White Noise

White Noise, Part 5 of 10

z119z

© the author 2015

Comments are appreciated. Please send them to z119z2000@yahoo.com. Thanks.

Chapter 9

"Hello. Is Lieutenant Dell'uomo there?"

"Let me check." There was a brief pause. Kenneth Foster heard the person who had answered the phone asking about Dell'uomo and the sound of someone replying. He couldn't make out the words of the answer. There was burst of laughter, and then the man picked up the phone again. "I'm sorry, but he's out at the moment. Can I take a message?"

"If you would. Thank you. My name is Kenneth Foster, of Sandman Enterprises. I spoke with Lieutenant Dell'uomo this morning, and he asked me to trace the sale of one of our products. Would you tell him that the particular machine he's interested in was sold to a store in San Diego, California? The store's name is Inner Journeys. I can give you the phone number and address if you want."

"Yes, thanks. Let me get a piece of paper. Just a minute." Foster heard the rustle of paper. "So, your name is Kenneth Forester, and the name of the store was Sandman's Journeys? In San Diego?"

"No, the store is called Inner Journeys." He didn't bother to correct his name. He supplied the phone number and address of the store and said, "Please tell Lieutenant Dell'uomo that if I can be of any further assistance, I would be happy to help. He has the number." Then he hung up. There was no chance of Dell'uomo finding anything useful from the owner of Inner Journeys. With any luck that would put an end to the lieutenant's interest in the white noise machine.

After he hung up, Foster settled back in his chair and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and called up the image of clouds floating in a bright blue sky. He took several more deep breaths until he felt totally relaxed. The call to the police had been mildly stressful. He didn't mind lying to the police and misleading them. One phone call to the brain-fried owner of Inner Journeys would convince them that further pursuit of that lead would be futile. On a good day, the man might remember his name. He certainly wasn't going to remember a sale made years ago, and it would be useless to ask him to consult his records. He didn't have any. The lie had been easy. It didn't trouble Foster's conscience. It was just that he hated dealing with the police. Given the nature of some of his business activities, it was best to keep them far away. No, that call had been easy. The next one would be harder, much harder. He needed to exercise all his tact and diplomacy for the call he was about to make. He almost hoped it would go to voice mail and he could leave a message. But the call was answered on the first ring.

"Jeff, this is Kenneth. Can you talk now?"

"I have about fifteen minutes before I see the next client. What's the matter? You sound worried."

Damn, thought Foster. Sometimes Jeff knew him too well. He was getting too adept at reading body language and the tone in voices. Sometimes that was useful. He didn't have to waste time explaining things to Jeff, but sometimes it meant that there was no hiding things from Jeff. Jeff saw right through him. Well, there was no help for it. Time to be direct. "The white noise machine the police have—it was Michael's."

"Michael's? Michael hasn't used a Sandman in years—not since we rescued him and took him to the hospital."

"It's the machine he was using before that. There's no doubt about that. The serial number matches. Did we leave it at Talbert's place?"

"We must have. I don't recall taking it. We left everything of Michael's there. When he came out of the hospital, we had to buy him new clothes, everything. Remember?"

"I didn't take it with me. I didn't even think of it at the time. So we must have left it at Talbert's. But how did it end up in Dell'uomo's hands, and what does it have to do with the murder of this kid?"

"What are we going to tell Dell'uomo?"

"I've already called and left a message that that machine was shipped to San Diego. I'll let the police figure out how it got back here. We need to talk. When will you be through with your appointments today? Can you call Michael?"

"Michael? I don't want to involve him. You know how upset he gets when he's reminded of Talbert."

Not half as upset as you do, thought Foster. It would have been simpler just to call Michael in the first place. Michael was stronger psychologically than Jeff believed, and he could be surprisingly forthcoming about Talbert when Jeff wasn't around. But Michael would have told Jeff—they didn't keep things from each other—and then Jeff would have been even more upset at what he would have seen as an end run around himself. He was so protective of Michael. In some ways that was a good thing. But at times it was a damned nuisance.

"I'm afraid so, Jeff. He may know if Talbert gave the machine to someone else. I know it's best not to remind him of Talbert, but this time it's unavoidable. That's why I called you. It would be better if the news came from you, and you brought him to the shop. He trusts you, and he'll know that you won't let him come to any harm." Foster hoped that Jeff would find that line of thought flattering enough that he would consent. In the end Jeff acceded to his request. His acquiescence may have been grudging, but he did promise to make sure that Michael was at the meeting. And that was what mattered.

"San Diego? Then how did it end up back here?" Susan Trent looked as surprised as Dell'uomo felt.

He shrugged and handed her the piece of paper with its garbled message. "That's what we need to find out. What time is it in California—one o'clock? This is the number of the place that sold it. Will you call and see if they have any information on this machine? It's unlikely that they can trace a sale this old, but let's check. And then call Mr. and Mrs. Spier to see if the family was ever in California or if David was there. Oh, hold on. One more thing. What's the name of the guy over in the fraud division who tracks businesses?"

"Davis something or other. He has one of those names that sound like two last names. Davis Marks? Ask Robert. He knows all those guys."

"Cindy, I'm back. I'll close up. You can leave whenever you're ready."

"Thanks, Jeff. I need to pick up something for dinner. Maybe if I hurry I can catch the 5:30 bus. See you on Monday. Oh, hi, Mr. Foster, Mr. Sorenson. Gotta run. Have a good weekend." Pulling on her coat, Cindy raced out the door.

Kenneth Foster held the door open for her and then locked it, turned over the closed sign, and then pulled down the shade. "Let's go into the back."

Michael looked miserable. He sat down on the sofa and leaned forward. He braced his elbows on his knees and lowered his head into his hands. "It's definitely my machine, then?"

