Sewickley. If they do it the same way as last time, Sperling will be waiting there. Once we have Sperling and Algren together, we'll come busting in. They won't even get started on you.”

“See? Nothing to it.” For no discernible reason Gus kept circling Snooks's desk. “Just
keep calm!
”

“What if Sperling isn't there this time?” Megan asked the policewoman.

“We'll come busting in anyway. Don't worry—we're not going to let anything happen to you.”

Megan felt grateful to Sergeant Mayhugh; that was the first time anyone had actually told her that.

“Don't get nervous!”
Gus croaked at Megan as she left with the policewoman.

“Your friend isn't exactly a calming influence, is he?” Sergeant Mayhugh murmured.

Megan was to be wired for her second encounter with Algren and Sperling. When she and the policewoman got back to Glickman, they went into Megan's office and closed the door. Megan took off her shirt and Sergeant Mayhugh taped a microphone and its accouterments to her body.

Megan buttoned back up and asked, “Do I speak directly down my shirt front?”

“No, just talk naturally. That mike will pick up everything in a normal-sized room.”

“What if it doesn't work?”

“Let's find out. May I use your phone?” Without waiting for an answer Sergeant Mayhugh punched out a number. “Ed? How's it sound? … Good.” She hung up. “Loud and clear.”

“Someone's listening now?”

“Three officers in a van parked a block away.” Sergeant Mayhugh grinned. “Don't play any love scenes this afternoon you don't want overheard.”

Around four o'clock Sergeant Church gave her her final briefing. “I don't know if this posthypnotic suggestion Dr. Snooks gave you is going to work or not. But if it does, don't try to send us any signals or use any code words. Don't do anything that might tip Algren off that you're on to him. Play dumb. Don't say or do anything that might be construed as leading them on—that's entrapment and our whole case goes down the drain. The only time you have to worry about is in the car on the way to Sewickley. Say as little as possible. In fact, say nothing if you can.”

“I'm not too happy about this get-up taped to my body,” Megan said. “It's working now, but what if it goes on the blink later?”

“We have back-up measures. Every exit from this building is covered—there's no way Algren can get you out without being seen. Once we get a make on the car he takes you to, you'll be under constant surveillance. And don't be alarmed if you're in a slight accident.”

“An accident!”

“Very slight,” Sergeant Church said reassuringly. “Fender-scraping, that's all. To make the driver stop long enough for us to slap a direction signal on the car. If your mike goes out—which it won't—we'll still have the direction signal to fall back on. They'll have to head straight up Ohio River Boulevard. We have unmarked cars stationed along the turnoff to Sewickley.”

“If we go to Sewickley,” Megan muttered.

“If you don't, we'll just follow wherever you do go. But you'll go to Sewickley. They're not going to change an M.O. that worked for them before.”

At five o'clock the exodus began. Megan sat in her office, waiting for the place to empty. Sergeants Church and Mayhugh had already left. She was on her own.

At twenty past, Megan left her office, as planned. She was vaguely surprised at not feeling more nervous. Snooks must have done a good job. She walked to the elevators—where a man stood waiting. It was Harrison Algren.

Megan calmly nodded to him and turned to face the closed elevator doors.
It was today
.

The elevator arrived and the doors slid open. Only after Megan had stepped into the car did she realize her right buttock was tingling slightly: Algren had already given her the injection. She wasn't angry. She was calm.

“You are feeling relaxed,” a voice said in her ear.

You don't know the half of it, bud
.

“You are calm, nothing is worrying you. You don't feel tired.” Algren was standing directly behind her, murmuring soothing phrases. Then: “When we get off the elevator, you will follow me.”

Megan said nothing.

“Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

The elevator went past the lobby down to the basement. Algren stepped out of the car and turned right, glancing back at Megan. She followed, working hard at keeping her exultation hidden.
It's working, it's working!
She was conscious of everything that was happening.

Algren led her out of a service entrance to a black Lincoln waiting two blocks away. There was Ferris behind the wheel, a man who spoke rarely and never looked anyone in the eye. Megan fought the temptation to glance around to see if any cops were watching.

Algren motioned her into the back seat and climbed in after her. Without a word Ferris started the car and pulled away from the curb. He drove carefully, doing nothing to attract attention.

To no avail. They'd gone only four blocks when a Chevrolet abruptly cut in front of them, changing lanes. There was a scrape of fenders and a tinkle of glass.

“There's nothing to worry about,” Algren said soothingly. “You are relaxed, calm.”

Ferris was out of the car, talking to the driver of the Chevrolet. A passenger from the Chevrolet was bending over, inspecting the damage done to the Lincoln's front fender. Ferris abruptly waved the other two men away and climbed back in behind the wheel.

“Any trouble?” Algren asked.

Ferris shook his head. They drove north across the Fort Duquesne Bridge, onto Ohio River Boulevard. They were going to Sewickley.

“I want you to put your head back and close your eyes,” Algren said to Megan. “Rest. Let yourself relax completely.”

Now that she knew the police had picked them up, Megan was able to do just that. The sodium pentothal had given her an easygoing feeling that she rather enjoyed.

The ride to Sewickley was short. Even with her eyes closed, Megan was aware of when they left the main road for the Sewickley turnoff. The car made a number of turns through the streets of Sewickley, came to a stop.

“Open your eyes,” Algren said.

