Wolf Lake. John Verdon

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      Hardwick nodded his agreement.

      “You know him?” asked Gurney.

      “Yeah, I know him. As soon as the situation was dropped in Fenton’s in-box, he took a drive out to the Gall estate to interview Dr. Hammond, find out what he could about this hypnosis business, see if the two suicides were caused by anything that would be of interest to law enforcement.”

      Hardwick leaned forward, his muscular forearms resting on the table. “Fenton’s an organization guy, very oriented to hierarchy. So, before talking to Hammond, he wanted to talk to the man in charge—namely, Ethan Gall. But nobody knew where Ethan was. Nobody had seen him for two days. You get where this is going, right?”

      Gurney shrugged. “Tell me anyway.”

      “Four days after Fenton’s visit, Ethan’s body was found in one of the estate’s cabins, about half a mile from the main house. This particular cabin was not very secure. Some animals had gotten in . . .”

      Hardwick paused, letting the visual possibilities register. “The ID process took some time. Dental records, then DNA. Enough of the body was intact to determine that at least one wrist had been cut. There was also a knife present with his blood and fingerprints on it.”

      “How do you know this stuff?”

      “I know some people who know some people.”

      “How did BCI treat the death?”

      “The ME’s report was inconclusive—apart from noting that the evidence was consistent with a suicide. A lot of the body had been devoured or dragged off. But the wrist cutting—and the common factor of contact with Richard Hammond—convinced Gil Fenton that this was the third in a series of suspicious suicides.”

      “You mean ‘suspicious’ as in possible homicides?”

      Hardwick looked like he had acid reflux. “Because of their similarities, the three suicides came to be regarded as ‘suspicious’ in the legally uncharted sense of being brought about by forces other than the independent decisions of self-destructive individuals.”

      Gurney frowned. “Meaning what?”

      “In Fenton’s public statements, he keeps suggesting that the suicides were not only influenced by Richard Hammond, but may have been orchestrated by him—in effect, that he may have forced these people to kill themselves.”

      “Forced them?” Gurney cocked his head incredulously. “How? Through hypnotic suggestion?”

      “Hypnotic suggestion . . . and nightmares.”

      “Are you serious? Hammond is supposed to have given these people nightmares that made them kill themselves?”

      “That’s Fenton’s theory, which he’s pushing every time he talks to the press.” Hardwick paused, eyeing Gurney speculatively. “What do you think of that?”

      “I think it’s ridiculous.”

      Jane Hammond slapped her hand on the table. “Thank you for saying that! That’s what I’ve been saying myself from the beginning—that it’s ridiculous to even think that Richard would do something like that.”

      Gurney asked, “Was Ethan Gall ever hypnotized by your brother?”

      “Yes. In fact, Richard helped him break a lifelong smoking habit.”

      “And their session was when?”

      “Oh, maybe three . . . well, at least two months ago.”

      “Do you know if Ethan ever complained about nightmares?”

      Jane blinked nervously. “There’s some confusion about that. Fenton has a handwritten document in which Ethan supposedly described a nightmare he’d been having. But Ethan never said a word about any nightmare to Richard.”

      “How about the nightmares the other individuals had?” asked Gurney. “Does anyone know the content of those?”

      Hardwick shook his head. “The other police departments are keeping whatever details they have under wraps. Which brings me to the final big piece of the puzzle. After a BCI press relations officer disclosed the details surrounding Gall’s death, a detective from Floral Park down on Long Island got in touch with BCI to let them know he had a two-week-old suicide on his hands with the same history—a hypnotherapy session with Dr. Hammond followed by bad dreams and sliced wrists. He hadn’t bothered to contact Hammond, apparently because he didn’t give the hypnosis aspect of the situation much weight. Seems odd he’d overlook that, but odd shit happens all the time. Anyway, his dead guy was a twenty-six-year-old by the name of Steven Pardosa. That’s when Fenton went all out with his hypnosis-nightmare-suicide narrative—big press briefing, lots of nasty innuendo, practically accusing Hammond of murder, sending the media hyenas into a feeding frenzy.”

      “Just a second. How did the Long Island detective know about Pardosa’s contact with Hammond, or about his bad dreams?”

      “Pardosa told his chiropractor; and when the chiropractor saw Pardosa’s obit in Newsday, he called the cops.”

      “So, we’ve got three males in their mid twenties, plus Ethan Gall. How old was he?”

      Hardwick looked at Jane.

      She shrugged. “Early to mid thirties? His younger brother, Peyton, is in his late twenties, and there was five years between them.”

      There was something sour about the way she’d said the brother’s name that caught Gurney’s attention. He was about to ask about it, but Hardwick started speaking first.

      “After the Pardosa thing surfaced, everything clicked into place in Fenton’s head. He had four dead people—people he started referring to as ‘victims’—who’d all suffered from bad dreams after being treated by Richard Hammond—a doctor known for his experiments in hypnosis. Fenton made Hammond sound like some kind of mad scientist.”

      “Speaking of which,” said Jane, “I have printouts of the horrible news stories that were published after his outrageous press conferences.” She stood up and started toward the door. “They’re in the car.”

      Gurney stopped her with a question he felt was overdue. “What does Richard’s lawyer have to say about all this?”

      “Richard doesn’t have a lawyer.”

      “Even with everything that’s going on?”

      “That’s right.” She fell silent for several seconds. “It’s a long story. I’m not sure I know how to tell it.” She shook her head. “I’ll get the file.”

      “I’ll join you,” said Madeleine. “I need some air.” As she stood up to follow Jane, she gave Gurney a look in which he read a clear message:

      This is your chance to find out from Hardwick what on earth is going on here.

       CHAPTER 4

      The СКАЧАТЬ