100 Malicious Little Mysteries

The Best Place by A. F. Oreshnik

Dr. Jason Whitney saw the two federal agents enter the crowded restaurant. Their rumpled suits and stubble-covered cheeks betrayed the fact that they had been too busy to think of appearances for some time. They moved wearily toward him along the line of booths against the wall, looking for an empty one. When they reached the booth where the young doctor was sitting alone, he spoke to the agent he recognized, a deceptively soft-looking man in his forties.

“Hello, Tom. Have a seat.” He indicated the place opposite him with a sweep of his hand. “There probably aren’t any empty booths at this hour. A lot of people stop here for breakfast on their way to work.”

Tom Campbell slid heavily into the booth and was followed by his look-alike companion. “I’d like you to meet my partner, Joe Moffet, Dr... Dr...” Campbell snapped his fingers, trying to dislodge the name from his memory.

“Whitney. Jason Whitney,” the doctor offered with a smile, not the least offended at not being remembered.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Campbell acknowledged with a nod as Joe Moffet and the young doctor clasped hands briefly.

“You men look like you’ve had a hard night,” the doctor said.

“You can say that again,” Campbell answered. “We haven’t been out of our clothes in two days. Just brought a man back from Spain.”

“Extradition?”

Campbell gave a wry smile. “You could call it that. Our man was staying in Andorra, that little postage-stamp country on the border between Spain and France. They’d have let him stay there until his money ran out, which would’ve taken a couple of thousand years or so. We have no treaty with them.”

“So what happened?”

“The usual. We pretended we’d lost interest in him and waited for him to get careless. When he made the mistake of taking a walk too close to the Spanish border, we were ready. Next thing he knew, Joe and I each had one of his arms and were marching him past the Spanish customhouse. We tossed him into a car and rushed him to a plane we had waiting at one of our bases. The Spanish authorities pretended they didn’t see a thing.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble and expense over just one man,” Dr. Whitney said.

“It was Henry Hammond.” Campbell had a touch of pride in his tone.

A waitress came to take their breakfast orders. As soon as she was gone, the doctor repeated the name. “Henry Hammond... It does sound a bit familiar. Should I know the name?”

“He’s the big-shot financier who jumped bail and skipped the country a couple of years ago. He’d built himself an empire, using phony balance sheets and illegal manipulations. He got away with just about every nickel from his companies’ treasuries.”

“Oh, yes, now I remember. It made quite a splash in the papers at the time. What did you do with him?”

“Dropped him off at your place ten minutes ago,” Campbell said.

The second agent, Joe Moffet, had been sitting quietly, but now he twisted his face into a puzzled expression and said, “Huh?”

Campbell turned to him. “The doctor is in charge of the infirmary at the Federal House of Detention on West Street,” he explained. “He’ll probably be giving our friend a physical examination today.”

“I check all new prisoners,” Dr. Whitney agreed.

The waitress returned with their orders. They didn’t say much until they had settled back to enjoy their coffee. Then the conversation returned to Henry Hammond.

“Do you think he’ll return the money he stole?” the doctor asked.

“That’s something you’ll have to ask Hammond. We couldn’t get a word out of him all the way across the Atlantic. He probably has it safely stashed away in a couple of dozen Swiss banks. One thing’s sure — no one will ever see it again unless he wants them to.”

“I wonder what makes a man decide to be a criminal?” the doctor mused.

Campbell shrugged. “Who knows? People don’t always do the things you’d expect, or fit into patterns the way you think they should. Take yourself, for instance. What’s a bright young guy like you doing in the Public Health Service? There’s no military draft anymore, so you didn’t choose it as an alternative service the way doctors and dentists have in the past. I’ll bet you could have had your pick of the private hospitals.”

“Yes, I probably could have, but I’m happy where I am. I think it’s the best place for me. If I didn’t, I’d go somewhere else or do something else. That’s the way you feel about your job, isn’t it, Tom? That active police work is the best occupation for you?”

“You certainly have Tom figured out,” Joe Moffet said. “And you put it into words better than he does, too. He’s turned down two promotions in the last year. He could have a comfortable desk job in D.C., but he prefers to transport fugitives. Everyone thinks he’s crazy, but he says he’s happy where he is.”