There it was: the same small building of tiny apartments, furnished in early motel. The apartment they were going to was on the ground floor; Algren led her around to the back entrance to avoid the lobby. Ferris locked the car and followed.

The door opened before Algren could knock and there stood Sperling, the author of Megan's troubles. She kept her eyes focused on his tie, with its discreet blue pattern. She remembered Sperling.

He was a good-looking man, with a thoroughly nasty personality—making it easy for her to dislike him. He had sun-bleached hair and a deep tan; he looked like a tennis player.
A tanned skin is a damaged skin
, Megan thought sententiously. She stepped into the small kitchen on Algren's command.

Sperling closed the door behind them. “Any trouble?”

“No,” Algren said. “She came along meek as a lamb.”

“Accident with the car,” Ferris said, speaking for the first time. “Nothing serious—scraped fender and a broken headlight.”

Sperling wasn't interested. “You're sure she's under?” He was so close Megan could smell his cologne. Four people in that small kitchen took up most of the floor space.

“Of course,” Algren said. “I told you last time she was a natural.”

A natural what?
Megan thought resentfully.

“You told me a lot of things, Algren,” Sperling said. “I expect you to do a better job this time.”

“I warned you this might happen,” Algren said mildly. “Post-hypnotic suggestion doesn't last forever.”

Sperling spoke to Megan. “You're going to follow orders, do you hear?”

“I've asked you not to do that.” Algren's voice had taken on an edge. “It just confuses her. Please don't interfere, Mr. Sperling.”

Sperling didn't like being told not to interfere—so he took it out on Megan. “I haven't had anything to eat today. Ferris, run out and get us some pizza.”

“That's not necessary,” Algren said. “She'll follow instructions—there's no need to make it unpleasant for her.” Megan wondered how solicitous he'd be if he knew she'd whacked him with a baseball bat a few nights ago.

Sperling said, “Ask her if she likes pizza.”

“You know the answer.”

“Ask her.”

Algren was annoyed, but he did as he was told. “Megan, can you hear me?”

Ms Phillips to you, schmuck
. “Yes.”

“Do you like pizza?”

“No.”

“Anchovies,” Sperling said. “Ask her about anchovies.”

Algren complied. “How do you feel about anchovies?”

“I hate anchovies,” Megan said.

“Pizza with anchovies,” Sperling told Ferris. The driver nodded and left.

“This time I want to make sure she's under,” Sperling said. “Jab a pin into her arm or something.”

Megan's stomach did a flip.

“I don't happen to carry pins with me,” Algren said dryly.

Sperling opened a drawer, rummaged around and came up with a paring knife. “Use this.”

“Mr. Sperling, this is not necessary. She's under—hurting her won't help.”

“If she's under, she won't feel it, will she? If you won't do it, I will. Just draw the blade across her fingertips.”

Megan's stomach did a flop.

Annoyed, Algren took the knife from Sperling. “Hold up your right hand, Megan. Palm up.”

Can I go through with this? Where's Sergeant Church? Just how noble and self-sacrificing am I expected to be?
She held up her right hand, palm up.

Algren took hold of her hand. “Now Megan, I'm going to cut into your fingertips. You won't feel a thing—it'll be completely painless. Do you understand?”

Flip-flop. “No.”

Algren looked puzzled. “What did you say?”

“I said no.”

“You mean no, you don't understand?”

She withdrew her hand and put it behind her back. “I mean no, don't cut my fingers.”

“I knew it!” Sperling exploded. “The bitch is faking!”

“Take it easy.” Algren looked worried. “Megan, do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been here before?”

Was she supposed to remember?
“No.”

“Have you ever seen this man before today?”—pointing to Sperling.

“No.”

The two men exchanged a look. “Part of the suggestion is still holding,” Algren said.

“Unless she's faking. Get on with it.”

Algren said, “Megan, this blade won't hurt you. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Then give me your hand.”

“No.”

“What's it mean?” Sperling demanded.

Algren was uneasy. “I'm not sure.”

A knock at the door made both men jump. “It can't be Ferris,” Sperling said, low. “He hasn't been gone long enough.”

“It's Ferris,” the driver's voice came through the door. “I forgot my billfold—I don't have any money.”

Sperling swore and jerked the door open. Ferris came barreling in through the doorway—propelled from behind by Sergeant Church. Behind him: Sergeant Mayhugh and three uniformed police officers.

Sergeant Church said, “Sorry, Sperling, they were all out of anchovies. Against the wall—spread 'em.”

“Just like TV,” Megan said wonderingly.

Sperling was inclined to argue but when one of the officers spun him around against the wall, he yielded. Algren just seemed to wilt.

The tiny kitchen was so packed there wasn't room to move. “Are you all right?” Sergeant Mayhugh asked. Megan nodded.

“I want my lawyer,” Sperling barked.

“They're not armed,” one of the policemen said.

“Of course we're not armed,” Sperling snapped. “I want my lawyer.”

“You'll get him,” Sergeant Mayhugh said. “Right after we take a little ride.”

“Sorry about that knife business,” Sergeant Church said. “He didn't cut you, did he?”

“No. But I'm glad you didn't wait any longer.”

Algren looked offended. “I was sure she was under.”

“Shut up,” Sperling said through clenched teeth. “Just shut up. Don't say anything.”