‘She was only at the Tor for a few months, towards the end, a couple of years before Hazzard died. But what she told me was still pretty incredible. I don’t think Liza ever recovered from her experience either. She came away traumatized. And even as an old woman she was still terrified of them finding her. Which they did, in her head, if you know what I mean.’
Seb swallowed. ‘How so?’
‘She said they would visit her occasionally as she was falling asleep, to let her know that they were still watching her. Crazy. But in reality they left her with nothing but a failed second marriage, estranged children, bankruptcy, terrible night terrors and bad health. She was my main motivation for writing the book, and I dedicated it to her.’
‘Do you think that something might have happened there?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That it wasn’t just a scam. You know, maybe there was some validity to what Hazzard claimed?’
Fry laughed. ‘You’re pulling my leg! It was a scam. The whole thing was a Hazzard cash cow, make no mistake. He was totally unethical and unscrupulous if it served the interests of the society, which of course were his interests. He was the sole beneficiary financially. There was some kind of complicated pyramid scheme going on through subscriptions and exorbitant fees.
‘According to Liza, people suffering from prolonged illnesses always produced the best results, in combination with fasting. How convenient. Hazzard’s subjects were often ill, or even terminally ill, and desperate. But they were always well-off. I don’t think it’s unlikely that he hastened a few ends either with his unconventional treatments, but that’s speculation on my part.’
Seb was almost lost for words, but not quite. ‘It’s incredible that he got away with it for as long as he did.’
‘Liza reckoned he’d basically imprisoned and terrorized some of the more infirm and elderly members too, who were paying him huge fees to live there. And if anyone caused trouble or challenged him there, they were kicked out. No refunds. But Hazzard was clever enough to choose his patrons and patients carefully. He vetted them for their suitability for manipulation, coercion, and intimidation if it became necessary, before he signed them up. But nothing ever got physical. He left no bruises that you could see. The damage was deeper, from psychological bullying. He got them hooked, Patty Hearst syndrome, gaslighting, the works. He even got Prudence to change her will and leave Hunter’s Tor to him when she died. She passed in the seventies and that pile on Dartmoor was still legally Hazzard’s when he followed her.’
‘Dartmoor? It’s on Dartmoor?’
‘Sure is.’
‘But . . . do you . . . ? I mean, did Liza think that she could actually leave her body? That there was some basis of truth to what Hazzard claimed?’
Fry laughed again. ‘Let’s just say that there was no doubt in Liza’s mind that the experience was real. And the other two I interviewed thought the same thing. They were all convinced because they’d all done it, repeatedly. Projected.’
‘But you aren’t buying it?’
‘That? All fantasy. Isolation, the creation of an environment and atmosphere, sublimation to his ideas, the selection of susceptible people. Just add hallucinogens, fasting and mantras and you can make people believe anything. He must have been pretty convincing at his peak too. But it was all in their heads.
‘My book never set out to prove that there was anything valid in Hazzard’s claims. What I was interested in was the theory and why people believed in it. What they think they experienced, that sort of thing. The culture in isolation, the esoteric parts of it, were pretty interesting. I just wish I’d written the book earlier when more of the SPR were alive and might have spoken up. By the time I pitched in, the anecdotal evidence was really thin. Which is why your files have me intrigued. They’re real, not fake?’
‘Letterheaded. I think you of all people will find them convincing.’
‘How many do you have?’
‘About three hundred.’
‘You are shitting me.’
‘No. They’re called case studies. They go up to the early seventies. Hazzard is mentioned in a few of them too, but only ever in capitals, as if he was a god.’
‘I would love, just love, to get my hands on these.’
‘Mark, where exactly is Hunter’s Tor Hall on Dartmoor?’
‘Off the A38 somewhere, about halfway to Plymouth. It’s quite isolated. I stayed in Totnes and drove to it from there.’
When Seb had recovered sufficiently from the impact of the revelation of just how close Hunter’s Tor was to his home, he couldn’t resist manoeuvring himself nearer to making his own confession. ‘Mark, I think they are still going.’
‘The SPR? No chance.’
‘I don’t think they ever stopped.’
‘Not possible. They’ve been gone over thirty years. Unless someone is using their name, revived it or something. Though I don’t know why anyone would.’
‘This is what I intend to find out.’
‘I went there, to the Hall.’