Mind Switch (30 page)

Fred went on, “I noted that you were somewhat unsteady on your feet when you walked in to the conference room. For a moment I thought you had a slight physical disability, but when I revisited in my mind how you had walked, I realized that your feet were wobbling on some type of soft material you had placed in your shoes. The cloth backing on the heel of your socks is much too high for a foot that sits directly on its insoles. So you must be using some type of artificial height extender. The knuckles on your left hand are red and those on your right hand are normal. You have obviously banged them against an object, likely the wall, most likely out of frustration of some type. Beyond that your lower arm muscles on your left arm are extremely well developed but those on your right are normal. That means you are left handed.”

“Wait a minute; my muscle development could be caused by anything. Perhaps it was weight training.”

“No, it’s not a function of weight training because if it was, both arms would be developed proportionately. The specific part of your arm where your muscle has developed, points to a specific sport.”

“Ok, but why do you choose racquetball and not tennis?”

“Simple. Your facial tan is very slight and more consistent with a person who spends most of his time inside rather than outside. If your sport of choice were tennis, you would most likely be playing it outside since Sarasota has no indoor courts, in which case the relentless rays of the Florida sun would have insured that your tan would be much deeper. The extreme level of development of your left arm indicates you play your sport frequently. Sarasota does have indoor racquetball courts—ergo, that’s what you play—and you are also quite good at it.”

The last one was a total guess on Fred’s part but he felt sure that Atwell’s massive ego would not allow him to continue the sport if he could not win consistently.

Atwell had not asked him how Fred knew he was not married. It was simply an educated guess on Fred’s part. Fred guessed, with Atwell’s ego, no one could possibly stand him for an extended period. Atwell’s silence on the subject confirmed that Fred had guessed right. Atwell’s reluctance to ask Fred how he had determined his matrimonial status revealed that it was an area which Atwell was uncomfortable with and didn’t want to discuss further.

Atwell was impressed, but only in comparison with most people he had associated with during his lifetime. Atwell had superior forces well beyond what this lieutenant could imagine, and he had not even begun to display them. He decided he would give this inferior a taste of what he was really capable of.

“Let me show you something, Lieutenant. Just give me a second.”

Atwell left the room and returned almost immediately with Miss Moore following behind him.

He said, “I share of the same talents that Miss Moore possesses, but mine are still under development. Within three months I will surpass her in her own field. However, when we act synergistically in the experiment you are about to see, the composite results, I assure you, will be amazing to a layman such as yourself.”

Fred listened, increasingly irritated by the massive ego this little man possessed.
 

Atwell continued, “Now, Lieutenant, I would like you to think of some person in a location somewhat distant from here. Miss Moore, please start to read his mind.”

Fred didn’t really want to play any more mind games; but some strong force seemed to be pulling him into it, and he was much too tired to resist.

“Okay,” he conceded. This time he thought of Maureen. Miss Moore studied him intently; Atwell was looking down and seemed to be focusing on the conference table. He seemed to be no longer aware of his environment; he no longer even seemed to realize that Fred was in the room. Fred expected the first words to come from Miss Moore; but all of a sudden Atwell started speaking.
 

“I see a woman, Maureen is her name, she is your wife, she sits in some strange sort of small room with a cloth all around the interior—no, it appears to be a padding of some type. She is sitting in an oak chair next to what appears to be a painted plywood desk. She is crying and wondering why you have placed her here.”

For the second time in less than ten minutes Fred was thunderstruck at what he was hearing. He wanted to believe that it was some sort of cheap carnival trick, but he knew better. He found it strange that Atwell used the word “here” instead of “there.” Fred assumed it was because, as Atwell was submerged in remote viewing, he mentally became part of the environment he was now viewing.

“Now,” Atwell continued,” I am looking outside the room and I see a uniformed man stationed next to a metal door. He has a small black beard and his hair is thinning; he is about forty years of age. I can hear noise, unrelenting screams almost sounding like torture. Now I am moving past the guard into a corridor painted a bright white. I am now leaving the building and moving down the stone steps. To my left is a large hemlock tree. In front of me is a long cement driveway which leads to an iron gate.”

Fred said, “That’s enough! I get the idea.”

Atwell seemed very content with himself. Miss Moore was obviously upset. “I have to leave,” she said, and bolted out of the conference room.

Fred was torn between continuing the interrogation of Atwell, or leaving the room and driving directly to the hospital where Maureen was being held.

It was obvious that Atwell had enjoyed exposing the vulnerability in Fred’s life; it was simply another form of his ego and cruelty at work, as well as a crystal clear demonstration of a superior talent.

Fred decided Atwell could wait. At any rate he suddenly was experiencing another penetrating headache. The pain seemed to have developed at the exact time that Atwell had entered the conference room, and it was growing worse by the minute. He took off for the sanitarium to see Maureen. Atwell had won this battle.

As Fred quickly departed, Atwell smiled maliciously, and thought, I knew I would force him to leave. I was tired of the boring interview anyway. As he returned to his desk, he thought, another inferior conquered.

Chapter 52

Maureen’s face lit up as Fred entered her room. She rushed to his side, embracing him tightly.
 

“Hard day?” he asked.

“Yes, but it was okay,” she lied.

“Maureen, I know you don’t like to be here. But are you thinking I’ve deserted you?”

“No, not really.”

“Maureen, don’t lie to me.”

“Well, I guess a little bit. I’m getting stir crazy, and each day I hope you’ll capture the damn killer soon so that I can go home with you.”

“Have you been crying?”

