Nick Stone - Mr. Clarinet

He had to go on, finish it.

"With the adopted kids: What happened if something went wrong, say they tried to escape or tried to tell someone what's happening?"

"They're conditioned not to. Their new owners are supplied with serum, which keeps them in a"-she broke off and searched for the word, smiling when she'd landed on it-"'cooperative' state. We also have people on hand to help. If anything goes wrong, the owner calls a number and we take care of it."

"Like a maintenance service for a-a washing machine."

"Yes." She smiled condescendingly. "A 'maintenance' service, as you put it. It covers everything from reorienting a child-that means hypnotizing them again-to, if the matter is serious, removing him or her from circulation."

"You mean killing them?"

"That has been necessary, yes." She nodded. "But seldom."

"What about when these kids get older, d'you kill 'em too?"

"That has sometimes been necessary also," Eloise agreed. "But seldom. Usually they grow up and move on. Sometimes they stay with their owner."

"Like you did?"

"Yes."

"What about if I was a client with special desires? Say I wanted an Asian kid."

"That can easily be arranged. We have branches all over the world. We'd just fly one in for you."

Max switched back to Charlie.

"What about a handicapped child?"

"It hasn't been done before, not that I know of. But there are no limits, no extremes, no places we won't go-but that has never been requested," she said.

Max gave Paul a quick look and shook his head. They didn't have Charlie. They didn't take him.

"Who kidnapped Charlie Carver?" he asked her.

"No one. He is dead. I'm sure of it, Maurice is sure of it. He spoke to a lot of witnesses who were there when the mob attacked the car. They all said they saw the boy being trampled and kicked around on the ground by people running at Eddie Faustin."

"What about his body?" Max turned back to Eloise.

"He was a three-year-old child. Easy to miss."

"But wouldn't the mob have left it behind?"

"Why? A mother or father could have taken his clothes for their own child."

Paul breathed deep through his nostrils. Although his face was rigid and emotionless, Max heard the hurt echo deep within him in the way the air passed into his lungs with staccato rhythms. Paul believed her. His son was dead.

Max studied Eloise to see if she'd heard or noticed anything, but she was keeping her eyes down, worrying the edges of her handkerchief.

Max couldn't be sure Charlie was dead. Something screamed at him that it wasn't so.

What about Filius Dufour? What about Francesca's certainty that he was still alive?

The voice of reason countered:

You believe an old fortune-teller and a grieving mother? Come on!

Max was almost done with Eloise.

"And how involved was Gustav Carver in the day-to-day running of this business?"

"Up until his stroke he was very involved in it. Like I said to you before, he is Tonton Clarinette."

"How?"

"He played his part in hypnotizing the children."

"How?"

"Did you find the CDs in the study?"

Max nodded.

"Did you listen to them?"

"Not yet. What'll I hear?"

"Do-re-mi-fa-sol-each individual note, played on a clarinet, with a short gap in between. On each CD an individual note is held longer. For example, on the blue one it's re, on the red one it's fa, and so on. They're codes," Eloise explained. "They get implanted into the children's minds when they're being hypnotized.

"There are six stages to our hypnosis process. The first three strip away what you know and the last three replace it with what we want you to know. For example: a lot of the children-say ninety percent of them-were off the streets. They didn't know anything about table manners, using a knife and fork. They ate like monkeys, with their hands. Under hypnosis, they'd be conditioned not to do that, to lose the association of consuming food with their fingers, to forget they ever ate food like that-to unlearn, if you will."

"But they could learn that anyway?" Max said.

"Of course. Most people learn through repetition, trial and error. But that's time-consuming," she explained.

"So their minds associated a certain behavioral pattern with a certain code? Like a reaction-like that dog that got taught to sit up and salivate whenever it heard a bell ringing-Pavlov's dog?"

"That's exactly it-conditioning," Eloise said.

"And let me guess: the perverts used the codes to keep the kids in line?"

"Yes." Eloise nodded. "The Clarinette codes induced Pavlovian reactions. The clients play a certain set of codes to get what they want out of their child. For example, if they want full sexual compliance, they play a disc where the codes run backwards. If they want the child to be on his or her best behavior in front of adult company, they'd play a disc where re is the dominant note. You get the picture?"

"In Technicolor," Max mumbled disgustedly. He looked at Paul and felt his gaze buried deep behind the shadows in his sockets. He sensed waves of rage coming off him. He turned back to Eloise. "You used that zombie potion too, didn't you?"

"How did you know?"

"Got it all on tape," Max said.

"Tape? Where did you find it?" She looked worried.

"It doesn't matter. Answer my questions: zombie juice-why was it used?"

"To keep the children docile and receptive to conditioning. It's easier to manipulate a stupefied mind. Clients are provided with bottles of the solution to use at home. It was part of the deal," she said.

Max shook his head and then rubbed his temples. He needed to stop-stop hearing this, stop being here.

"So you're telling me that's Gustav Carver on those CDs, right? Playing the clarinet?"

"He used to participate in the hypnosis. He'd sit and play his clarinet to condition the children. When you get to the headquarters in La Gonвve you'll find the video vault-there are plenty of tapes and photographs of him sitting in the middle of groups of children," Eloise said. "Maurice told me he once asked him why he participated, why he didn't just record the notes once. Monsieur Carver said it was the closest he came to having absolute power."

"When did he stop playing?"

"Sometime in the mideighties-because of his illness. He might have retired, but his myth didn't."

"Mister Clarinet-Ton-ton Clarinet?"

"Yes, like I keep saying, Tonton Clarinette is real. Tonton Clarinette is Monsieur Carver-Gustav Carver."

"But if it's all supposed to be a secret, how did the myth get out?"

"A few of the children escaped over the years," she said quietly. "Not from us, but from their masters. Three are still at large."

"Was one called Boris Gaspйsie?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I ask, you answer. What about the others?"

"Two girls-Lita Ravix and Noлlle Perrin."

Max wrote down the two names. He was done with her. He gave a long, hard look, searching those ratlike features for something close to regret or shame for what she'd done. There was nothing of the sort there. There never had been.

He nodded to Paul to indicate that he was through, then he got up and left the room.

MAX PACED AROUND in the street outside the house, his head churning with all the revelations.

He'd need to see all the evidence and, above all, confront Gustav Carver to be sure-even if he believed Eloise was telling the truth. She didn't have a lying way about her, because all the self-preservation instincts had been brutalized out of her. Liars tripped themselves up with inconsistencies and improbabilities, often in the smallest details, the loose threads that when tugged unraveled the whole tapestry. What Eloise had told him all fit, all flowed in one direction.