Power of Suggestion

  “A detective?” Janis echoed, a doubtful expression on her face. “I don’t know what to tell you. They say Parker killed Wayne, but that’s impossible, isn’t it? I mean, I know they had some arguments, but Parker’s so nice.”

  “What about Wayne?” Nancy asked.

  Janis smiled. “He was a really sweet guy. Half the girls on campus had crushes on him.”

  “Really?” Bess asked, arching a brow. “I thought people didn’t like him.”

  “He acted tough, and he was a hard grader, but that was just because he had high standards,” Janis said defensively. “He’d do anything to help if he thought a student was trying. And he was so good looking—but so mysterious!”

  “Mysterious?” Nancy asked, her ears perking up.

  Janis nodded. “He wouldn’t talk about where he came from or about his life before coming here. But he made it sound as if he’d had things tough.”

  Mmm, thought Nancy, maybe someone from his past had caught up with him. “What about your roommate,” Nancy asked. “How well did she know Wayne?”

  Janis’s friendly attitude suddenly vanished. It was as if a curtain had dropped between her and Nancy. “Diana? You’ll have to ask her,” Janis said coolly.

  Nancy and Bess exchanged a questioning glance. “Do you know where she is?” Bess asked.

  “I suppose she’s at class. I really couldn’t tell you.” She eyed them suspiciously. “How do I know you’re really a detective? You don’t look like one. Maybe you’re just a couple of morbid snoops! I think you should leave now.”

  Nancy could see that it would be useless to question Janis any further. As Nancy and Bess headed toward the door, Nancy said, “When you see Diana, could you please tell her we’d like to talk to her? We’re staying upstairs in Room two-twenty-seven. Or she can call Omega Chi and leave a message for me there.”

  Janis’s only response was a withering look.

  “Boy, she sure iced up all of a sudden,” Bess said once they’d left the room and were out in the hallway.

  Nancy frowned. “That’s for sure. It happened as soon as we brought up Diana DeMarco. I wish we could talk to Diana, but since we can’t, I’ll settle for Professor Edberg. Maybe he can shed more light on Parker’s problems with Wayne.”

  Seeing a pay phone, Nancy used it to call the psychology department for the professor’s schedule. “He’s getting out of class in about five minutes,” she told Bess, hanging up. “Let’s go!”

  Nancy started for the door, but Bess held her back. “Wait—I just want to call the fraternity to see if Parker’s okay.” Bess got the number from information, then dialed.

  “Can I speak with Parker?” Bess asked. A moment later, Nancy saw her friend’s face pale. “What do you mean he’s not there? Where did he go?”

  “What is it, Bess? What’s wrong?” Nancy asked.

  In response, Bess handed her the phone. Nancy quickly pressed the receiver to her ear.

  “Hello? Bess?”

  Nancy recognized Howie Little’s deep voice. “Hi, Howie—it’s me, Nancy. What’s going on?”

  “I was telling Bess that Parker’s lawyer called with some bad news, and Parker ran out of here.”

  “What do you mean, bad news? How bad?”

  “Real bad. Apparently Edberg said some terrible things about him to the police, but that’s not the worst of it. The police traced the gun that killed Wayne,” Howie explained. “It was registered to Parker’s father!”

  Chapter

  Six

  NANCY COULD HARDLY believe her ears. Her mind was buzzing as she thanked Howie and hung up the phone. The gun was yet another clue that implicated Parker.

  “Nancy? What else did Howie say?”

  Nancy blinked, then realized that her friend was looking at her expectantly. When Nancy told her about the gun, Bess grabbed Nancy’s arm.

  “But that still doesn’t prove he killed Wayne! I’m sure he’s innocent!” Bess protested.

  “The gun could have been stolen by someone other than Parker,” Nancy said. Still, she had a feeling it wasn’t going to be easy to prove that to the police.

  “So what do we do now?” Bess asked.

  Nancy shrugged. “We keep following whatever leads we get. Let’s go talk to Dr. Edberg.”

  It was a sunny day, but the air was crisp and cold as they walked across campus to the psychology building. Nancy was glad that they’d worn jeans and warm sweaters under their down parkas.

  When they reached the three-story stone building, the girls consulted the directory. There were classrooms and labs on the first and second floors, and faculty offices on the third. Nancy and Bess climbed up the stairs to the third floor, arriving at the professor’s office just as he was returning from class. Nancy recognized Edberg from having seen him that morning. As he unlocked his office door, she and Bess intercepted him.

  “Professor Edberg, may we have a few moments of your time?” Nancy asked.

  Edberg turned to her with a smile. “Why certainly,” he answered. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. Are you in one of my classes?”

  Nancy thought quickly. He didn’t remember passing them on the courthouse steps that morning. That was good. He might be reluctant to talk with them if he knew the girls were friends of Parker. “No, we’re reporters from the student newspaper,” she lied.

  Edberg scowled. “I’m sorry, young lady, I’ve already given a statement to the press. Didn’t your editor tell you that?”

  Nancy didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, Professor. But it’s not the murder we want to ask you about. The editor-in-chief thought a background piece explaining your work might be helpful. But if it’s too much trouble . . .” She gave him a downcast look, then started to turn away.

