Bronx Justice (23 page)

Jaywalker looked at Darren, who certainly did seem disoriented. Jaywalker froze. Spraigue had said he preferred hypnosis to truth serum because it was safer, and now
this.
All Jaywalker could imagine was an emergency trip to Bellevue, lights flashing, sirens wailing. Darren stuck in a permanent trance, brain damage, coma…

But if Delroid was alarmed, Darren disoriented and Jaywalker panicked, Spraigue never flinched. Calmly, he began to question Darren, whose responses quickly made it clear that he knew nothing of any rape charges, trial or verdict. Nor did he have any idea why he was in a strange doctor's office. He recognized Jaywalker, but only as his lawyer from two years earlier, after he'd gotten into some trouble with a couple of friends. Asked the date, he said
August 1979, and admitted being stumped as to why he was wearing a heavy leather jacket in the middle of summer.

Even as Jaywalker's panic increased, Spraigue understood the problem. Instead of waking up in the present, Darren had somehow misheard or misunderstood Spraigue's commands and had woken up back in August. So Spraigue put him back into the trance, brought him forward to the present and woke him again. This time Darren was familiar with his surroundings and aware of what everyone was doing there. Jaywalker breathed deeply and caught Delroid doing the same. If Herbert Spraigue had had a scary moment of his own, he never once showed it.

And Jaywalker was more of a believer than ever.

Outside, in the cold April air, Darren asked what had happened. Jaywalker explained that Dr. Spraigue had hypnotized him and wanted to do it again Wednesday. Darren reacted with disbelief, insisting there was no way he'd been hypnotized. Jaywalker smiled and assured him that he had been. But Darren still wasn't buying it.

“Who was your fourth-grade teacher?” Jaywalker asked him.

Darren thought a moment. “I d-d-don't know,” he said.

“How about Miss Curio?”

It was as though his lawyer had just developed X-ray vision and could suddenly read his mind better than Darren himself could.
“Wow!”
was all he could say, though he did manage to say it several times. Delroid, who'd also been one of Miss Curio's victims, was equally impressed. Converts all, they made arrangements to meet again at Spraigue's office on Wednesday.

Later that afternoon, Jaywalker called Jacob Pope. He described what had happened and invited him to attend Wednesday's session. Pope expressed interest and said he would try to be there. Jaywalker told him that he was planning on tape-recording it, so Pope would be able to listen to it if he couldn't make it. Pope said that was a good idea, but that he would be there in person if possible.

 

Waiting for Wednesday became increasingly difficult. For the first time since the jury had crushed them with its verdict, Jaywalker dared to be hopeful. As skeptical as he'd originally been about the notion of truth serum and hypnosis, he'd walked out of Dr. Spraigue's office completely won over. If that strange-looking man with the deep voice had been able to take Darren back to the time he was a year old, surely he could take him back to last August. In fact, hadn't he already done precisely that, if only by accident?

This was going to work, Jaywalker told himself. They were going to discover something, someone Darren had seen at or near his home around the time one of the rapes was taking place in Castle Hill. And if Darren had seen someone, it meant that person had seen Darren. Perhaps Darren was going to remember someone he'd spoken to on the phone, some neighbor who'd stopped by, or some repairman who'd been working in the building. Because all of it had to be there in his memory, just beyond his reach. Like Miss Curio's name, it was all waiting to be unlocked by Herbert Spraigue's magic. So what if Jaywalker wasn't going to be the one to find it? All that mattered was that
someone
was going to. And if that someone turned out to be a baldheaded shrink with an otherwordly voice, who cared? This was going to work.

It had to.

 

Wednesday came.

Pope didn't.

Darren, Delroid and Jaywalker met at Dr. Spraigue's office at 6:30 in the evening. Delroid took his spot in the waiting room as Darren and Jaywalker went inside for the session. Jaywalker set up his tape recorder, an old reel-to-reel contraption that weighed about fifty pounds and these days would belong in an attic, or perhaps a museum. He pressed the red button that said Record, took a seat and waited for the magic to begin.

Spraigue arranged Darren and himself in the same facing leather chairs as at the earlier session. He began speaking in his practiced, deliberate monotone. He told Darren what he wanted to do this time. He asked Darren if he was agreeable, and Darren said he was. Again Spraigue had Darren place his arms on those of the chair, look upward and close his eyes. It wasn't long before Darren was back in the same trance state he'd been in two days earlier.

Spraigue set up a slightly different test to measure the trance this time. Jaywalker had the feeling the doctor might be showing off for his benefit, but he didn't care. Spraigue told Darren that once he awoke, he would be unable to cross his legs until the word
ankle
was spoken aloud. Then he brought Darren out of the trance, and instructed him to relax and cross his legs. Darren struggled visibly, but was unable to do it.

“Just put one leg over the other,” Spraigue suggested.

Nothing happened.

“Put the right foot over the left one.”

Nothing.

“Put the left foot over the right one.”

Still nothing.

“Try putting the right ankle over the left—”

Darren crossed his legs.

Satisfied, Spraigue put Darren back into the trance. He took him back again to his tenth birthday, woke him and interviewed him. Once again, Darren the ten-year-old materialized before their eyes.