Jeff sat on the arm of the sofa and put an arm across Michael's shoulders. He shook his head at Foster, trying to tell him silently to go easy. Foster ignored him. It wasn't the right time to worry about Jeff's instinctive need to shield Michael. Too much was at stake for him. "It's the same serial number. It's definitely yours. The question is how the murdered kid got hold of it. Was it still at Talbert's place the night you left?"

"I don't know. I don't remember much about my last days there. I don't recall using it much after I went there. It was in my room at first, but . . ."

"But what?"

"Don't badger him, Kenneth. He's trying. It's all right, Michael." Jeff frowned at Foster, warning him to back off.

"It's OK, Jeff. Just let me think. I was about to say that it wasn't there after a while. Now that I think of it, I'm sure that at some point it wasn't there."

"Think, Michael. This is important. What happened to your machine?"

Kenneth Foster kept probing Michael, but without success. Finally Jeff said, "Leave him alone, Kenneth. Can't you see that this is upsetting Michael?"

"It's all right, Jeff. Really I'm fine. I'm sorry, Kenneth, but I just can't remember anything more. The machine was there and then it wasn't."

"Damn. This isn't getting us anywhere." Kenneth Foster looked impatiently at his watch. "I've got to leave now. I have to be in Westport by 7:30. My in-laws are coming over for dinner tonight. You two try to figure out what happened. When you do, call me. Hopefully I put Dell'uomo off the track by directing him to San Diego. Jeff, walk me to my car. I've got something I need to discuss with you."

As Foster and Jeff stepped into the alley behind the store, Kenneth pulled the door closed, shutting Michael inside.

"What's so important that Michael can't hear it, Kenneth?" Jeff put his hands on his hips and faced Foster belligerently. He was annoyed with his employer and saw no reason to hide it.

"If Michael can't remember, you'll have to hypnotize him again and help him find a memory of what happened to that machine."

"I can't do that, Kenneth. I won't do it. I promised him not to do it ever again."

"This is too important, Jeff. If it's the only way to recover his memories, you have to do it."

"He'll remember, Ken. He'll calm down and then he'll remember. I don't need to hypnotize him. You were going about it all wrong. Badgering him like that and getting him upset. Give me some time to work with him. I'll get your answer."

"You'd better hope so. You've got till tomorrow morning. If you won't hypnotize him, I will."

"Kenneth, you can't. It hurts him too much."

Foster unlocked his car. He sat down in the driver's seat and looked up at Jeff. "It hurts him less than you think. In any case, would a jail term make him feel better? I'm serious. You know we can't let this investigation touch us. We're not exactly operating within the law here. Look, I'm sorry. I know you love the guy. I know he's been through some hard times. But if he loves you and if he wants to keep his cozy life, then he has to cooperate."

Jeff didn't get to answer this because Foster slammed the car door and drove off without looking back. Jeff went back into the shop and sat down on the sofa beside Michael. "So what did Kenneth want?" Michael asked. They had reversed their earlier positions on the sofa and Michael now had an arm across Jeff's shoulders. Sometimes Jeff was the one who needed comforting.

"He wants me to hypnotize you to help you remember what happened. I told him no. But we've got to come up with an answer."

"You told him no?"

"Um-hmm. I won't do that to you again."

"And what if I can't remember what happened to the machine."

"Let's go home and have dinner. We'll worry about this later. Let me lock the storeroom and set the alarms. Oh, look at this mess. Cindy was in such a hurry to leave that she didn't straighten up in here." It was then that Jeff noticed the box of open CDs. It was one of the boxes of the special version of his concentration CDs. "Michael, did you . . . ?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Kenneth must have taken a red CD when he was here this morning."

Matt Dell'uomo was tired. It had been another long day, with little to show for it. And tomorrow would be another long day. It didn't matter that it would be a Saturday. Murder investigations couldn't be interrupted just because it was a weekend. The day had been as frustrating as it was long. The investigation wasn't moving forward. The call to San Diego had left then no further ahead. "The guy who owns the store said he couldn't tell you who had bought what yesterday." The dead kid's parents swore that they had never been to San Diego and neither had David. And what were they doing asking about California when the murder had occurred here. The Business Fraud Division was closing for the weekend by the time Dell'uomo had reached them. He had left a message for Marks asking him for information about Sandman Enterprises, but nothing would happen with that request until Monday at the earliest—if he got lucky. Some divisions worked from 9 to 5.

It had been after 7:00 by the time he had been able to leave the office. Having no good excuse to avoid the weekly Friday night dinner with his mother, he had taken the long subway trip out to Queens. The train was packed, and he had had to stand the entire way. All this for a heavy meal and several glasses of the cheap red wine his mother favored ("I can't tell the difference. Why should I spend more?"), and two hours of listening to his mother's usual litany of complaints about the neighbors (rude), the neighborhood (going downhill), his brother (working too hard), her health (don't ask), himself (you're not taking care of yourself; you need a wife to look after you; do you remember Mrs. Farlini who used to live down the street, she has a niece . . . ). Since he was visibly tired, he got away earlier than usual, although not without several containers of food and detailed instructions on reheating. He ran across a group of homeless people near the subway stop and offered them the food if they could find something to put it in. He had no doubt that his mother would be able to identify the exact containers she had given him, and he needed to return them to her next week, washed and empty.

Nearly seventeen hours after Matt Dell'uomo had put a necktie on, he pulled it off and hung it up. He folded his shirt and placed it in the pile for the dry cleaner's. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, hanging his pants up neatly. His underwear went into the clothes hamper reserved for whites, his black socks into the hamper for colored clothes. He pulled on a bathrobe and knotted the belt around his waist. Finally he poured himself a glass of club soda and sat down on the couch. For lack of anything better to do, he unwrapped the concentration tape he had bought at Sandman's just to keep the clerk talking.

