“They hurt me there."
“Who, Bill?” No answer. “Who hurts you in your privates?"
“They do."
“Who hurts you in your privates, Bill?"
“Ma and Pa hurt us there."
“Ma and Pa hurt who there?"
“Yes.” The jaw fell slack.
“Ma and Pa hurt us there."
“Yes."
“Hurt Bill and ... who else?"
“Hurt Bill and Joe."
“How do they hurt you there?"
“No.” His face was contorted as he spoke. Words slurred.
“If you tell me how Ma and Pa hurt you I can make you feel better."
“Better."
“Yes. Much better. Now tell how Ma and Pa hurt you and Joe in your privates."
“No. Can't tell.” He was starting to move.
“Just relax, Bill."
“Relax."
“How do they hurt Bill and Joe?” Ukie shook his head violently. Mandel stayed with it a little longer but he seemed to be losing Ukie so he got him comfortable, relaxed, quieted down, and said, “Bill, you're a big boy now. All grown up. You feel much better."
Ukie smiled a heavy-lidded smile and nodded, “Yes."
“You feel so much better now."
“Yes."
“Bill, you like the doctor, because you know I'm your friend."
“Friend."
“Bill, I'm here to make you feel better."
“Yes. Better."
“Tell the doctor how you feel.. Are you sick?"
“Siiiiiiiiigh,” it sounded like he said.
"Are ... you ... sick?"
“Mmmmmmmm.” Not a word, more of a moan.
“Tell the doctor, Bill, are ... you ... sick?"
“Nnnn."
"ARE YOU SICK?” Mandel shouting so loudly it scared Eichord.
“Mmm,” grunted out, Ukie's head slumped over. Jaw slack.
“Bill. Talk to me, Bill.” Still in a very loud voice.
“Nnnnnn.” He seemed to be saying no.
“This is a crucial point,” Mandel said to Eichord as he continued to get only minimal and monosyllabic noises from Hackabee. “You have to take the subject just to that point where he can still function and keep him out there on the edge of the razor. When you're dealing with a new drug like this, and someone like Ukie, you have a lot of variables at work. Now he starts to come around a little and I bring him back but of course that's the meat and taters that you just saw.” His voice was loud and persistent as it came from the speaker system, “Tell me, Bill."
“Yeah,” more like a response this time.
“Bill—I'm here to make you feel good."
“Yes. Good."
“Are you sick, Bill?"
“Nnnnnn."
“Tell the doctor. Are you sick now, Bill? You're all grown up now. How do you feel now?” No answer.
“Are ... you ... sick?"
“Sometimes."
“What does sick mean, Bill?"
“Don't feel good."
“When you don't feel good, where do you hurt, Bill?"
“Head. Head hurts."
“Why does your head hurt?"
“Hurts real bad."
“Why does your head hurt, Bill?” Nothing. “You're all grown up, Ukie. Ukie is a man, now."
“Fine.” So the brothers had come from a background of child molestation.
“Ukie, how do you feel?"
“Fine?"
“Are you sick?"
“Yes."
Eichord had been riveted to his chair by the admission of Ukie's.
“Ukie, tell the doctor why you're sick."
“Angioneurotic edema, anaphylaxis, anaphylactoid purpura, treponema pertenue, renal impairment, intestinal amebiasis, systemic lipus erythematosus, chlamydia trachomatis, pericarditis, endocervical—"
“Ukie, tell the doctor where you saw those words."
“Words. On a paper thing."
“Do you like to memorize words?"
“Yes. ‘Member words."
Eichord sat motionless.
“Do you hurt in your head, Ukie?"
“Yes, bad there. Hurt bad."
Jack was still nailed by the admission.
“How do you hurt in your head, Ukie?"
“Comes inside to do things."
Jack almost regarded anything else he'd hear as anticlimactic now. This was hard, clinical evidence. Inadmissible or not, it was sufficient.
“No,” slurring the word, his face a contortion of terror. There was no faking this. Ukie Hackabee was scared shitless.
“Tell me about the thing, Ukie—” And Mandel hung in there for a while but it was taking its toll on Ukie, who appeared to have clammed up for good. By the time the doctor brought the session to an end Hackabee's face was streaked with tears. He appeared to be a genuinely tormented man.
“Jesus.” Eichord felt the cold stab of fear.
“Want me to go back and play the part where he says that about Ma and Pa hurting them?"
“No, thanks. I've seen everything I need for now."
“As soon as he's rested I'm going to take him under again and ask him about the killings. I'll wager he'll say he didn't do them."
“Any chance he could be faking the responses?"
“Almost none. The drug is extremely powerful. When he was regressing, the little boy who had been hurt in his Privates—you're getting the truth as he remembers it. There's an almost nonexistent chance that he could have been preprogrammed to respond in a certain way but the odds would be greatly against it. This is an experimental drug that has been used on so-called brainwashed prisoners and what little evidence is in indicates it's a breakthrough deal. I think we can put stock in the tape."
“The conclusions being that Ukie and his twin were abused or molested children.” It had hit Jack so hard he had to force himself to get up and move.
“Right."
“Okay.” He felt like a crushingly heavy weight had just been placed on him, and he knew then, as he moved into action, how much danger Noel Collier was in.
“If Ukie's thoughts are open to his brother,” he asked the doctor, who was following him as he walked quickly toward the squad room, “I wonder how much danger he's in."
“Ukie you mean?"
“Yeah."
“I don't know."
“If he can take Ukie on this neural thing, can he pick his brain? Can he ask him about what he's told you? Will he have a way to probe and find out about the narcoanalysis session?"
“We have to assume he already knows. Yes."
“Can he force Ukie onto the neural pathway anytime he wants?"
“Who knows? It seems that he can."
“Could he force him to commit suicide?"
“Huh uh. I don't think so. I don't think he can force so much as emphasize and suggest. He can put ideas in Ukie's head the same way posthypnotic suggestion operates. He can underscore. Reinforce something that Ukie already thinks or something where he may be vulnerable or highly susceptible or easily influenced. I have trouble buying the mind-over-matter aspect. I just don't know. You can't rule anything out here, We're dealing with a unique and brand-new situation virtually without precedent,” he said as they went in the room and Eichord headed for his telephone.
Jack started to dial then stopped for a second and looked at Mandel and said, “Thing I don't get is the MO. A genius IQ. A man from a horror-filled background of molestation that somehow turned him into a mass murderer. The possibility of a birth disorder of some kind such as ... One suggestion was anoxia. Something goes wrong and creates a kind of conscienceless monster. His rage can be slaked only by taking lives. He hates his twin, whom he's always been able to influence, so he goes through disguises and all that rigmarole to create an airtight, elaborate frame that puts the abduction, rape, and conning of Donna Scannapieco into motion. But his next actions ... That's where I get fuzzy."
“How so?"
“He calls US, putting HIMSELF in the picture. Why the hell do that? He could have stayed in Houston. Gone to Cleveland on vacation. You name it. Why insert yourself into the thing when you KNOW you'd become a number-one suspect because of your tie to the primary suspect in custody, Ukie?"