One Good Man by Alison Kent Page A

grandfatherly, his approach that of a natural storyteller, setting her at ease.
    “Have you been hypnotized on any other occasion, Jamie?”
    “No,” she answered, shaking her head.
    “Have you ever seen anyone be hypnotized?”
    She laughed softly. “Only on TV and in movies.”
    Captain Greenley laughed, too. “Believe it or not, those demonstrations are actually responsible for the perceptions, and misconceptions, most people have of hypnosis.”
    Jamie assumed he was going to explain, but prompted him anyway with a curious “Such as?”
    “While under hypnosis, you won’t be asleep or unconscious. You won’t divulge secrets, and you won’t be compelled to tell the truth.” He clicked his ballpoint again. “Hypnosis is not sodium pentothal.”
    “You mean it’s not truth serum,” Jamie said, pulling her legs comfortably into the seat of the big chair.
    “Exactly. You won’t get stuck in your hypnotized state, and unless you’re already of a mind to do so, you can’t be made to do anything foolish.”
    “Like flap my wings and cluck?”
    Again, he nodded, smiling. “In a Vegas show, maybe, but not here.”
    “The real deal,” she said, and wondered what Kell was thinking, if he was grinning in that way he had of making her insides quiver.
    “Yes, it is,” he said, clicked his pen one more time and jotted down a note. “You also need to know that you may remember additional information about the Sonora Nites Diner murders, but you may not. You will, however, remember everything about the session once I bring you out of hypnosis.”
    She nodded her understanding, relieved to know no one would think her a failure if her memory didn’t return, not so relieved to know she’d remember everything after the fact. Over the years, she’d found solace in her amnesia. She’d hate to lose that tiny comfort even though she knew it was time.
    “Now, Jamie. I want you to close your eyes, relax and picture your kitchen at home. Think about it for as long as you need to, then describe to me the visualization.”
    “O…kay. “Well, looking into the kitchen from the living room, there’s an exit to the right that leads into the hallway, and the refrigerator sits on the other side of that. There’s a small strip of countertop, it’s a light oak butcher block, between the fridge and the stove, then another larger section that runs into the corner. On the next wall is a window that looks out over the driveway. The sink and dishwasher are there, then the back door.
    “The table butts up against the third wall. It can seat four people if pulled out, but I usually eat alone, so I don’t bother.” She stopped herself from mentioning that she’d eaten there last night with Kell. Even thinking about that right now was too much. “Against the last wall, the one with the door into the living room, is a desk with drawers and shelves. It’s where I pay bills and keep cookbooks, stuff like that. The walls are a buttery yellow, the floor white tile, the cabinets the same light oak as the countertops.” She opened her eyes, met Greenley’s gaze and shrugged. “I guess that’s it.”
    “Good. Very good.” The captain nodded. “While you’re under hypnosis and I ask you to describe a scene the way it looks in your mind’s eye, that’s what I want. A detailed visual account of what you see. Understand?”
    “Yes. I understand,” she said, exhaling deeply as he handed her a form to read through and sign, giving her voluntary consent to participate in the session for the sole purpose of aiding in the criminal investigation.
    That done, Captain Greenley went over what she assumed was a standard cover-your-ass checklist, determining that she was not under the treatment of a psychologist or psychiatrist, suffering from any serious physical ailments, taking any stimulants or sedatives without her physician’s consent, or subject to any phobias.
    The last one made her laugh, but she answered no, and assured him