Would listening to it lead him any closer to David Spier's murderer? Was there any link other than Spier's interest in hypnosis between the present case and his suspicions about Kenneth Foster and Jeff Ange? He doubted it. The directions on the back of the case were simple. "The purpose of these files is to help you improve your concentration and deal with the distractions and obstructions that prevent you from achieving your maximum potential. Daily listening to these files will result in greater concentration and an increased ability to focus on what is important. This disk contains three files. We recommend that in the beginning you listen only to the first file. Each file ends with a sequence of suggestions that will return you to full waking consciousness. Before you begin, tell yourself that when you hear these suggestions, you will wake up and turn off your CD player or play the first file over again. Listen to the first file for at least two weeks or until you notice results before proceeding to the other two files. Remember, increased concentration and improved focus are your goals.

"For best results, listen to the files through earphones. This will eliminate external noise. Dress comfortably and find a place where you can relax completely. Try to listen at the same time each day and in the same place and position. Before you begin, state your goals clearly to yourself with conviction and sincerity. Repeat three times `I am listening to this file to improve my concentration and my focus.' "

Well, what could it hurt? It probably wouldn't help him get closer to Spier's killer, but if it resulted in better concentration—who could complain about that? He finished his club soda, took the glass to the kitchen, rinsed it out, and put it upside down on the drain board. He brushed his teeth, flossed, and gargled; then he washed his face thoroughly, rinsed all the soap out of the washcloth and hung it up carefully so that it would dry and not mildew. Matt Dell'uomo had early learned the virtues of discipline from his parents. In most things, he was a good and dutiful son. His mother might find his resistance to marriage unfilial, indeed incomprehensible, but in more ways than she realized, her training had molded Matt. Perhaps the only behavior she would have faulted that evening was her son's habit of sleeping in the nude. The flannel pajamas in the blue striped pattern she had bought for him lay neatly folded in his dresser.

Dell'uomo slid the CD into the player and fit the earphones to his head. He lay back on the pillow and pulled the covers up. He turned off the light beside his bed, made himself comfortable, and turned on the CD.

"Jeff, it's no good. I can't remember anything about that machine except that it wasn't there after a while."

"It's OK. Don't worry. Well, we'll just have to tell Kenneth that you can't remember anything more."

Jeff felt Michael stiffen beside him. He knew it had been a mistake to press Michael. He admitted to himself that Kenneth was right. It was important to find out what had happened to Michael's machine, but Kenneth would just have to accept that Michael didn't know anything and nagging him about remembering wasn't going to help. He had tried several methods to get Michael to relax and think about other things in the hope that the memory of what had happened with the machine would pop into his head, rather like thinking about something else helps you remember that name you can't recall. But all his attempts to conjure up restful mental images had left both of them tense and anxious. Neither could forget what Talbert had done to Michael, and those memories forced themselves insistently into their minds and drove out all other thoughts. Plus Michael's conditioning as a unit made him want to please Jeff, and his inability to come up with an answer made him nervous and anxious, and that prevented him from thinking clearly. Jeff had no doubt that Kenneth would carry through on his threat to hypnotize Michael himself if he—Jeff—couldn't get an answer. It was a no-win situation in Jeff's opinion.

"He won't be happy." Michael was almost as distressed about that prospect as he was about disappointing Jeff.

"It doesn't matter. Don't worry about it. I'm happy." Jeff hugged Michael, as much for his own comfort as Michael's.

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"I want to help."

"I know you do."

There was a long pause before Michael spoke again. "Jeff, we could try it."

"What? Hypnosis? No way! Forget about that."

"As long as we're careful. We've got to face up to the bad memories sometime. We can't always be afraid to think about Talbert."

"You're improving. You can say his name now. It will just take a while longer."

"What about you? You still don't call him Talbert to me. It's always him' or that man.' What are you afraid of? I'm not going to fall apart just because we talk about Talbert. I'm stronger than that. Thanks to you. So what are you worried about?"

"Nothing."

"What is it?"

"It's nothing."

"Well, now it's an it.' We are making progress with your cure, Jeff. We have got to the point that you can admit there's an it.' A few more years, and you'll be able to hypnotize your lover again."

"Well, what if we dredge up some bad memory, and you can't face it? What if I lose you? I can't live without you now. I know that sounds dramatic, but it's true."

"You won't lose me. I'm . . ."

"What? You're what?"

"Just try it. It's what you do. If I can't trust you, who can I trust? I'll go get a crystal."

"No, not a crystal. I won't use a crystal. That's a training tool for the units. It's not for you."

"I am a unit."

"You were a unit. Past tense. End of discussion. No crystal."

"Why are you so resistant to doing this? You do this every day. It's your business, your life, your hobby."

"Because . . ."

"Because why? Say it, you coward, say it." Michael hugged Jeff tightly and kissed his forehead.

"Because I love you."

"Well, I love you, too. Your love is the best thing in my life. You're the best thing in my life. And now that we have that settled, it's time for Dr. Jeff to make a housecall."

"Don't joke."

"I love you."

"You're trying to manipulate me."

"Is it working?"

"Yes," Jeff sighed. Somehow Michael could always get around him. It would be OK. He would just have to be careful. If it got too stressful for Michael, he would back off. Anyway as long as Michael had to be hypnotized, it was better that he do it rather than Kenneth. Kenneth could be ruthless when he wanted something. He wouldn't care if he permanently damaged Michael as long as he got answers to his questions. "Let's get undressed and go to bed. I'll hypnotize you there. That way we can go right to sleep when we finish."

Jeff's voice was easy to listen to, Matt Dell'uomo decided. He spoke very clearly and slowly, but with warmth and conviction. The file began by repeating the instructions on the CD cover. He barely listened as Jeff cautioned him against listening to the second and third files until the first file had had results. What the results were was left unspecified. Matt could only suppose that they would be made clear later in the file.

"Now make yourself comfortable. Take a minute to check every point in your body to make sure that you are comfortable. Mentally take inventory of your feet . . . your legs . . . your hands . . . your arms . . . your chest . . . your head to make sure that you are resting comfortably. Pay particular attention to your neck and shoulders. Is your neck resting comfortably so that it is supported by the pillow? Are your shoulders relaxed and resting comfortably on the bed? Just take a few seconds to check and make sure that you are ready to relax."

