The second reason was that after the supreme court ruling, the Sheriff’s Department stopped training detectives in the use of hypnosis. Consequently, the more than fifteen years since the ruling had seen the natural attrition of the detectives who had the skill. There was no one left in the department who could hypnotize Noone, meaning that they would have to go to an outside hypnotherapist. That would further complicate things and cost money.

When McCaleb had told Winston that he had used hypnotism on bureau cases for more than ten years and would be willing to do it, she had brightened on the suggestion even more. A few hours later she’d had the session approved and set up.

McCaleb arrived at the homicide bureau at the Sheriff’s Star Center a half hour early. He told Lockridge that he would be a while and encouraged him to go get dinner.

His fever had been trimmed to less than a half a point during an afternoon nap. He felt rested and ready. He was excited by the prospect of digging a solid lead out of the mind of James Noone and accomplishing something that would drive the case forward.

Jaye Winston met him at the front counter and escorted him to the captain’s office, talking quickly all the way.

“I posted a wanted on Bolotov. Had a car go by his apartment but he was already gone. He’s split. You obviously hit a nerve.”

“Yeah, maybe when I called him a murderer.”

“I’m still not convinced but it’s the best thing we’ve got going at the moment. Typically, Arrango is not happy about what you did. I have to admit, I didn’t say we talked about this beforehand. He thinks you were cowboying.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t care what he thinks.”

“Are you worried about Bolotov? You said he has your address.”

“No. He has the marina but not the boat. It’s a big place.”

She opened the door and allowed McCaleb to enter first. There were three men and a woman waiting in the cramped office. McCaleb recognized Arrango and Walters from the LAPD. Winston introduced him to Captain Al Hitchens and the woman, an artist named Donna de Groot. She would be available if needed to work up a composite drawing of the suspect, provided that Noone didn’t identify Bolotov outright.

“I’m glad you’re early,” Hitchens said. “Mr. Noone is already here. Maybe we can get this going.”

McCaleb nodded and looked at the others in the room. Arrango had the smirk of a nonbeliever on his face. A toothpick protruded a half inch from his tight lips.

“This is too many people,” McCaleb said. “Too much distraction. I need to get this guy relaxed. That won’t happen with an audience like this.”

“We’re not all going in,” Hitchens said. “I’d like you and Jaye to be in the room. You bring Donna in at the appropriate time. We’re going to videotape it and we have a monitor set up right here. The rest of us will watch from here. That okay with you?”

He pointed to a monitor on a cart in the corner. McCaleb looked at the screen and saw a man sitting at a table with his arms folded in front of him. It was Noone. Even though he was wearing a baseball hat, McCaleb recognized the man from the crime scene and ATM tapes.

“That’s fine.”

McCaleb looked at Winston.

“Did you make up a six-pack with Bolotov?”

“Yes. It’s on my desk. We’ll show it to him first, in case we get lucky. If he makes the ID there will be no hypnosis, so we can save him for court.”

McCaleb nodded.

“Woulda been real nice,” Arrango began, “if we had shown Noone the pictures before the bird was flushed.”

He looked at McCaleb. McCaleb thought of a response but decided to keep it to himself.

“Anything in particular you want me to ask him?” he asked instead.

Arrango looked at his partner and winked.

“Yeah, get us the license plate off that getaway vehicle. That’d be nice.”

He smiled brilliantly, the toothpick jutting upward from his lower lip. McCaleb smiled back.

“It’s been done before. The victim of a rapist once gave me a complete description of a tattoo on her attacker’s arm. Before hypnosis she hadn’t even remembered the tattoo.”

“Good, then do it again. Get us a plate. Get us a tattoo. Your pal Bolotov has enough of ’em.”

There had been a clear challenge in his voice. Arrango seemed to insist on putting everything on a personal level, as if McCaleb’s desire to bring a multiple killer in was in some way a show of disrespect to him. It was ludicrous but McCaleb had challenged him simply by entering the case.

“Okay, guys,” Hitchens said, cutting it off and trying to diffuse tensions. “We’re just taking a shot at this, that’s all. It’s worth the shot. Maybe we get something, maybe we don’t.”

“Meantime, we lose the guy in court,” Arrango said.

“What court?” McCaleb said. “You’re not going anywhere near court with what you guys have got. This is your last chance, Arrango. I’m your last chance.”

Arrango swiftly stood up. Not to challenge McCaleb physically but to underline his next words.

“Lookit, asshole, I don’t need some washed-out fed to tell me how to-”

“Okay, okay, that’s it,” Hitchens said, standing up also. “We’re gonna do this thing and do it right now. Jaye, why don’t you take Terry into the interview room and get started. The rest of us will wait here.”

Winston guided McCaleb out the door. He looked back over his shoulder at Arrango, whose face had turned dark with anger. Past him McCaleb noticed a quizzical smile on Donna de Groot’s face. She had apparently enjoyed the testosterone show.

As they walked through the squad room and past rows of empty desks, McCaleb shook his head with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he said. “I can’t believe I let him draw me into that.”

“It’s okay. Guy’s an asshole. It was going to happen sooner or later.”

After stopping by Winston’s desk to pick up the file containing the photo lineup, they went down a hallway and Winston stopped outside a closed door. She put her hand on the knob but looked back at McCaleb before turning it.

“Okay, any particular way you want to do this?”

“The main thing is that it works best if only I do the talking once the session begins and I communicate verbally only with him. That way he won’t get confused about who I am talking to. So if you and I need to communicate, we can either write notes or point to the door and we can come out here.”

“Fine. Are you all right? You look like shit.”

“I’m fine.”

She opened the door and James Noone looked up from table.

“Mr. Noone, this is Terry McCaleb, the hypnotism expert I told you about,” Winston said. “He used to work for the FBI. He’s going to see if he can’t work with you on this.”

McCaleb smiled and reached a hand across the table. They shook.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Noone. This shouldn’t take long and it should be a relaxing experience. Do you mind if I call you James?”

“No, James is fine.”

McCaleb looked around the room and at the table and chairs. The chairs were standard government issue, with a half inch of foam padding on the seats. He looked at Winston.

“Jaye, you think we can get a more comfortable chair for James? Something with arms maybe? Like the one Captain Hitchens was sitting in.”

“Sure. Hang on a minute.”

“Oh, also, I’m going to need a pair of scissors.”

Winston looked at him quizzically but left without a word. McCaleb took an appraising look around the room. There was an overhead bank of fluorescent lights in the ceiling. No other lighting. The glare from the overheads was magnified by the mirrored window on the left wall. He knew the video camera was set up on the other side of the glass, so he needed to keep Noone in a position facing it.

“Let’s see,” he said to Noone. “I need to get up on the table to get at those lights.”

“No problem.”

Using a chair as a stepladder, McCaleb climbed onto the table and reached up to the light panel. He moved slowly, trying to avoid another bout of vertigo. He opened the panel and began removing the long light tubes, handing them down to Noone and engaging him in small talk, hoping to make the witness feel comfortable with him.