They exchanged small talk for a few more minutes, then left the restaurant together. They paused to say good-bye on the sidewalk outside, and Tom Campbell’s face clouded with confusion and embarrassment. “I’m terribly sorry. Doctor, but I — uh — I’ve forgotten your name again.”

Jason Whitney smiled. “That’s all right. You’d be surprised how many people have trouble remembering me. The next time you’re at the House of Detention stop by my office to say hello. I always have a pot of coffee on the hot plate.” He turned to the other agent. “That goes for you, too, Mr. Moffet. Stop in any time. It’s been nice meeting you.”

Jason Whitney waited until ten that morning before having Henry Hammond called to the infirmary. He chose that time because the morning sick call had been taken care of by then, and his assistants were enjoying a coffee break.

“Good morning, Mr. Hammond. I’m Dr. Whitney, the Chief Medical Officer here. I’m in charge of the health and physical well-being of you and the other prisoners. It’s my job to examine each new arrival and determine whether or not he’ll require treatment of any kind.”

Hammond nodded his understanding. He had dark circles under his eyes and stood nervously in the doorway of the infirmary. He clenched and unclenched his right fist in an uneven rhythm, and his eyes swept back and forth, taking in all the cabinets and equipment. It was obvious his sudden arrest and transportation to the United States had been a severe shock.

“Step this way, please,” Whitney said, leading the way to a side room.

Here there were bare white walls and the only furniture was an examination table for the patient. There was nothing that might prove distracting.

“Lie down, please. I’m going to take your blood pressure. I’m sure you’ve had it done before.”

The doctor wrapped the instrument around Hammond’s arm, and squeezed the bulb to pump air into it.

“Be as quiet as you can. I want the lowest reading possible. Relax as much as you can and try not to think of anything in particular.”

Whitney busied himself with the instrument.

“Your reading is a bit high, Mr. Hammond. I think you’re a little too tense. I you don’t mind, I’ll show you how to relax. Just close your eyes. That’s right, close your eyes and relax the eyelids. I think you can get the feeling of complete relaxation if you’ll follow my suggestions. Relax your eyelids completely. Now turn your attention to your arms. Let them become completely limp. Think of them as a pair of limp rags and when I lift them let them fall back to the table just as a couple of limp rags would. That’s very good. Now we’ll do the same with your legs. See, you’re much more relaxed and at ease now.

“I’ll just take your blood pressure again and see how well you’ve done. Oh, that’s very good. That’s very, very good. You’re far more relaxed than before. Let’s try it again, Mr. Hammond, and this time keep your eyes closed all the while. That will aid the relaxation process.

“Okay, now, relax your eyes. Now your arms. Let them become as limp as rags. Now your legs. Relax them. Just relax your whole body. Let your whole body go limp. Let your whole body become heavy. Get completely comfortable. Now, if you are truly relaxed, you will find that your eyelids won’t open. Relax your eyelids and body completely. When you feel you’re completely relaxed you may try to open your eyes. If you are completely relaxed, they won’t open. If you cannot open your eyes, you will be completely relaxed. That’s fine. Now try to open your eyes. See — you cannot open them. You are completely, deeply relaxed and you cannot open your eyes. Your arms and legs are heavy and limp and you cannot lift or move them.”

As quickly and easily as that, without once using the words sleep or hypnosis. Dr. Jason Whitney placed Henry Hammond into a deep trance.

In the next half hour he deepened the trance still further, then extracted from Hammond the code numbers and balances of ten secret bank accounts. Immediately before allowing the man to wake up, he directed Hammond to forget forever that the secret accounts had ever existed. “And you will never be able to remember my name,” he told him.

That reminded Whitney of Agent Tom Campbell. When he had hypnotized Campbell a year before and instructed the man to keep him informed about criminals with hidden money, he had neglected to order him always to come to the restaurant alone. He would have to rectify that oversight at the first opportunity.

As Hammond left the infirmary to return to his cell. Dr. Whitney watched him walk away and felt a wave of satisfaction. Thiswas the best place for him. He didn’t have to work the long hours a hospital might have demanded, and he was collecting far, far more money in a single year than his professional hypnotist parents had earned in their lifetimes.