Page 186 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Slow Burn

“But, but—he is selling the thing outright. No fraud.”
“Duncan, you were completely sucked in by that game. I had to
pull you out by your nervous system. Why do you suppose Quentin is
in contact with an academic psychologist? He has incorporated two
very dangerous elements in that program, and it should not be
allowed on the market. Not to children, and probably not at all.”
“Why?”
“First, he uses a visual and aural rhythm developed for the
Harvard Hypnotic Susceptibility Test. A certain percentage of the
population will respond to that pattern by going into trance—during
which their minds will be extremely suggestible. That sets up the
second dishonest technique: subliminal messaging. I could see
something flashing across the screen, too fast to read consciously and
too easily lost in the general fluctuation of images. But I have no
doubt it went something like, ‘Go out and buy ‘Crazy Quilt’ versions
2 through 5.’”
“Is that so? I was thinking of doing just that.”
Labelle turned down a side street I recognized as a short cut to
police headquarters. The preliminary questioning was over. Now the
real work would begin.

<< 8 >>

A week passed. Captain Nimeau began to wonder aloud why Lt.
Gramercy was spending so much time on a closed case. The quints’
fingerprints were nowhere in evidence at the murder scene, not very
surprising news. I had beaten the bushes trying to crack any—or
all—of the Carbone brothers’ alibis, without any luck.
Quantrill’s delivery business records checked out; no doubt one or
two of his customers would be ordering their quiche elsewhere after
my inquiries, but I couldn’t help it. Mrs. Flowers had no reason to
protect him other than keeping her part-time job.
The clerk at Jack’s Grab It knew Quarles well, and proved to be
the possessor of a photographic memory. The soccer game score was
as he had claimed when Quarles passed through, and we were able to
verify the time from a videotape of the game. I’m still not a soccer
fan, however.

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