Stallings chewed some more, swallowed and said, “About ten years older than I am, which places him right on senility’s front stoop.”
“And you also say the sheriffs investigators weren’t as much interested in what Mr. Cleveland said as they were in how much he’d been drinking?”
“The guy’s a pacer, Artie. I’d guess he didn’t drink much more the night he saw Ione Gamble’s car twice, if he did, than he would any other night.”
“His memory’s unimpaired, then?”
“I didn’t say that. He admits he can’t exactly remember his one line to Vivien Leigh in Gone With the Wind. But he told me to an inch how high this house is and to a penny what it cost him to sue Rice because of it.”
Durant had been standing at the huge window, staring at the lights of Santa Monica. He turned, dropped a chicken bone into an empty KFC bucket and said, “Maybe you didn’t take Ione Gamble back far enough, Artie.”
“Maybe I didn’t,” Wu said.
“But maybe the Goodisons did,” said Georgia Blue, who again was seated on the long couch with Stallings, a bucket of chicken between them.
Wu looked at her, smiled slightly and said, “Is there more, Georgia?”
She first patted her mouth with a paper napkin, then said, “Pure speculation.”
Wu sighed. “Pure or impure, let’s have it.”
“Okay. Ione Gamble told you she didn’t let the Goodisons hypnotize her, right?”
Wu nodded.
“Did you find it difficult to put her into a deep trance?”
“No.”
“Let’s say the Goodisons are as adept as you are.”
“Let’s say they’re more so.”
“Then can we assume the Goodisons might’ve hypnotized Gamble during their second session with her—the one where nobody else was present—without her realizing or remembering it?”
Wu only nodded.
“And while in a deep trance could she have told them about her two trips to Rice’s house—providing, of course, there really were two trips?”
“Let’s pretend there were,” Durant said.
Georgia Blue agreed with a nod. “All right. On her first trip, she’s already smashed. She shoots Rice after an argument, goes home, drinks some more and passes out. When she wakes up, she’s suffering from a blackout and remembers nothing—except that she’s still mad as hell at Billy Rice.” Georgia Blue looked at Wu again. “Is that possible?”
“Barely.”
“Then it’s also barely possible that Gamble gets so mad at Rice all over again that she drives back out here, shoots the Chagall instead of Rice, finds him dead, but still doesn’t remember shooting him earlier.
She dials 911, blacks out for the last time and wakes up remembering nothing.”
“You’re guessing that the Goodisons, at their second session with her,” Durant said, “got every word down on tape, right?”
Georgia Blue nodded. “Maybe even on videotape.”
Durant turned to Wu. “Well?”
Artie Wu examined the high living room ceiling for a long moment.
“Ione’s extraordinarily easy to hypnotize. As for them taping it—” He broke off, brought his gaze down and looked at Durant. “But you weren’t talking about that, were you?”
“No,” Durant said. “Because if they did hypnotize her, they damn well taped her.”
“If we assume they did tape her,” Georgia Blue said, “then we’d better assume the Goodisons are going for blackmail.”
“Blackmail’s just their first bite,” Overby said. “They’ll probably send her a copy of the part of the tape where she doesn’t talk about anything but shooting the painting and finding Rice dead. That’s the tease. Then they’ll send her the part where she tells how she blew Rice away. Okay, it’s not admissible evidence. But it could sure get the cops busy. So she agrees to pay and the Goodisons take her for every last dime including her house.”
“But they don’t stop there, do they, Otherguy?” Durant said.
“Course not. All blackmailers are greed freaks. They never know when to quit because it’s all so easy, so . . . effortless. Once the Goodisons squeeze Gamble dry, they’ll try and peddle a copy of their tape to one of the supermarket tabloids. And if they’ve also got her down on videotape, like Georgia says—you know, with a camcorder—
they can try and peddle that to one of the sleazoid TV shows and millions can watch a hypnotized Ione Gamble tell how she shot and killed her billionaire novio last New Year’s Eve. By then, the Goodisons oughta be medium rich.”
“That how you’d work it, Otherguy?” Durant asked.
