Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [134]
“Maybe,” Lee said.
Anderson lunged eagerly across the room to have a look. In his haste, his foot caught the edge of the Persian carpet, and he tripped, falling forward.
“Hey—watch it! Don’t contaminate evi—” Butts yelled, but stopped in midsentence, staring at the edge of carpet where Anderson’s foot had caught. The corner of the rug had been pulled from the floor, exposing it. “Wait just a minute,” Butts said as the trooper got to his feet, leaning over to straighten the carpet.
“What is it?” asked Lee.
“I dunno, but there’s something funny about that floor,” Butts replied.
Lee looked at the section of the floor Anderson had just exposed. The smooth pattern of floorboard was interrupted by something at that spot. He walked over to inspect it more closely. There appeared to be a small round handle, the kind you could hook your thumb through to open—a hidden compartment. He looked at Butts, who smiled.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Lee said.
“What is it?” Anderson almost yelped. “Is something hidden down there?”
“The good doctor had somethin’ he didn’t want anyone else to see,” the detective said. He kneeled, his knees cracking like walnuts, and inserted a stubby thumb through the handle. There was a click, and the door slid smoothly open.
They all gazed down at the opening. It was a small recessed compartment underneath the floorboards, about a yard square on all sides, and a couple of feet deep. It contained a video camera, a stack of tapes, and a VCR.
“Bingo,” Butts said softly.
Lee had a cold, hollow feeling in his stomach. What other secrets did the eccentric Martin Perkins keep hidden from the world—including his sister?
Butts lifted the tapes out carefully with his gloved hands. They were all neatly labeled, each with a different name on them. Two of the tapes were of particular interest: one of them said ANA, and the other CALEB.
“Well, whaddya waitin’ for?” Butts scolded Officer Anderson, who stood staring at their discovery. “Plug in the video recorder so we can see these damn things!”
“Which one should we start with?” Lee said when the machine was ready to go.
“I’m really curious about this Caleb character,” Butts said. “Why don’t we start with him?”
Anderson hit the play button, and they gathered around the machine like teenagers at their first porn film, with a combination of excitement and uneasiness.
The camera was focused on the couch in the corner of Perkins’s office. After a moment, a young man entered the frame and lay on the couch. Dr. Perkins was not in sight, but his voice came through the camera’s microphone.
“Are you comfortable?”
The young man nodded.
“Good,” said Perkins, and began to lead his patient through a series of imagery Lee recognized immediately as standard suggestions intended to induce hypnosis.
“He’s hypnotizing the kid!” Butts whispered, as if he didn’t want to disturb the other movie patrons around him. “Right, Doc?” he asked Lee.
“That’s right,” Lee said.
“Very well,” Perkins was saying, “go ahead, let yourself go—and when you’re ready, let Caleb come through.”
“Jesus,” Officer Anderson whispered. “This is weird.”
The young man twisted and fidgeted on the couch, his eyes still closed; then he became still. He appeared to be sleeping.
“Caleb?” Dr. Perkins said. “Are you there?” “I’m here,” the young man said in a firm, clear voice. His eyes were still closed.
“Do you know who I am?” Perkins asked. “You’re … my father.”
“Holy shit,” whispered Butts. “He’s got the kid involved in this whole past-lives crap.”
“Are you a good son?” Perkins asked.
“Yes, father.”
“And what do good sons do?” “What their fathers tell them to do.” Perkins’s disembodied voice was calm, as if he had just asked the boy to pick up some groceries. “Do bad girls have to die?” “Yes, father.”
“And who has been a very bad girl?” “Ana has.”
“You mean your sister?”
“Yes, father.”
Butts hit the pause button.
“Holy crap!” he said, droplets of sweat gathering on his pockmarked face. “If Perkins