"OK, Michael, just take a moment to make sure you are relaxed. You know the drill. Is your neck resting comfortably on the pillow? Shoulders touching the bed? Now take a deep breath in. Good. Hold it for a few seconds. Now let it out slowly. Good. Now another slow breath in. Fill your lungs. Hold it, and then slowly let it out through your nose."

"Now take another deep breath, and as you do, picture all the tension in your right foot being pulled into your lungs as you breathe deeply. All the tension and tiredness in your right foot being pulled up your legs and through your body into your lungs. Now breathe out and expel all that tension. As you breathe out, all the tension in your right foot disappears. Your right foot relaxes completely."

"Now another deep breath in, and this time pull all the tension out of your right ankle"

The live Jeff and the Jeff on the file continued to work through the body. Gradually both Michael and Dell'uomo relaxed, Michael more quickly because he had more experience. But Dell'uomo was not far behind. The tension left his body, and he relaxed more and more, drifting deeper and deeper.

"Now move backward in time a little further. Remain relaxed and calm. I am with you, and you are safe. You have just moved into Talbert's place. You are in your own room. Look around you. There is a Sandman machine in the room. Where is it located?"

"It's sitting on the dresser."

"Now move forward a week in time. Is it still there?"

"Yes."

"Move forward two weeks. Is it still there?"

"A month. Still there?"

"No."

"What happened to it?"

"Scott took it. He wanted to use it."

"Who is Scott?"

"A friend of Talbert's."

"Michael, in a minute I am going to wake you up. When you awaken, you will be able to remember all of this and be able to discuss it calmly."

"In a few minutes, I will awaken you. When you awaken, you will remember the exercises that we have done. Whenever you want to concentrate on a problem during your waking hours, you will perform the mind-clearing exercise we practiced. Close your eyes briefly and focus on a white spot of light. Let your mind clear and become focused on the white light. Then when you open your eyes, direct your mind to the problem facing you. You will see it clearly and be able to deal with it efficiently and promptly. If any distractions arise or your mind wanders, pinch the web of flesh between your right thumb and forefinger firmly between the thumb and forefinger of your left hand, and as you do so, focus your mind on the task at hand. You will listen to this file over and over. You feel very relaxed and comfortable. You enjoy listening to this file. It makes you feel so good to listen to this file. You will do so over and over. Now, I am going to count to five. When I reach five, you will awaken. If it is your regular bedtime, you will turn this recording off and put it away. Then you will lie down and fall into a deep and comfortable sleep."

"His name is Scott. I never knew his last name. Talbert didn't think I was important enough to introduce to him. But I know they had known each other for a long time—they were in school together. They were a lot alike."

Michael sipped at his coffee. The remains of their usual Saturday morning breakfast of bacon and eggs littered the table. He had pulled on a robe when he got up. He didn't want the scars on his torso to be visible, especially today when he and Jeff would have to discuss Talbert and his friend.

Jeff sat opposite him in his briefs. He had pushed his plate to the center of the table and was leaning forward with his forearms resting on the table. The morning sunlight spilled across his shoulders and chest. A spike of hair stood up at the front of his forehead. Michael had to resist an impulse to try to smooth it down. It would take more than a casual swipe with his hand to bring it under control. Jeff had such thick hair he could subdue it into place only by getting it thoroughly wet and then combing it.

"What are you smiling at?" Jeff felt much better. Nothing had gone wrong last night. Michael didn't seem to be suffering any consequences from being hypnotized. And he could give Kenneth a name. That should satisfy him and keep him away from Michael.

"I like to look at you." Another sip of coffee. Michael knew he was stalling. He had hoped that Jeff would bring up the subject himself, but it looked like he would have to deal with it directly. "What will you do now? Tell Kenneth?"

"I'll tell him that a friend of Talbert's named Scott took the machine. I'll tell him what you just told me. He can't expect more than that."

"Well, you can tell him that this Scott was curious why I had brought the machine with me. Other than clothes, it was the only thing I took to Talbert's."

"It was an early model. It wasn't as complex as the current models. We can do much more through the machines now. But, still, if anyone in the police department takes it apart, they'll realize that it's more than just a noise generator."

"What do you think Kenneth will do with the information?"

"I don't know. He can't tell Dell'uomo. It would contradict what Kenneth told him about the machine being sold in San Diego."

"Should we tell Dell'uomo?"

"We can't let him know the truth. We'd have to find a way of getting the information to him so that he didn't know it came from us. I can't see how we could do that. Besides, we don't even know Scott's last name. The only one who does is Talbert."

"Jeff, it could be dangerous. This Scott may be the killer."

"I know. We have to figure out a way to get Dell'uomo involved in the search for him."

Chapter 10

Matt Dell'uomo gradually returned to consciousness. At first he felt only warmth and comfort and safety. The warmth of lying beneath a golden sun that slowly became the warmth of the bed. Someone had been talking to him about the sun. He stretched slowly beneath the covers as his eyes drifted open. For once, he felt good. Two nights in a row he had slept well, and both nights he had listened to Jeff's voice before going to sleep. He didn't know if the file would help him improve his concentration, he decided, but if it helped him sleep this well, he would use it every night.

He felt even better after his usual Saturday morning five-mile run and a shower. He poured himself a cup of coffee—it did taste better freshly made. He really ought to make a new pot every morning. Then he sat down to review the Spier file. The autopsy was conclusive. David Spier had been severely beaten about the body and head. The report catalogued over fifty separate perimortem blows severe enough to case gross external and/or internal damage. There were burn marks around his neck. His genital region had been shaved, and there was a circular mark around his scrotum and penis, as if a ring had been placed above the penis and around the scrotum. The marks were identical to those often found in cases of electrical burns, and the coroner theorized that metal rings had been placed around his neck and genitals and that electricity had been run through them. His anal region showed signs of bruising consistent with the insertion of a large object, which had probably been made of a nonporous material such metal or plastic or glass. There were no traces of lubricants in the rectum. Whatever had been inserted had probably caused severe pain. Death was consistent with prolonged and intense trauma. David had died of internal hemorrhaging, heart failure, brain embolisms—the damage was so extensive that the precise cause of death was impossible to determine. As the doctor performing the autopsy remarked, David had, in layman's language, been tortured to death. The dead boy had been murdered elsewhere, between 24 and 36 hours before the body was found in Garfield Park.