“Now,” said Spraigue, “you're growing up. You're getting older. You're twelve years old. You're fourteen years old. You're eighteen years old. You're getting older. You're now coming to a specific day. You're coming up to August sixteenth, nineteen-seventy-nine. It's a Thursday. It's noontime on Thursday, August sixteenth, nineteen-seventy-nine. It's between noon and twelve-thirty, actually. In a short time, I'm going to touch the sides of your eyes, and when I do, you'll be able to open your eyes and tell me what you're doing. Ready…”

Spraigue touched his hands to the outer sides of Darren's eyes. Darren opened them slowly, as though awakening from sleep. He rubbed his face. Jaywalker looked down at his tape recorder, where the reels were moving slowly.

“Hi,” said Spraigue.

“Hi,” said Darren sleepily.

“What's going on?”

Darren looked around uncertainly.

“What's the date today?” Spraigue asked him.

Jaywalker held his breath while Darren appeared to think for a moment. Then he answered, “August sixteenth.”

“What time is it?”

“Twelve-thirty.”

“What year is it?”

“Nineteen-seventy-nine.”

Jaywalker resumed breathing. It was working. Not even Dr. Spraigue had been sure it would. But it was.

“What were you doing?” Spraigue asked Darren.

“I dunno. Sleeping.”

“Sleeping? At twelve-thirty in the afternoon?”

“I w-w-worked last night.” Darren yawned.

“Where did you work?”

“Post office.”

Jaywalker got Spraigue's attention, and the doctor invited him to join in the questioning.

“Where are you now?” Jaywalker asked.

But Darren had nodded off.

“Even though you're asleep,” said Spraigue, “you'll be able to answer our questions. Where are you now, Darren?”

“Home.”

“Who's here with you?”

“N-n-nobody.”

“What's the address here?”

Darren recited his address.

“Where's your wife?”

“She's at work.”

“Darren,” Jaywalker asked, “where'd you go when you got off from work this morning?”

“I stopped at the store. Food City.”

“What did you buy? Do you remember?”

“B-b-bought some milk,” said Darren. “We had no milk.”

“And then where'd you go?” Jaywalker asked.

“Home.”

“What did you do when you got home?”

“I watched a little TV.”

“Do you remember what you watched?”

“Andy Griffith.”

“What was it about?” Jaywalker asked.

“Barney was helping Andy look for crooks. And Gomer was helping them. They let the crooks escape outta jail, and Andy came and had to put 'em back in…”

“What else did you watch this morning?”

“Lucy.”

“Do you remember what that was about?”

“No,” said Darren. “I was d-d-d-dozing off.”

Jaywalker signaled Spraigue to move on to the time of the second rape.

“All right,” said Spraigue. “The time is passing now. It's getting to one o'clock. It's one-thirty. It's still Thursday, August sixteenth, nineteen-seventy-nine. Now it's quarter to two on Thursday afternoon. In a while, I'm going to touch the sides of your eyes, and you'll be able to open your eyes and talk with us. Ready…”

Darren responded as before. They found him sleeping again, only this time he was a bit agitated, expressing concern that he had to call Charlene at work.

“Where are you?” Jaywalker asked.

“Home.”

“Do you know what date it is?”

“August sixteenth.”

“What year?”

“Nineteen-seventy-nine.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“'Bout two o'clock.”

“Darren, did you see anybody on your way home this morning? Anybody you know?”

“Yeah. The porter from my building.”

“What's his name?”

“I don't know him by name. Just ‘Hello' and ‘Goodbye.'”

“Did anything unusual happen between you and him today?”

“No.”

“Did you see anybody else?”

“I seen the lady next door. Elderly lady.”

“Did you speak with her?”

“I held the door for her.”

“Did she have packages?”

“No. She has trouble w-w-walking, so I open the door for her when I see her.”

“Anybody else? Did you see anybody else you know at all?”

“No.”

Shit,
thought Jaywalker, painfully aware that despite all the drama, nothing useful had been unearthed. He yielded to Spraigue.

“Listen, Darren,” he began. “There are a couple of women here who say that you had a little monkey business with them. Know anything about that?”

“What women?” Darren asked. He seemed genuinely confused.

“One's named Eleanor Cerami, and the other's Joanne Kenarden.”

“I don't know them,” said Darren.

“Well,” said Spraigue, “they seem to know you. They say you had a knife and you had sex with them.”

“No.” Darren shook his head from side to side. “That's not true.”

“They say it is.”

“No,” said Darren. It was more a matter-of-fact statement than a defensive denial. “When?” he asked.

“Just now,” said Spraigue. “Just this afternoon.”

“No,” Darren repeated. “Not me.”

“Where's your knife?” Spraigue asked suddenly.

“I don't have a knife.”

“Well,” Spraigue insisted, “you
had
a knife. And you held it against them, and you made them go down on you. Right?”

“No,” said Darren. “Not me.”

“Did you ever do anything like that? Hold a knife against someone and make her go down on you?”

“No.” Darren shook his head.

“Why should they be saying that about you?”

“I don't know,” said Darren. “Tell them to stop lying. I didn't do anything like that. I'm sleepy.”

Darren dozed off. Spraigue brought him forward to the following afternoon, August 17th, the day of the attack against Tania Maldonado. As he had before, he touched the sides of Darren's head, near his eyes. This time, when Darren opened them, he was fully awake.

“Hi,” said Spraigue.

“Hi.”

“Do you know what date it is today?”

“August seventeenth?”