frowned deeply. At the expressions on the faces of the two men, Jonathan slapped his hand impatiently on the table. 'I'm not saying that that girl is guilty. I am saying that she knew more than she told; probably knew more than she was aware of knowing. Look at the pictures of her on the witness stand. Her face is an absolute blank. Read the testimony. For God's sake, man, read the trial testimony. That girl was out of it. Her lawyer may have upset her conviction on a technicality, but that doesn't mean that he didn't let that district attorney crucify her. That entire set-up stank, and you're trying to re-enact it here.'
'I'm trying to get away from your theories . . . and that's all they are . . . and perform my job, which is to recover those children - dead or alive - and find out who abducted them.' Jed was clearly out of patience. 'In one breath you tell me she's too sick to be questioned and in the next one that she knows more than she ever let on. Look, Jonathan, you said yourself that writing a book about questionable verdicts is a hobby for you. But those lives aren't hobbies with me, and I'm not here to help you play chess with the law.'
'Hold on.' Lendon put a restraining hand on the Chiefs arm. 'Mr Knowles . . . Jonathan . . . you believe that whatever knowledge Nancy has of the death of her first family may help us find the Eldredge children.'
'Exactly. But the problem is to extract that knowledge, not drive it deeper into her subconscious. Dr Miles, you are considered an expert in the use of sodium atnytal in psychiatry, are you not?'
'Yes, I am.'
'Is it possible you might be able to have Nancy reveal not only what she knows of this morning's events - which I suspect will be nothing - but also information about the past that she doesn't even know she has herself?'
'It's possible.'
"Then unless she can tell us something tangible about Michael and Missy's whereabouts, I beg you to try.'
When Dorothy was readmitted to the house an hour later, the family room and kitchen were deserted except for Bernie Miles, the policeman charged with answering the phones. 'They're all in there,' he said, jerking his head towards the front parlour. 'Something pretty queer going on.'
Dorothy hurried down the hall, but stopped at the doorway of the room. The greeting she was about to utter died on her lips as she took in the scene before her.
Nancy was lying on the couch, a pillow under a head, a quilt tucked around her. A stranger who looked like a doctor was sitting beside her, speaking softly. Nancy's eyes were closed. An anguished-looking Ray and grim-faced Jonathan were side by side on the love seat. Jed Coffin was sitting at a table behind the couch, holding a microphone pointed towards Nancy.
As Dorothy realized what was happening, she sank into a chair, not bothering to take off her coat. Numbly she slipped her chilled fingers into the deep side pockets, unconsciously gripping the scrap of damp, fuzzy wool that she felt in the right-hand pocket.
'How do you feel, Nancy? Are you comfortable?' Lendon's voice was tranquil.
'I'm afraid . . .'
'Why?'
'The children . . . the children . . .'
'Nancy. Let's talk about this morning. Did you sleep well last night? When you woke up did you feel rested?'
Nancy's voice was reflective. 'I dreamed. I dreamed a lot . . .'
'What did you dream about?'
'Peter and Lisa . . . They'd be so grown up ... They're dead seven years ..." She began to sob. Then, as Jonathan's iron grip held Ray back, she cried, 'How could I have killed them? They were my children! How could I have killed them . . .?'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Before Dorothy had met John Kragopoulos at the office, she had tried to camouflage her red-rimmed eyes with a dusting of powder. She'd tried to convince herself that after all, showing the Hunt place would be an outlet, an action that could be concentrated on for a little while and keep her mind from its endless squirreling for clues to the children's whereabouts. What
'I'm trying to get away from your theories . . . and that's all they are . . . and perform my job, which is to recover those children - dead or alive - and find out who abducted them.' Jed was clearly out of patience. 'In one breath you tell me she's too sick to be questioned and in the next one that she knows more than she ever let on. Look, Jonathan, you said yourself that writing a book about questionable verdicts is a hobby for you. But those lives aren't hobbies with me, and I'm not here to help you play chess with the law.'
'Hold on.' Lendon put a restraining hand on the Chiefs arm. 'Mr Knowles . . . Jonathan . . . you believe that whatever knowledge Nancy has of the death of her first family may help us find the Eldredge children.'
'Exactly. But the problem is to extract that knowledge, not drive it deeper into her subconscious. Dr Miles, you are considered an expert in the use of sodium atnytal in psychiatry, are you not?'
'Yes, I am.'
'Is it possible you might be able to have Nancy reveal not only what she knows of this morning's events - which I suspect will be nothing - but also information about the past that she doesn't even know she has herself?'
'It's possible.'
"Then unless she can tell us something tangible about Michael and Missy's whereabouts, I beg you to try.'
When Dorothy was readmitted to the house an hour later, the family room and kitchen were deserted except for Bernie Miles, the policeman charged with answering the phones. 'They're all in there,' he said, jerking his head towards the front parlour. 'Something pretty queer going on.'
Dorothy hurried down the hall, but stopped at the doorway of the room. The greeting she was about to utter died on her lips as she took in the scene before her.
Nancy was lying on the couch, a pillow under a head, a quilt tucked around her. A stranger who looked like a doctor was sitting beside her, speaking softly. Nancy's eyes were closed. An anguished-looking Ray and grim-faced Jonathan were side by side on the love seat. Jed Coffin was sitting at a table behind the couch, holding a microphone pointed towards Nancy.
As Dorothy realized what was happening, she sank into a chair, not bothering to take off her coat. Numbly she slipped her chilled fingers into the deep side pockets, unconsciously gripping the scrap of damp, fuzzy wool that she felt in the right-hand pocket.
'How do you feel, Nancy? Are you comfortable?' Lendon's voice was tranquil.
'I'm afraid . . .'
'Why?'
'The children . . . the children . . .'
'Nancy. Let's talk about this morning. Did you sleep well last night? When you woke up did you feel rested?'
Nancy's voice was reflective. 'I dreamed. I dreamed a lot . . .'
'What did you dream about?'
'Peter and Lisa . . . They'd be so grown up ... They're dead seven years ..." She began to sob. Then, as Jonathan's iron grip held Ray back, she cried, 'How could I have killed them? They were my children! How could I have killed them . . .?'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Before Dorothy had met John Kragopoulos at the office, she had tried to camouflage her red-rimmed eyes with a dusting of powder. She'd tried to convince herself that after all, showing the Hunt place would be an outlet, an action that could be concentrated on for a little while and keep her mind from its endless squirreling for clues to the children's whereabouts. What
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