Nor was there any trace evidence on the body that would help to identify his killer. What little there was—some soil and bits of leaf mold—was too common to be of any use. Undoubtedly it had become attached to the body at Garfield Park, and they knew that David hadn't been killed there. His body appeared have to have been cleaned thoroughly before it was transported to the park and arranged on the bench.

Other than Mike Albertson, none of the people interviewed had seen anything out of the ordinary in David's recent behavior or activities. He had attended his classes, studied in the library, played games online, watched TV, listened to music. He had been seen leaving the dorm alone many nights, but that was not unusual for a student. The odd thing was that none of the people interviewed had ever gone out with David. Whenever David had been asked to join a group, he had always excused himself and said that he had to study or that he was meeting someone else. A few people who had been inside his room knew that he was fascinated with hypnotism, but he had never discussed his interests in detail. None of the informants knew anything about his interest in furries, or even that he had such an interest. Mike, who lived directly across the hall, seemed to be the only person who had ever talked much with David, and even he had not been close to him.

Spier's student email account at City University yielded nothing except university notices. He apparently did not use it as his personal account. The text messages on his cell phone were from family members and contained nothing of interest. If he had email accounts under other names or accessed messages through other websites, the computer guys at the lab hadn't been able to uncover them yet. They noted only that his lap top was suspiciously clean of any indication of activities dating earlier than two weeks before the probable date on which he had disappeared. A check with David's neighbors in the dorm had revealed that David had gotten a new computer a few weeks before his death. No one knew what had happened to the old one. Yet David's credit card and his bank account showed no record of a computer purchase, and his parents knew nothing about it. Susan had speculated that it may have been a gift from his abductor.

Dell'uomo examined the pictures that the dead boy's parents had supplied. They showed David in quite a different light from the police photographs of the dead boy. Slight, not athletic, not bad looking, though. The type of boy who was studious and quiet and kept to himself. But something about his eyes suggested a dreamer to Dell'uomo. The type of kid who had a full fantasy life. Somehow this loner had met up with someone who had killed him. The autopsy report noted that several of the bruises were older and had been inflicted on several occasions. The earliest predated his death by about two weeks. Others were more recent—made any time from four to ten days before the final beating that had led to David's death. Whatever David had been doing and whoever he had been doing it with, he had done it on more than one occasion.

So how does a kid from an ordinary, middle-class family, something of a geek, find someone to help him live out his fantasies of being hypnotized and made into a furry? Were there websites for furries, online groups for furries? Dell'uomo made a note to have this checked out. The articles David had collected in the binder had the names of the websites from which they had been downloaded—those needed to be checked as well. There were computers for the students scattered throughout the university. Was there a way to determine if a particular student had used them and what he had done? Perhaps David had accessed websites through them. Dell'uomo added another note to have someone call the university. They had found only the one cell phone and that had yielded nothing of interest. Had David had another phone or other means of text messaging? Somehow he and the murderer had communicated. The means of contact had to be found.

Then there was the business of the hypnosis. He picked up one of the pictures of David and stared at it. He tried to put himself in David's place. He was a young man, he had a fascination with hypnosis, he dreamed of becoming an animal, an animal who had sex with other animals. What animal would someone like David want to be? A lion? A tiger? Dell'uomo tried to imagine what it would feel like to be a tiger. The cat body, the short hair, the dry smell of the fur, the furry tongue, the muscles rippling under the skin, the legs ending in claws, the lithe tail. To be powerful like a tiger, sexy, strong. He could see the attraction for a shy young man like David. The other students would have had no idea that David was really a tiger, a predator in their midst, as he sat in class with them or studied in the library. And then he had met someone over the Internet, in a chat room, and had confessed his desires. Someone who had offered to help him realize his fantasy, to be a tiger, not just to pretend to be one. The man with the face of the professor that the Albertson kid had seen.

Dell'uomo's attention shifted from David to Mike. Mike enters David's room and finds David talking with a stranger. The stranger who has been hypnotizing David. He sits and talks with the stranger. A copy of the campus newspaper with the story about Professor Hanson lies on David's desk. The stranger's voice is soothing. Mike finds it easy to listen to. Soon Mike slips into a trance and the stranger suggests that Mike will remember only that he visited David and that David was alone. But for some reason, Mike remembers meeting the stranger; it's just that he gives the stranger Hanson's face.

Could Jeff help the Albertson kid recover the stranger's real face? Well, at this point, it was all Dell'uomo had. He picked up the phone.

The two dogs lay quietly on the floor, not daring to move lest they disturb the man. They had been bad doggies, and the man had punished them.

For the moment the man lay silently on the bed, thinking of his pleasures, the riding crop resting in his hand. Was there anything more to be gained by further punishing the pups? He rolled over on his side and traced the line of the larger dog's spine with the tip of the riding crop. He contemplated bringing it down on the dog's flanks and pictured the dog's body flailing about in pain again.

God, he was bored. It has been so much better with David. The way David's body had arched in pain as he fought the restraints. It had been all the more beautiful because the restraints had existed only in David's mind. The bound, captive that David had thought himself to be was unable to get away. And then that moment when he had become aware that David was no longer alive. It was so delicious. He would be forever grateful to David for introducing him to that pleasure. To have such power—and David had offered himself so willingly for his pleasure. A few games, the special teddy bear costume, to draw him in. A few drops of the drug and then the sessions that had taken David further and further into his service. He had given David the ultimate experience, and David had repaid him with gratitude. He could tell that David had been so happy to die. He would have to find another pet that he could develop to that point.