“Yes, does it show?”

“No, I just guessed as much.” Damn, he thought, Atwell is for real!

“I’m sorry Fred, but I can’t take this place much longer.”

“Three more days, I promise, and then you’ll be home again.”

“You will have caught Ford by then?”

“I hope so, I really do.”

Maureen spent the next few minutes in Fred’s arms. For an instant in suspended time she blissfully did not hear the constant cries from those patients caged near her. Nor did she smell the ugly aroma from years of bowel and bladder accidents that permeated the floors and walls, or the heavy chlorine scent attendants used ineffectively to cover them up. She was temporarily in a safe place next to Fred, and she never wanted to leave it.

Fred, however, could not mentally escape from the horror of the institution. And with each new horrid sound emanating around him he felt more and more sympathy for Maureen. He had no idea if he would catch Ford in the next three days; but regardless he could not keep her here, no matter how much safer her life would be in this heavily guarded institution. Sometimes, he thought, quality of life supersedes safety; and this is one of those times.

After what seemed only moments holding Maureen, he left her “room.” He gazed at the clock in the sanitarium’s foyer. Two hours had passed since he first entered this dreadful place. Fred started back to the station with a steady stream of tears blurring his vision as he drove.

* * *

Jim was going over some papers on his desk when he noticed Fred enter the station. He walked into Fred’s office, eagerly asking, “Well, how did your interviews at Schultz’s company go?”

“I didn’t get too far; I was diverted with some mental games played on me.”

“Really; are they for real over there?”

“You better believe it. I have never seen anything so spooky in my entire life. I’m not at all convinced that they are doing anything at all to further national security; but that’s not my purpose in being there.

“Jim, I’m starting to believe nothing in these cases is a coincidence, but I can’t determine what the glue is that holds it all together. Atwell has all the ingredients to be involved, including a gigantic ego, a phenomenal mind and immeasurable talent. He certainly could be a connection, although all my bets still remain on Ford at this stage. I want you to conduct a thorough background check on Mr. Atwell. I need to know everything about him before I talk to him again. He may not be guilty of anything other than being an egoist, but I have to know that.”

Jim said, “Sure, happy to do it, I’ll get started right away.”

“In the interim,” said Fred, “I’ll go back and conduct some more interviews first thing in the morning. But I certainly will avoid Mr. Atwell in the process.”

* * *

Fred entered AU just five minutes after the doors had opened. Donna Lang gave him a warm hello. This was the end of the five day work week for the AU employees; and Fred wanted to finish as many interviews as he could before the weekend. He had again brought with him a series of different artist renditions of what Ford would look like with different disguises, including one with different colored wigs and mustaches.

Fred indicated that he wanted to speak to the head of the Science Division. Donna said, “That’s Mr. Dodd, sure, he’s in. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

Fred looked down; Donna was working on Friday’s New York Times crossword puzzle. “How’s it coming?” He could see that about three-fourths had been completed.

“Oh, all these puzzles are a bit too much for me; but my boyfriend told me they would increase my intelligence if I worked on them enough. Unfortunately, I have to constantly look up the answers and fill in the blanks. About all I usually have is blanks, thank God for the answer pages,” she laughed.

Fred noticed that she was a very attractive woman and she became even more attractive when she released a rare unguarded smile. She picked up the phone and told Mr. Dodd that Fred wanted to see him.

Fred placed his folder on the edge of her desk as he waited.

He had already decided that the personnel in the Science Division had no known reason to kill the two division heads. They could not, under Schultz’s inflexible rules, be promoted to the vacated positions of the murdered division heads. Unless there were other hidden reasons that he had not yet uncovered, they were not suspects. Nevertheless, speaking to the head of the Science Division might shed some additional light on what was happening in the other divisions; and the head of that division would be a good objective source to provide it.

Donna had just finished her call when the folder Fred had placed on her desk toppled over to the floor. The drawings of Ford fell out of the folder. Donna bent over to pick them up and said, “What do you do, collect posters from the most wanted list in the post office?”

Fred laughed, “No I don’t, but it might be a good idea, one never knows when and where we might find one of these guys.”

Donna smiled and started to put the drawing back into the folder. When she saw the drawing of Ford in a blonde wig and mustache, she paused.” Interesting,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, just that it seems to me I’ve seen this man. I believe the guy I saw looked like him but I don’t recall him having blonde hair or a mustache when I saw him, but I can’t really be sure.”

“Really, you believe you saw him around here?” Do you recall if he gave his name as Ford?”

“I don’t believe so, but I seem to remember that he came in to see, oh I can’t recall who; I have such a terrible memory. My boyfriend says it’s because I drink too much coffee, and I don’t th—”

“—Wait a minute,” Fred interrupted her ramblings. “Are you positive you saw this guy?”

“I’m pretty sure, but I don’t believe he gave the name Ford when he came in. I don’t have a record of him because he didn’t have an appointment and I told him we don’t do business like that. Mr. Schultz doesn’t allow just anyone to come in, because they could be a salesman and—”

“—Yes, Yes,” Fred interrupted her non-sequitur ramblings again. “But who did he want to see?”

“Well, I’m not sure now; but he said whoever it was that he wanted to talk to would definitely want to talk to him as well!”

“Miss Lang, this is very important. Please try to remember.”

“Look, Lieutenant, why don’t you have your meeting with Mr. Dodd and I’ll try to remember in the meantime. Who knows, when you are through I may be able to remember—if I don’t have another cup of coffee in the meantime.” She laughed and turned away.