“The hell it doesn’t. How do shrinks help folks quit smoking, lose weight or whatever other nasty they’re trying to kick? They hypnotize them.”
Micki flipped on the cherry light mounted to her dash. “The power of suggestion, partner. Instead of helping Vanderlund, Chablis, and Schaefer overcome their feelings of anger or jealousy, she fed their feelings. She put them under. Maybe she planted some sort of trigger? Something that made them…just snap?”
“I like this,” Carmine said. “She would know their hot buttons. The thing that always set them off.”
“In Schaefer’s case, there’s no doubt what hers was.”
“It’s good to be a queen.”
“Exactly.”
“We don’t even know if she practiced hypnotherapy on Vanderlund or Chablis.”
“Oh, she did. I’m certain of it. That’s why she lied when we interviewed her. Her first screw up.”
Angelo agreed. “She lied for the same reason every other guilty-as-sin perp does: to hide the truth.”
Micki tightened her fingers on the steering wheel, weaving in and around the traffic that refused to yield. “If we get confirmation from Vanderlund and Chablis that she treated them using hypnosis, we bring it to the Major. See if he’ll agree to a search warrant request.”
“Agreed.” He grabbed the door handle as she made a sudden swing left. “Why, Dare? Why would a respected shrink do this? Chance blowing it all?”
She thought of what Pam had told her. That Blackwood had enjoyed firing her. That she’d seen it in her eyes.
Micki glanced at him. “Just for the fun of it?”
“Which would make her one scary, evil bitch.”
“Actually, partner, that’d make her a sociopath.”
***
Both Vanderlund and Chablis had bonded out. Interestingly, Bitty Vanderlund’s bail had been set at five million dollars, Chablis’ at five-hundred thousand. Micki wondered at the judges reasoning. Both suspects had committed murder, both crimes had been excessively violent. Was the difference in the bonds due to a perceived value of the victims? Or the perpetrators?
Justice in New Orleans, a snapshot of justice in America.
They decided to try Bitty Vanderlund first. Her husband refused to let them in.
“She couldn’t answer any questions even if I did allow you to speak with her,” he said. “She was in such a state, our physician prescribed anti-anxiety medication. At least she can sleep now.”
Micki wondered if he could. It looked as if he’d aged ten years since the last time she’d seen him. And he was angry. She saw the accusation in his eyes. As if, despite his wife’s full confession, despite the physical evidence against her, he believed her innocent.
She did, too. But couldn’t share that with him, for obvious reasons. Micki handed him her card. “Have her attorney contact me. It’s just two questions.”
He stared at the card a moment, then looked back up at her. “The questions, what are they?”
Micki hesitated, glanced at Angelo, who nodded. “Her therapeutic work with Renee Blackwood, did it include hypnotherapy?”
His eyebrows drew together. “Why?”
“It’s just a question.”
“No. Not that I know of, anyway.”
“It did, Daddy.”
They looked up. Tori Vanderlund descending the staircase. Looking, ironically, like a queen.
“Dr. Blackwood suggested they try it. But after a couple sessions, called it off.”
“Why, do you know?”
“Said it wasn’t effective. Mom was disappointed.”
“Thank you, Ms. Vanderlund.” Micki heard the quiver of excitement in her own voice and worked to suppress it. “Last question. Do you know, was there anything Vivianne Stanley used to say to your mother that made her crazy?”
Tori had joined her father at the door. They looked at each other and simultaneously shook their heads.
“One specific thing,” Tori said. “I can’t think of one. Dad?”
“Me either.”
After asking them both to call her if they thought of something, she and Angelo went in search of Cherry Chablis.
The address of record led them to a small French Quarter apartment. The name on the unit’s intercom was Chandler—Chablis’ legal name.
Micki rang the bell. Chablis answered. “Cherry, it’s Detectives Dare and Angelo.”
“Go away.”
“We just have two quick questions.”
“Not without my lawyer.”
He hung up. Micki rang again. “I want to help you,” she said when he answered. “Just two questions.”
He didn’t hang up; but he didn’t speak. Moments ticked by to the sound of his breathing.
“Hear me out,” she said. “If you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to.”
After another prolonged silence, he sighed. “Okay. Ask but I probably won’t answer.”
“Is there something Desiree used to say to you that always set you off?”
“What?”
“Something she constantly said that pissed you off, changed your mood?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“What was it, Cherry?”