The Surgeon (22 page)

session, and her opinion was shared by more than a few of
the other detectives in the unit. They considered hypnosis a
lounge act, the purview of Vegas entertainers and parlor
magicians. At one time, Moore had agreed with them.
The Meghan Florence case had changed his mind.
On October 31, 1998, ten-year-old Meghan had been
walking home from school when a car pulled up beside her.
She was never again seen alive.
The only witness to the abduction was a twelve-year-old boy
standing nearby. Although the car was in plain view and he
could recount its shape and color, he could not remember the
license plate. Weeks later, with no new developments in the
case, the girl's parents had insisted on hiring a hypnotherapist
to interview the boy. With every avenue of investigation
exhausted, the police reluctantly agreed.
Moore was present during the session. He watched Alex
Polochek gently ease the boy into a hypnotic state and
listened in amazement as the boy quietly recited the license
number.
Meghan Florence's body was recovered two days later,
buried in the abductor's backyard.
Moore hoped that the magic Polochek had worked on that
boy's memory could now be repeated on Catherine Cordell's.

The two men now stood outside the interview room, looking
through the one-way mirror at Catherine and Rizzoli, seated
on the other side of the window. Catherine appeared uneasy.
She shifted in her chair and glanced at the window, as though
aware she was being watched. A cup of tea sat untouched on
the small table beside her.
"This is going to be a painful memory to retrieve," said
Moore. "She may want to cooperate, but it won't be pleasant
for her. At the time of the attack, she was still under the
influence of Rohypnol."
"A drugged memory from two years ago? Plus you said it's
not pure."
"A detective in Savannah may have planted a few
suggestions through questioning."
"You know I can't work miracles. And nothing we get from
this session is going to be admissible as evidence. This will
invalidate any future testimony she gives in court."
"I know."
"And you still want to proceed?"
"Yes."
Moore opened the door and the two men stepped into the
interview room. "Catherine," said Moore, "this is the man I told

you about, Alex Polochek. He's a forensic hypnotist for the
Boston PD."
As she and Polochek shook hands, she gave a nervous
laugh.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I wasn't sure what to expect."
"You thought I'd have a black cape and a magician's wand,"
said Polochek.
"It's a ridiculous image, but yes."
"And instead you get a chubby little bald guy."
Again she laughed, her posture relaxing a bit.
"You've never been hypnotized?" he asked.
"No. Frankly, I don't think I can be."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because I don't really believe in it."
"Yet you've agreed to let me try."
"Detective Moore thought I should."
Polochek sat down in a chair facing her. "Dr. Cordell, you
don't have to believe in hypnosis for this session to be useful.

But you have to want it to work. You have to trust me. And you
have to be willing to relax and let go. To let me guide you into
an altered state. It's a lot like the phase you go through just
before you fall asleep at night. You won't be asleep. I promise,
you'll be aware of what's happening around you. But you'll be
so relaxed you'll be able to reach into parts of your memory
you don't normally have access to. It's like unlocking a filing
cabinet that's there, in your brain, and finally being able to
open the drawers and take out the files."
"That's the part I don't believe. That hypnosis can make me
remember."
"Not make you remember. Allow you to."
"All right, allow me to remember. It strikes me as unlikely
that this can help me pull out a memory I can't reach on my
own."
Polochek nodded. "Yes, you're right to be skeptical. It
doesn't seem likely, does it? But here's an example of how
memories can be blocked. It's called the Law of Reversed
Effect. The harder you try to remember something, the less
likely it is you'll be able to recall it. I'm sure you've experienced
it yourself. We all have. For instance, you see a famous
actress on the TV screen, and you know her name. But you
just can't retrieve it. It drives you crazy. You spend an hour
wracking your brain for her name. You wonder if you've got
early Alzheimer's. Tell me it's happened to you."

"All the time." Catherine was smiling now. It was clear she
liked Polochek and was comfortable with him. A good
beginning.
"Eventually, you do remember the actress's name, don't
you?" he said.
"Yes."
"And when is that likely to happen?"
"When I stop trying so hard. When I relax and think about
something else. Or when I'm lying in bed about to fall asleep."
"Exactly. It's when you relax, when your mind stops
desperately clawing at that filing cabinet drawer. That's when,
magically, the drawer opens and the file pops out. Does this
make the concept of hypnosis seem more plausible?"
She nodded.
"Well, that's what we're going to do. Help you relax. Allow
you to reach into that filing cabinet."
"I'm not sure I can relax enough."
"Is it the room? The chair?"
"The chair is fine. It's . . ." She looked uneasily at the video
camera. "The audience."