He watched himself in the mirror on the ceiling, his lithe body encased in a silvery body suit, gleaming, every move catching the light. Human and yet not human, the suggestion of eyes and a nose beneath the head covering of the suit, the body there but not there. Its human imperfections hidden beneath the shiny surface. With his free hand, he began stroking the cloth covering his torso. His eyes followed his hand through the fabric covering his eyes. He was so beautiful, his body perfect, his hand gliding effortlessly over the smooth silky covering. Perfection, its surface unblemished by hair or wrinkles or spots.

He tossed the riding crop on the floor. It wasn't enough. With his free hand, he picked the control box off the nightstand and placed it on the bed. Keeping his eyes on his image in the mirror, he set the controls for level 1 and pressed the charge button. Off to the side of the mirror, he could see the pups twitch as the electrical shock surged through the collars around their necks. Those cunning collars with the embedded wires that delivered a shock when he activated the remote control device. Level 1 was just a tickle, of course. The pups generally lasted until level 5 before they fainted. It had never been necessary to go above that. Would they survive higher levels? He would have to experiment. Perhaps just with one of the pups. But they were becoming boring. They had become too obedient. There was no challenge left in them. That was the problem with the version of the drug they had received. Unless you were very careful not to administer the full dose, it worked so fast and so thoroughly. The result was a zombie who always had to be told what to do in great detail. That's what the trials were all about. Trying to tweak the drug so that the subjects became pliable and cooperative but still had enough initiative to live their daily lives without needing constant supervision. The goal was to find a chemical that would create units. But none of that was his concern. He didn't understand chemistry or how the brain worked. They were always explaining the details to him, but that just bored him. He was interested in the results, not in how the drug worked.

The newest version of the drug worked more slowly. The subjects retained enough of their own minds to act independently, but were still compliant and open to suggestion. It had worked so well on David at first, but eventually he grew more and more mindless. The effects of the drug must be cumulative, even in the small amounts he had administered. He had met David on twenty-two consecutive weekends, and things had gone fine until the last meeting. David had been easy to manipulate, so open to suggestion. He first noticed a change the nineteenth week, however. David started behaving sluggishly after the twenty-first treatment. When he had sent David back to his dorm on Sunday morning, the boy still appeared capable of functioning on his own. But the last dose had tipped David over the edge. He couldn't be sent back.

And then his demon had taken over. David had been good for only one thing at that point. What happened was really David's fault. Or theirs. The drug was no good. That stupid vacuous stare on David's face had been the final straw. His beautiful creation turned into a robot. It wasn't what he wanted. Was it any wonder he had become so angry? It was best to destroy flawed creations. If David had had a mind left at that point, he would have agreed. No one wants to be imperfect. It's better not to exist than to exist in a flawed state.

Now he was back to the two manimals. Such good little manimals. Such boring little manimals. What more could they offer him?

He would have to find replacements soon. That boy in David's room. He was perfect physically—so small and smooth. Where had he come from? Hadn't he said that he was in the room across the hall? The man decided against another visit to the dorm. He couldn't risk it, especially now that David had been identified. Perhaps he would send one of the pups. Have it dress in street clothes and go searching—reconnoiter. "Reconnoiter"—that was such a lovely word. He tasted it forming in his mouth several times. So sensuous to say the word. It was a silver color like his suit, a silver bubble of sound floating in the air.

Was it wise, though, to harvest another subject so close to David? Perhaps not. But then being wise was no fun. It had taken the police only two days to identify David. He imagined that they had searched David's room and questioned his neighbors in the dorm. Perhaps they were even watching the dorm. He was confident that the other boy had told them little. A spray of the aerosol in his face and a few words had taken him into trance and from there it had been easy to implant false memories. If the boy disappeared, the police would connect his disappearance with David, he was sure. But that made it even more exciting. He would have to think about this—the wise thing to do would be to troll the gay furries site and clubs again, but it was getting too predictable. Everyone wanted to be a tiger, a wolf, a puppy dog. As he contemplated the joys of training a new subject, his finger pressed repeatedly on the control button, the pups' howls and twitches a counterpoint to the pleasure he was feeling in himself.

He gave a command, and the smaller pup fetched the other control device and brought it to him. He patted the dog on the head and scratched him behind the ears. Perhaps he would keep the smaller one for a bit longer. Once he had replacements for both of them, he would re-evaluate its usefulness. His report on David would mention the cumulative impact of the current version of the drug. They would keep trying. Eventually they were hit upon the right formula, and he would have what he needed.

He tapped the bed beside him, and the smaller pup leaped up beside him. It circled about and then lay down at his side, its head resting on his thigh. The man patted the dog's head and said, "Watch. Watch what happens to bad doggies."

He turned the second control device on and adjusted the level to a high setting. On the floor, the other dog trembled. It had dim memories of the device the man held. As the man pressed the button, a current of electricity passed from the ring that encircled the dog's balls and cock to the rod buried in the dog's anus. The dog howled in pain. The man and the other dog watched the larger dog writhe on the floor. It took only three shocks before a wet stain spread across the larger dog's crotch. The man looked away in disgust. Always the body reasserted itself. If only robotic technology were further developed, he could discard these attempts to force the human body into perfect obedience. He sighed. Training took so much time, yet no matter how much effort he put into it, the results fell so short of his desires. At least he had been able to get some satisfaction out of playing with David, although he would have had more fun if David hadn't been a vegetable when he died. It would have been so much more exciting if he had been totally conscious of what was happening to him.

Jeff usually arrived at Foster's Sandman Shop on Saturday morning around 8:00 so that he could restock the shelves and open the till. Saturday was their only busy day. He could come in later, but he enjoyed being in the store alone. He could have done all that needed to be done in fifteen minutes. But Saturday mornings were the only time he had to himself, and arranging the stock and tidying up were mindless tasks that he found restful.

