Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

you.”
    “All the time.” Catherine was smiling now. It was clear she liked Polochek and was comfortable with him. A good beginning.
    “Eventually, you do remember the actress’s name, don’t you?” he said.
    “Yes.”
    “And when is that likely to happen?”
    “When I stop trying so hard. When I relax and think about something else. Or when I’m lying in bed about to fall asleep.”
    “Exactly. It’s when you relax, when your mind stops desperately clawing at that filing cabinet drawer. That’s when, magically, the drawer opens and the file pops out. Does this make the concept of hypnosis seem more plausible?”
    She nodded.
    “Well, that’s what we’re going to do. Help you relax. Allow you to reach into that filing cabinet.”
    “I’m not sure I can relax enough.”
    “Is it the room? The chair?”
    “The chair is fine. It’s …” She looked uneasily at the video camera. “The audience.”
    “Detectives Moore and Rizzoli will leave the room. And as for the camera, it’s just an object. A piece of machinery. Think of it that way.”
    “I suppose …”
    “You have other concerns?”
    There was a pause. She said, softly: “I’m afraid.”
    “Of me?”
    “No. Of the memory. Reliving it.”
    “I would never make you do that. Detective Moore told me it was a traumatic experience, and we’re not going to make you relive it. We’ll approach it a different way. So fear won’t block out the memories.”
    “And how do I know they’ll be real memories? Not something I made up?”
    Polochek paused. “It’s a concern, that your memories may no longer be pure. A lot of time has passed. We’ll just have to work with what’s there. I should tell you now that I myself know very little about your case. I try not to know too much, to avoid the danger of influencing your recall. All I’ve been told is that the event was two years ago, that it involved an attack against you, and that the drug Rohypnol was in your system. Other than that, I’m in the dark. So whatever memories come out are yours. I’m only here to help you open that filing cabinet.”
    She sighed. “I guess I’m ready.”
    Polochek looked at the two detectives.
    Moore nodded; then he and Rizzoli stepped out of the room.
    From the other side of the window, they watched as Polochek took out a pen and a pad of paper and placed them on the table beside him. He asked a few more questions. What she did for relaxation. Whether there was a special place, a special memory, that she found particularly peaceful.
    “In the summertime, when I was growing up,” she said, “I used to visit my grandparents in New Hampshire. They had a cabin on a lake.”
    “Describe it for me. In detail.”
    “It was very quiet. Small. With a big porch facing the water. There were wild raspberry bushes next to the house. I used to pick the berries. And on the path leading down to the dock, my grandmother planted daylilies.”
    “So you remember berries. Flowers.”
    “Yes. And the water. I love the water. I used to sunbathe on the dock.”
    “That’s good to know.” He scribbled notes on the pad, put down the pen again. “All right. Now let’s start by taking three deep breaths. Let each one out slowly. That’s it. Now close your eyes and just concentrate on my voice.”
    Moore watched as Catherine’s eyelids slowly closed. “Start recording,” he said to Rizzoli.
    She pressed the video Record button, and the tape began to spin.
    In the next room, Polochek guided Catherine toward complete relaxation, instructing her to focus first on her toes, the tension flowing away. Now her feet were going limp as the sense of relaxation slowly spread up her calves.
    “You really believe this shit?” said Rizzoli.
    “I’ve seen it work.”
    “Well, maybe it does. Because it’s putting me to sleep.”
    He looked at Rizzoli, who stood with arms crossed, her lower lip stuck out in stubborn skepticism. “Just watch,” he said.
    “When does she begin to levitate?”
    Polochek had guided the focus of relaxation to higher and higher muscles of Catherine’s body, moving up her thighs, her back, her shoulders. Her arms now hung limp at her sides. Her face was smooth, unworried. The rhythm of her breathing had slowed, deepened.
    “Now we are going to visualize a place you love,” said Polochek. “Your grandparents’ cottage, on the lake. I want you to see yourself standing on that big porch. Looking out toward the water. It’s a warm day, and