"Detectives Moore and Rizzoli will leave the room. And as
for the camera, it's just an object. A piece of machinery. Think
of it that way."
"I suppose . . ."
"You have other concerns?"
There was a pause. She said, softly: "I'm afraid."
"Of me?"
"No. Of the memory. Reliving it."
"I would never make you do that. Detective Moore told me it
was a traumatic experience, and we're not going to make you
relive it. We'll approach it a different way. So fear won't block
out the memories."
"And how do I know they'll be real memories? Not
something I made up?"
Polochek paused. "It's a concern, that your memories may
no longer be pure. A lot of time has passed. We'll just have to
work with what's there. I should tell you now that I myself know
very little about your case. I try not to know too much, to avoid
the danger of influencing your recall. All I've been told is that
the event was two years ago, that it involved an attack against
you, and that the drug Rohypnol was in your system. Other
than that, I'm in the dark. So whatever memories come out are

yours. I'm only here to help you open that filing cabinet."
She sighed. "I guess I'm ready."
Polochek looked at the two detectives.
Moore nodded; then he and Rizzoli stepped out of the
room.
From the other side of the window, they watched as
Polochek took out a pen and a pad of paper and placed them
on the table beside him. He asked a few more questions.
What she did for relaxation. Whether there was a special
place, a special memory, that she found particularly peaceful.
"In the summertime, when I was growing up," she said, "I
used to visit my grandparents in New Hampshire. They had a
cabin on a lake."
"Describe it for me. In detail."
"It was very quiet. Small. With a big porch facing the water.
There were wild raspberry bushes next to the house. I used to
pick the berries. And on the path leading down to the dock, my
grandmother planted daylilies."
"So you remember berries. Flowers."
"Yes. And the water. I love the water. I used to sunbathe on
the dock."

"That's good to know." He scribbled notes on the pad, put
down the pen again. "All right. Now let's start by taking three
deep breaths. Let each one out slowly. That's it. Now close
your eyes and just concentrate on my voice."
Moore watched as Catherine's eyelids slowly closed. "Start
recording," he said to Rizzoli.
She pressed the video Record button, and the tape began
to spin.
In the next room, Polochek guided Catherine toward
complete relaxation, instructing her to focus first on her toes,
the tension flowing away. Now her feet were going limp as the
sense of relaxation slowly spread up her calves.
"You really believe this shit?" said Rizzoli.
"I've seen it work."
"Well, maybe it does. Because it's putting me to sleep."
He looked at Rizzoli, who stood with arms crossed, her
lower lip stuck out in stubborn skepticism. "Just watch," he
said.
"When does she begin to levitate?"
Polochek had guided the focus of relaxation to higher and
higher muscles of Catherine's body, moving up her thighs, her

back, her shoulders. Her arms now hung limp at her sides.
Her face was smooth, unworried. The rhythm of her breathing
had slowed, deepened.
"Now we are going to visualize a place you love," said
Polochek. "Your grandparents' cottage, on the lake. I want you
to see yourself standing on that big porch. Looking out toward
the water. It's a warm day, and the air is calm and still. The
only sound is the chirping of birds, nothing else. It is quiet
here, and peaceful. The sunlight sparkles on the water. . . ."
A look of such serenity came across her face that Moore
could scarcely believe it was the same woman. He saw
warmth there and all the rosy hopes of a young girl. I am
looking at the child she once was, he thought. Before the loss
of innocence, before all the disappointments of adulthood.
Before Andrew Capra had left his mark.
"The water is so inviting, so beautiful," said Polochek. "You
walk down the porch steps and start along the path, toward
the lake."
Catherine sat motionless, her face completely relaxed, her
hands limp in her lap.
"The ground is soft beneath your feet. The sunlight shines
down, warm on your back. And birds chirp in the trees. You
are at complete ease. With every step you take, you are
growing more and more peaceful. You feel a deepening calm
come over you. There are flowers on either side of the path,