Jeff had everything ready long before the store's Saturday opening time of 10:00. By 9:30, he was drinking a cup of coffee and scrolling idly through the online version of the Chronicle, when his cell phone buzzed. Cindy usually arrived just before 10:00, and his first thought was that she was calling to say that she would be late. The Saturday morning buses did not always run on time. To his annoyance and alarm, it was Dell'uomo. The lieutenant wasted little time on preliminaries.

"I want you to hypnotize the Albertson kid again. I've already called Albertson and arranged for someone to bring him to the police station. I'll drop by your place shortly to pick you up."

"Sir, I have to work today. I'm already at the shop. I can't leave it. Someone has to be here."

Cindy took that moment to arrive. She greeted Jeff loudly and started chatting. When she saw he was on the phone, she mimed her apologies for interrupting him while he was talking. But it was too late. Dell'uomo had heard her speaking and identified her.

"Isn't that the young woman who helps out? Cindy, isn't it? I won't keep you too long. Ask her if she can't handle the shop for a couple of hours by herself. She told me yesterday that it never gets very busy. I'm sure that she'll understand when she learns that you're helping the police. I'll see you in about half an hour."

Dell'uomo hung up before Jeff could protest. He groaned and explained to Cindy that he would be out of the shop for a few hours. Cindy's reaction to hear that Dell'uomo was dropping by was to run into the bathroom and check her makeup and hair in the mirror.

On the drive uptown Dell'uomo explained to Jeff what he wanted him to do. And so at 11:30 on Saturday morning, Jeff found himself sitting once again in a conference room with Sergeant Trent at police headquarters. The room was furnished with a sofa and several easy chairs. At Jeff's request, Susan Trent pulled the shades and closed the drapes to cut down on the light streaming through the window.

Jeff pointed to a mirror hanging on a wall. "Does any suspect questioned in this room not know that that's a two-way mirror?"

"What makes you think it's a two-way mirror?" Susan Trent didn't bother to hide the fact that she was lying. "This is a room where we meet. We don't use it to question suspects. The mirror's there so Dell'uomo can straighten his tie and comb his hair. The lieutenant's careful about his looks."

"Why doesn't he use the mirror in the men's room?"

"Maybe the men's room doesn't have a mirror. I don't know. You'll have to ask him."

Susan Trent's cell phone rang. She listened briefly, said "OK, bring him up" to the person at the other end and "Mike Albertson's on his way" to Jeff.

Mike struck Jeff as being noticeably more relaxed than he had been the first time. Whatever anxieties he had felt about being hypnotized were gone. Jeff had him lie down on the couch and took him through the same induction using the hammock in a woods. Mike again proved a natural subject and was soon deeply entranced, his chest slowly rising and falling as he breathed in and out evenly at Jeff's direction.

"Mike, I want you to move backward in time to the day you met the stranger in David's room. You will be able to talk to me and Sergeant Trent about it. Just remain relaxed and comfortable. You are here with us, but you are also back in that room. Now, remain relaxed and comfortable. You feel so safe and warm and comfortable. Just relax in the hammock. You are safe and warm. Let your mind rest on what happened that day and talk to us about it. Can you see the man?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

"Sitting in the chair by the window."

"What is he doing?"

"Nothing, just sitting there. David says to me he's kinda busy right now and what do I want?"

"What do you say?"

"I just want to borrow your chem lab notes."

"What happens then?"

"The man tells David to wait a minute. He wants to talk with me."

"What does he say to you?"

"He sprays my face."

"What?"

"He has a small can, you know like one of those small aerosol cans that has breath spray in it, and he sprays my face with it."

"What sort of spray?"

"It's like a perfume. It smells sharp, like pepper. My face is wet."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. Dizzy for a second."

"You feel dizzy?"

"Just for a couple of seconds."

Susan Trent signaled Jeff that she wanted to ask some questions.

"Mike, this is Susan Trent. This is very important. You can help us a lot. What does the man do next."

"He talks to me. He makes me lie down on the bed and then he relaxes me."

"Relaxes you how?"

"He just tells me to relax, like Jeff."

"He hypnotizes you, like Jeff."

"Yes, different words, but like Jeff."

"What does he talk to you about?"

"Nothing. Don't remember. Mustn't remember."

Mike was beginning to show signs of agitation; some internal struggle was visible in the twitching of his eyes and mouth. Sergeant Trent mouthed the word "help" at Jeff.

"Mike, this is Jeff again. You are doing very well. Just relax a bit more. Relax in the hammock as you sway back and forth gently in the breeze, the shadows of the leaves playing gently across your face and body. You are far, far away from David's room, in a warm and safe place. Nothing can hurt you here. Just relax and move even deeper into sleep. Everything that happened in David's room that day is far, far away. It can't touch you anymore. You can discuss it calmly. You are safe here. Did the man tell you not to remember what happened?"

"Yes, Don't remember, Mustn't remember."

"Mike, I want you to picture a closed door. It is very clear in your mind. The door has a handle and a lock. You can see it very clearly. You are standing in front of the door. The man has locked your memories of that day behind the door. Your memories of that day in David's room are locked behind the door. Hold out your hand. I am putting a key into your hand. You can feel it in your palm. It is the key to the door. With this key, you can open the door. Reach out, and put the key in the lock and turn it. Unlock the door."

As Jeff and Susan Trent watched, Mike's right hand closed around the imaginary key Jeff had put there. He held it in his fingers and slowly reached out and mimed unlocking a door.

"Good, Mike, very good. Now, you are going to reach out and turn the handle and open the door."

More quickly now, Mike traced the motions of opening a door in the air.

"Excellent, Mike, you are doing very well. Now step into the room and look around. You can see everything that happened that day clearly now. You can remember everything. There is no more block on your memories. Everything that was clouding your memories of that day has dissolved. The door is open. You are lying on a bed in David's room and the man is talking to you. What is he saying?"

