Bay of Deception (15 page)

Alicia Merrill had just arrived at her office in Carmel when the sound of the outer door opening caught her attention.  Her first client wasn’t due until eleven and therefore she assumed it was the UPS driver.  She rose from her desk and walked into the reception area, expecting to see one of the ‘men in brown’ as she liked to call them.  When she entered the waiting room, she saw two very different men standing there.

“Oliver!”  Alicia smiled as she walked toward him. “I’m so glad you stopped by, I was going to give you a call about that question you had.” 

“Thanks, Alicia,” Oliver stammered.  “I...um, don’t really need that information anymore.” 

She wanted to ask him why but instead, turned to the huge man beside him. 

“Who is your friend here, Oliver?”  That his new friend was handcuffed had not escaped her.  Both men seeming very uncomfortable with the situation, each looking like they’d slept on the street.  

“Alicia, I need your help, again.  Only, you probably won’t like what I want you to do.”

“Oliver,” Alicia clasped both hands together. “What you asked last time didn’t please me much, either.”   She looked at McKenny and tried to recall his face but failed.  “Come into my office and tell me what you need.  I can’t promise anything more than a sympathetic ear.”  

She padded back into her office with both men trailing behind. Sitting behind her desk, she watched Oliver make himself comfortable.  The same could not be said for his companion however, who seemed too large for just about anything he was near, including the two chairs in her office.  Though he eventually squeezed into the largest, it was not without concern on her part that it might never be the same. 

“All right Oliver, my first client will arrive in about twenty-five minutes...so that gives you at least twenty.”  Alicia’s smile settled into one of genuine concern as Oliver began his tale and a feeling of warmth overtook her because once again, a former client had called upon her for help. 

By eleven, every room in Carol Montoya’s house had been searched and Willy was about to turn his attention to the garage when he decided that, after nearly six straight hours of searching, a short break for food and drink might be in order.  The idea of checking the refrigerator’s contents came to mind but he was gripped by the odd feeling that whatever lay in there shouldn't be touched. 

He was surprised at this, for though he was sensitive to the loss of a life, he had never been the overly superstitious type and often scoffed at other cops good-luck rituals.  As he turned from the kitchen to the front door, Willy felt a bit less cynical toward those officers and athletes who always put their right foot in first.

After locking the door, Willy walked to his car, deactivated its alarm and then wearily climbed in.  He knew he could take only a couple of minutes for this excursion and accepted that the purpose of this meal would be fuel rather than enjoyment.  Reluctantly he steered his car toward the top of Forest Avenue and the McDonalds located there.  This particular establishment, (he refused to call them restaurants) lacked a drive-through and though he would have preferred a salad and maybe a nice pasta, time dictated he eat on the way back.

Fifteen minutes later, Willy escaped what seemed an endless lunch hour line and was soon on Forest Avenue once again, consuming the burger that barely qualified as food in his mind.

To his left, black oily smoke caught his attention as it rose toward the late morning sky and it immediately became clear that some kind of structure was on fire.  He pressed the accelerator, tossing what remained of his burger onto the passenger’s seat while concentrating on the fastest route toward the now visible flames.  His vehicle raced down the length of Sinex before he reached Congress Avenue and saw flames and smoke pouring upward, just blocks away.  Only when he recalled that this was the way back to the Montoya residence did he begin to feel uneasy and suspicious.  

A minute or so later, Willy turned onto Sunset and saw that not only was Carol Montoya’s house ablaze, it was now little more than a huge bonfire.  A group of neighbors had come to gawk at the spectacle as local fire fighters attempted to bring it under control and all Willy could do was watch the fire consume what remained.

“Willy Johnson?”

Willy turned and discovered his door now stood open and the man who'd spoken his name stood dressed in a dark blue suit, law enforcement written all over him. 

“Yes?" he said, suddenly feeling very sick.    T

“Please step out of the car.”

The badge held before him bore the initials of the FBI and reluctantly, Willy complied, feeling worse with each passing second. 

"Mr. Johnson," the agent continued.  "I'm FBI Agent Benson and you’re under arrest for the destruction of evidence in a federal case and as a possible accessory to the murder of FBI Agent, Carol Montoya.”

“Accessory to murder," brought Willy fully awake, aware that murdering an agent, FBI, CIA or otherwise was like no other crime.  Federal laws came into play on those occasions and seemed to skirt constitutional mainstays and was one reason why federal prisons existed.  Though he had little experience with the federal agencies, he knew their investigations were unusually swift, strangely tidy and almost always ended with convictions that withstood appeals.  Willy also knew that cops convicted by such agencies were almost always gone for a long, long time.

He heard the drone of his rights being read by Benson, felt his wrists pulled behind him and knew handcuffs were not far behind.  A crossing point he’d hoped never to see appeared before him, and in that instant, Willy chose to follow his gut. 

Twisting around, he broke the agent’s grip which sent the handcuffs flying several feet away.  For a single heartbeat he was afraid the agent might produce a gun but instead, the man simply backed away as a few of Montoya’s neighbors looked on.  He and Benson stared at each other for perhaps three seconds before Willy backed himself against his car, then climbed in.