daylilies. They have a sweet scent, and as you brush past
them, you breathe in the fragrance. It is a very special,
magical fragrance that pulls you toward sleep. As you walk,
you feel your legs growing heavy. The scent of the flowers is
like a drug, making you more relaxed. And the sun's warmth is
melting away all the remaining tension from your muscles.
"Now you are nearing the water's edge. And you see a
small boat at the end of the dock. You walk onto that dock. The
water is calm, like a mirror. Like glass. The little boat in the
water is so still, it just floats there, as stable as can be. It's a
magic boat. It can take you places all by itself. Wherever you
want to go. All you have to do is get in. So now you lift your
right foot to step into the boat."
Moore looked at Catherine's feet and saw that her right foot
had actually lifted and was suspended a few inches off the
floor.
"That's right. You step in with your right foot. The boat is
stable. It holds you securely, safely. You are utterly confident
and comfortable. Now you put in your left foot."
Catherine's left foot rose from the floor, slowly lowered
again.
"Jesus, I don't believe this," said Rizzoli.
"You're looking at it."

"Yeah, but how do I know she's really hypnotized? That
she's not faking it?"
"You don't."
Polochek was leaning closer to Catherine, but not touching
her, using only his voice to guide her through the trance. "You
untie the boat's line from the dock. And now the boat is free
and moving on the water. You are in control. All you have to do
is think of a place, and the boat will take you there by magic."
Polochek glanced at the one-way mirror and gave a nod.
"He's going to take her back now," said Moore.
"All right, Catherine." Polochek jotted on his pad of paper,
noting the time that the induction had been completed. "You
are going to take the boat to another place. Another time. You
are still in control. You see a mist rising on the water, a warm
and gentle mist that feels good on your face. The boat glides
into it. You reach down and touch the water, and it's like silk.
So warm, so still. Now the mist begins to lift and just ahead,
you see a building on the shore. A building with a single door."
Moore found himself leaning close to the window. His hands
had tensed, and his pulse quickened.
"The boat brings you to shore and you step out. You walk up
the path to the house and open the door. Inside is a single
room. It has a nice thick carpet. And a chair. You sit down in
the chair, and it's the most comfortable chair you've ever been

in. You are completely at ease. And in control."
Catherine sighed deeply, as though she had just settled
onto thick cushions.
"Now, you look at the wall in front of you and you see a
movie screen. It's a magic movie screen, because it can play
scenes from any time in your life. It can go back as far as you
want it to. You are in control. You can make it go forward or
backward. You can stop it at a particular instant in time. It's all
up to you. Let's try it now. Let's go back to a happy time. A
time when you were at your grandparents' cottage on the lake.
You are picking raspberries. Do you see it, on the screen?"
Catherine's answer was a long time in coming. When at
last she spoke, her words were so soft Moore could barely
hear them.
"Yes. I see it."
"What are you doing? On the screen?" asked Polochek.
"I'm holding a paper sack. Picking berries and putting them
in the sack."
"And do you eat them as you pick?"
A smile on her face, soft and dreamy. "Oh, yes. They're
sweet. And warm from the sun."

Moore frowned. This was unexpected. She was
experiencing taste and touch, which meant she was reliving
the moment. She was not just watching it on a movie screen;
she was in the scene. He saw Polochek glance at the window
with a look of concern. He had chosen the movie screen
imagery as a device to detach her from the trauma of her
experience. But she was not detached. Now Polochek
hesitated, considering what to do next.
"Catherine," he said, "I want you to concentrate on the
cushion you are sitting on. You are in the chair, in the room,
watching the movie screen. Notice how soft the cushion is.
How the chair hugs your back. Do you feel it?"
A pause. "Yes."
"Okay. Okay, now you're going to stay in that chair. You are
not going to leave it. And we're going to use the magic screen
to watch a different scene in your life. You will still be in the
chair. You will still be feeling that soft cushion against your
back. And what you're going to see is just a movie on the
screen. All right?"
"All right."
"Now." Polochek took a deep breath. "We're going to go
back to the night of June fifteenth, in Savannah. The night
Andrew Capra knocked on your front door. Tell me what is
happening on the screen."