When Mike spoke again, his voice was lower and more raspy. "Mike, listen to me. You feel very comfortable and warm. You are very comfortable, very warm. It feels so good to be so relaxed, so comfortable, so warm. It is so easy to relax and listen to me, to do what I tell you. You want to help me. You feel very good when you do what I tell you to. You will forget everything that you have seen in this room. You will remember nothing of what has happened here. You came into David's room to borrow his chemistry notes. He gave them to you, and you left. A wave of pleasure flows through your body from the top of your head down to your toes. The more you forget, the better you feel. The wave of pleasure starts at the top of your head and flows down across your face, your neck, your shoulders. It flows down through your chest, filling you with this wonderful feeling of well-being and pleasure. Down through your arms and across your stomach. The wave of pleasure flows down through your legs, your calves, your feet."

Mike continued speaking in the same vein for another ten minutes or so, as the man who was hypnotizing him substituted the wave of pleasure for any memory Mike had of the meeting. "Now, you are going to stand up and return to your room. When you reach your room, you will sit down and study the chemistry notes. You will not remember anything except going into David's room and then returning to your own room and studying."

"Very good, Mike. That was excellent. Now, I want you to look closely at the man's face. Can you see it?"

"Yes."

"Your memory of the man's face is very clear, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Remember the other day when you worked with Jennifer, the police artist, and helped her draw the picture of the man's face?"

"Not the same."

"No, it's not the same face."

"Professor Hanson's face in the newspaper."

"Yes. But you can see the man's real face now, can't you?"

"Yes."

"In a few moments, I will wake you up. You will remember what the man in David's room looks like. You will remember it very clearly. You will be able to describe it to the police artist."

"Yes."

Jeff brought Mike back to consciousness slowly, reassuring him several times that he would be able to remember the man's face clearly and be able to work with the artist.

"Wow. That was so weird."

"You can remember what happened while you were in the trance?"

"Yes, Officer."

"Mike, let's go downstairs to Jennifer's office. Mr. Ange, please wait here. I need to find Lieutenant Dell'uomo and tell him what happened. Then, we need to talk with you about this."

"Does any suspect questioned in this room not know that that's a two-way mirror?" Jeff was looking directly through the mirror at Dell'uomo, although he did not know that.

"What makes you think it's a two-way mirror? This is a room where we meet. We don't use it to question suspects. The mirror's there so Dell'uomo can straighten his tie and comb his hair. The lieutenant's careful about his looks." Right, Susan, thought Dell'uomo. Insult me.

"Why doesn't he use the mirror in the men's room?"

"Maybe the men's room doesn't have a mirror. I don't know. You'll have to ask him."

Susan's cell phone rang. She listened briefly, said "OK, bring him up" to the person at the other end and "Mike Albertson's on his way" to Jeff.

Dell'uomo was glad to see that Mike, in contrast to his earlier appearance at the police station, was more relaxed, even anxious to be hypnotized again. Jeff spoke briefly with him, putting Mike at ease, and then got him settled on the couch. He was, Dell'uomo noted, using the same induction as before. It was astonishing how familiar Jeff's voice had become. He had listened to only two inductions, and yet he felt a tug at his consciousness as Jeff spoke. It would be so easy just to close his eyes and follow along. To lie in that hammock and let the warm air swing it gently back and forth, the wind rustling the leaves in the trees, and the shadows of the leaves playing over his body, dappling it with light as he lay there. So comfortable, so relaxed, so warm, so safe, so content, so happy. Gently swaying in the warm breeze like a leaf on a tree. So relaxed, held up by the warm breeze, just floating and drifting.

And now Jeff was taking him back to revisit David's room. The day the stranger had been there. He had just wanted to borrow some of David's chem notes. But the stranger was there and talking to him. Jeff was asking him questions and then Susan. Something wet on his face, and then dizziness. The stranger's voice was low and harsh. Hoarse sounding. Telling him to forget, forget everything, as waves and waves of pleasure flowed through him and covered him. He couldn't remember. Jeff and Susan wanted him to remember something, but he couldn't. He had to forget. He had to obey.

Then Jeff broke in and took him back to a place of safety. Wonderful Jeff. Jeff was helping him open a door. His memories were behind the door. He had to open it. And then suddenly he was free. So grateful to Jeff for helping him. He had to help Jeff and describe the man to Jennifer, the police artist. But when he turned to look at the man's face, he saw only a blank. There was no face. What would he tell Jeff? He couldn't fail Jeff. It was unthinkable.

And then he woke up. For a few seconds, he was totally disoriented. The scene on the other side of the mirror meant nothing to him. He could tell that something had happened to excite all three of them. What a weird dream, he thought to himself. But what had happened in the room to make them so excited?

*****.

"Lieutenant, Mr. Ange just achieved a breakthrough," Susan Trent said as Dell'uomo walked into the room. She was pretending that Dell'uomo hadn't seen the whole episode through the mirror, which gave him an opportunity to ask for a recap. Together the three of them listened to the recording of the part in which the man had spoken through Mike again.

"What I don't understand, Jeff, is why it didn't work. This man evidently told the Albertson kid to forget the whole incident. If he had, then we wouldn't even know that he had seen someone. But he did remember, at least in part. But another part of his memory was blocked until you opened it."

"These memory blocks are tricky. Perhaps the trance wasn't that deep or perhaps the man didn't have enough time to develop it fully."

"But why didn't Albertson remember everything the first time?"

"That's easier to answer. He was trying to please two different sets of people who were making demands on him. The man told him not to remember and so he forgot the man's face as instructed. We wanted a face, and he gave us one, one that he had seen about the same time. He ended up giving both of us what we wanted."

"Let's hope this time the drawing shows the face of the man he saw."

"I hope so too," thought Jeff. Perhaps that would take the pressure off him and Michael and divert the police from the Sandman operation.