“Johnson,” the agent called after him. “Don’t be a fool.  Perhaps you didn’t kill Montoya, but we saw you leaving the house and a few minutes later, it burst into flames.” 

Willy started the Taurus’s engine and debated responding as he backed into a neighbor’s driveway, but instead drove off. 
Why give him words to use against me?
Willy thought.  In the rearview mirror, he saw Benson run toward a gray car parked behind one of the fire trucks.  Then Willy lost sight of him as he turned the corner onto Congress.  He took a left at the next street, then cut across another until he reached Pine Avenue, before slowing to the posted speed and that of the cars around him.  A few blocks down Pine, the Pacific Grove Police Department came up on his left and it was clear to Willy that only two choices lay before him. 

Shaking, Jenny stepped over Jenel’s prone body and ran toward the curtains located to the bed’s left and pulled them aside.  She gaped at the blank wall before her and cursed the designers who thought up such cost effective decorations.  She let them fall and turned to survey the entire suite, but could see only the original door through which she’d been led so many hours ago. 

“Shit!” 

Jenny walked to the door, gripped the handle and turned it to no effect.  The small, square indentation near the handle nearly slipped her attention as anger within her mounted.  Then kneeling, she saw that the inch square screen was the perfect size of a thumb print. 
Great
, she thought. 
Leave it to Jenel to have state of the art door locks on his bedroom, what ego!
  She turned toward the CEO’s unmoving form and wondered how long he would remain unconscious. 

Reluctantly, she approached him and for several seconds stood gauging his weight to see if she would be able drag him to the door.  Once she decided it was possible, the puddle of saliva below his mouth caught her attention.  Then she realized that he’d been utterly still since falling at her feet.  Before the idea could take hold, her mind rejected it and she bent down, hoping to see his chest rise and fall.  A full minute later it had done neither and Jenny stumbled backward in a frantic attempt to retreat from the dead man.

She came back to awareness slowly, her mouth so dry her breath came in rasps.  She tore her eyes from Jenel’s body.  The water beside the bed caught her eye and keeping as far away from the corpse as possible, she made her way to it.   Not bothering with a glass, she lifted the small carafe to her mouth and drank eagerly, spilling much of it as she quenched her dry throat, then fell onto the bed. 

Pulling her knees to her chest, she returned her gaze to Jenel’s still form and considered for the first time what might have killed him. 

“I did.” 

The words slipped through her lips with such ease she was tempted to look about the room. She expected guilt to strike at her confession, but only a growing sense of satisfaction that it was she who’d taken the sadist out.  A smile graced her mouth, her heart beating faster, stronger.

“Well,” she stood to her feet.  “Time to make this creep useful for once in his sorry life.”   She walked across the room, stood next to the body of her rapist and gripped an available wrist.  Tightening her hold, she grunted slightly as she strained against the man’s weight.

“I need to piss.”

Oliver looked up from his magazine and focused on his prisoner. “What?”

A quiet look of desperation and embarrassment shone in McKenny’s eyes.  “I said…I need to take a piss.” 

Oliver continued to stare at him, sighed and put down his magazine.  This was the craziest mess of an investigation he’d ever hoped to work on.  Despite his story and protests, Alicia had flatly declared that if they wanted help, her 11:00am appointment had to be dealt with first, which meant waiting for an hour.  Now, McKenny’s bladder was throwing him a curve. 

Oliver shifted in his seat. “You’re a big boy, McKenny, hold it!”  

He watched McKenny’s face grow red and the fight within the man to control the obvious anger.

“Look, Peidmont.”  McKenny squirmed on the couch.  “I know you don’t like me, but
listen
to me.” He stared earnestly at Oliver. “I
have
to go to the bathroom!  I don’t care if you uncuff me or not, but if you don’t do something quick, your doctor will need a new couch in about two minutes, tops!”   

Oliver watched him squirm and knew he was telling the truth. 

“Shit!” he said, scowling. 

“Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me? I should let you piss your pants for the sheer satisfaction!”  Glaring at the squirming giant, Oliver stood, then led him down the hall and into the bathroom. “Listen, McKenny,” Oliver stated, positioning him before the toilet.  “I’m going to uncuff one hand....”

“Peidmont, just hurry!” McKenny had started doing a little jig.

Oliver continued, “The other will stay cuffed while you do your business.  Are we clear?” 

“Yes.  Yes!  Just do it!” 

Oliver slipped the key in, turned and pulled the cuff free of McKenny’s right wrist.  He braced himself for anything as McKenny’s free hand whipped around, followed by desperate fumbling.  The sound of a healthy stream of liquid echoed off the bathroom walls as well as a deep sigh.

Thirty minutes later, a somewhat overweight woman left Dr. Merrill's office, red eyed and weepy, a tissue dabbing at what still flowed.  She was followed a few seconds later by Alicia, who escorted her to the door.

“Okay, Loraine, I’ll see you next week at the same time.”  Obviously fearing more tears, the woman simply nodded vigorously and left without a word. 

“Oliver, Mr. McKenny, let’s go into my office.” 

“Get up, McKenny," Oliver said, turning toward his prisoner.  "Time to get you back to your old self.  I sure hope it’s worth it, because I’ve got just four hours to find those papers your boss wants.”   

McKenny leaned forward, then slowly raised himself to a standing position before trudging like a death row inmate toward his executioner.  Oliver walked behind him until all three were in their original seats.   

“From what you have told me, Oliver,” Alicia began.  “Mr. McKenny has lost a portion of his memory as a result of some recent electric shock.  Is that correct?”  Oliver nodded.  

“And you are hoping,” the doctor continued, “that I can restore his lost memory through hypnosis.” 

Again Oliver nodded, somehow feeling foolish.  “You’re my only hope on this, Alicia.  I can’t go back to JenelCo with him the way he is now.  I need the information locked in his head.”

“Do I have any say in this?”  McKenny broke in.  Both Oliver and the doctor turned toward him.  “Maybe I don’t want my memories back, maybe I like the way I am now.” 

“Don’t
even
start,” Oliver began as McKenny turned to respond.

“But Mr. McKenny!”  Dr. Merrill jumped in before either could go further.  “It simply doesn’t work like that.”  Both men quieted, turned toward her and she continued.  “The human mind is wonderfully adaptive and resilient, something far more complex than anything else on earth.  Because of this, what each of you wants is, quite frankly, not possible.”

"Alicia!"  Oliver sat bolt upright. “A woman’s
life
is on the line here.  You’ve got to be able to do something!” 

“What about my life, Peidmont?”  McKenny retorted.  “Don’t I deserve a second chance?”  Oliver ignored this and returned his attention to Alicia. 

“Listen,
both of you!
” she said firmly.  Let me try to explain
why
what you want just isn’t possible.”  Both policeman and criminal opened, then silently closed their mouths as the doctor held up both palms like a traffic cop.

“What everyone calls 'personality' is the sum of each person’s experiences, memories and choices with a little help from our genes.  Imagine a pot of soup that has a million ingredients that become flavors.  After a while, all of them settle into one overall flavor which you and I might call a personality.”  She looked at both men, saw they were getting the idea and continued.

“When Mr. McKenny received that substantial shock, it was like all those ingredients were stirred up again and as a result, you might say his personality has taken on a new, though temporary flavor.”  Both started to reply but again she lifted her hands, then turned to Oliver.

“What you want, Oliver dear, is for me to put all those ‘Ingredients’ back the way they were as quickly as possible.  It is true that hypnosis can be quite effective in helping recover lost memories, but only when those memories have been suppressed, usually as a result of some traumatic event. 

"In Mr. McKenny's case, you might liken his memories to being scrambled, something that will probably be corrected only over a period of time.  I’m sorry Oliver, that is simply the way of it.”  She turned toward McKenny.

“
You
, young man, want me to do just the opposite.  You would like me to keep stirring that pot of ingredients so you won’t, once again, become the amoral soul you were.  The problem, as I said before, is that the human mind is a powerful
and
self healing mechanism; one which has no rival.  Eventually, most of your memories will return and more than likely, your personality and character will return to its original “flavor.”  Further electric shocks would keep your old self suppressed, but irreparable brain damage would also be the result.”   

There was some sympathy for McKenny in her tone and for a moment, all three were silent. 

“I will say this, Mr. McKenny,” she continued. “You have some hope of changing if you really want to.  Recall what I said; your personality is largely made up of experiences and choices.  If you truly desire it, you may alter who you are by making
new
choices and thus different experiences.  The decision to do so however, is completely up to you and don’t think it will be easy because I assure you, it won’t.” 

Oliver slumped in his chair, staring at a small porcelain figurine on the doctor’s desk before him. 

“Then I’ve wasted eight hours trying to get this creep to help me save his wife and I’m no further along than when I started.  Wonderful! Fantastic!  I might as well go back to Jenel right now and hand him my gun.”

“Why, Oliver, what an excellent idea!”  Alicia leaned forward eagerly.

Oliver scowled at his former therapist.

“Alicia, this is no joke.  If I don’t return with the missing documents in less than four hours, this man Jenel is going to kill McKenny’s wife!”

“Oliver,” the doctor suddenly clapped her hands twice, “this 'Jenel' has taken more than Mrs. McKenny prisoner. He’s also taken you captive as well!”  She leaned back in her chair which produced a slight squeak that seemed to punctuate her statement.

"Think back to what I told you about people who demand things, what are they really wanting and why they want them?” 

Oliver shook his head at her questions and tried to ignore the anxiety that somewhere a clock was running down.  “Alicia, please.  Skip the counseling technique! What are you saying?”

“Only this, Oliver,” she smiled at him.  “Give this man Jenel what he wants.”

“And what is that?” he asked, his patience thinning.

“Isn’t that obvious?”  Alicia's wizened smile grew sad. “To feel powerful at other people’s expense.” 

Oliver thought about this briefly before speaking.

“You’re saying that Jenel
knew
I wouldn’t be able to find the papers?”

“Possibly."  The doctor's hands formed into a steeple below her aged chin as she spoke this.  "Let us consider the idea that
no papers
exist at all.  Could this be an ugly game to humiliate you so he could feel powerful in the process?”