  Edberg’s expression immediately softened. “No, no, certainly not. It’s always a pleasure to talk about my work. Please, come in.”

  The walls of his small, comfortable office were lined with bookshelves and filing cabinets. There was barely enough room for the professor’s desk and two wooden chairs. As the girls sat in the chairs he explained, “I’m afraid I’m on edge over this horrible business. Wayne Perkins was more than a student to me. He was a protégé—almost a son. I’ve taken his death quite hard. When I learned that one of my undergraduate students was to blame, well . . .” The professor sighed and leaned back in the desk chair.

  Nancy took a pen and notepad out of her purse and began to write. She wanted to make the reporter act convincing. “I understand Parker Wright was in a special study group?” she prodded.

  “Yes. He seemed like such a nice kid, although I knew he was troubled. You see, he was under a great deal of pressure from his parents, and he just couldn’t meet their expectations. But I never imagined he would crack so violently!

  “It’s so tragic,” the professor went on. “The police do seem certain they have their killer . . . although, of course, the investigation is continuing. I hear they’ve been interviewing people on campus all morning. I gave my statement earlier—they needed me to identify the body. Terrible . . .”

  Edberg had been looking off behind the girls, as though he were thinking out loud rather than addressing them. Now he refocused on Nancy and Bess, saying, “I’m sorry. I said I wouldn’t talk about the killing, and here I am doing just that.”

  If only she could keep him talking about it a little longer, Nancy thought. Then she said, “There’s a rumor going around campus. People are saying Parker Wright doesn’t remember anything about last night. How is that possible?”

  Edberg’s attention perked up. “That’s a good question, young lady. Actually, that’s not an uncommon response,” he said, his voice taking on a smooth, professional tone. He took an unlit pipe from his pocket and began to chew on its stem. “You see, his conscious mind can’t deal with what he’s done, so he’s blanked out all memory of the event. No doubt some time soon it will all come pouring back in a devastating rush.” He shook his head sadly. “It may well shatt
er the poor young fellow.”

  “I understand the study group was using subliminal suggestion tapes,” Bess spoke up. “Could that have anything to do with Parker’s memory loss?”

  “Absolutely not,” the professor replied. Then he wagged a finger at Bess and Nancy. “You’re skillful reporters, young ladies. You’ve cleverly turned me back to your original question. You’re interested in my work, right?”

  Nancy smiled back at him. “Bess and I want to know about your research and how the study group fit in.”

  Edberg leaned back in his chair. “The study group is a part of more extensive research, but it’s a very important part. You see, my work is based on the principle of subliminal persuasion. I believe that students—indeed, all people—succeed or fail according to their attitudes about themselves and what they are trying to accomplish. A positive attitude brings success; a negative one, failure. These attitudes are deep-seated, existing for the most part in the subconscious mind.”

  “So that people may not even be aware of them?” Bess put in.

  “Exactly,” Professor Edberg replied, beaming at her. “My theory—and that of other experimenters, I might add—is that the best way to deal with any negative attitudes is to attack them directly. Go straight to the subconscious, bypassing the conscious mind.”

  Bess leaned forward in her chair. “That’s so fascinating! How do you do it?”

  “I was coming to that.” Edberg smiled again. “You see, the students in the study group listen to taped music while reclining in a soothing environment. Beneath the sound of the music, so faint they cannot consciously hear them, are recorded messages, telling them how to change their negative attitudes about their ability to perform and how to study using methods that work.”

  “And that works?” Bess wondered.

  “So far we’ve had very exciting positive results. We’ve run different study groups every semester for the past two years with remarkable success,” Edberg answered.

  “Is the school running the project?” Nancy asked, looking up from the notes she’d been jotting down.

  The professor took the pipe from his mouth and tapped it on his desk. “Not exactly. The school is very pleased to have me working on this, but funds are tight. I’ve had to find an outside backer.”

  “Where does the money come from, if you don’t mind my asking?” Nancy asked.

  “Of course not.” The professor waved away her concern. “It’s a matter of public record. As you might suppose, there’s a lot of money to be made from selling subliminal tapes, and there are a number of companies around the country doing just that. There are tapes to help people stop smoking, to make them better parents, to teach them geography or learn languages—you name it.”

  Nancy nodded, encouraging him to continue.

  “The potential is really unlimited,” the professor went on. “Recently even the federal government has become interested. There are several agencies that would like to use taped study in training programs.” He held up a hand. “The government, however, wants scientific proof before it invests in such an approach to teaching. The first company that can offer that proof stands to make a great deal of money on government contracts.”

  “And I’ll bet your funding comes from one of those companies,” Bess said brightly.

  Edberg smiled at Bess. “Smart girl! What did you say your name is?”

  When Bess told him, he said, “Well, Bess, I hope you sign up for one of my classes next semester. And you, too—”

  “Nancy. Nancy Drew.”

  “Nancy. It’s a pleasure talking to bright, interested students. Actually my research is funded by one of the leaders in the ‘human potential movement,’ a company based right here in Emersonville. It’s called Positive Tapes.”

  Nancy quickly wrote down the name. “This is going to make a great story,” she fibbed. “Do you think we could visit Positive Tapes to get their viewpoint?”

  Professor Edberg was only too happy to help. While the girls sat with him, he called the president of Positive Tapes, a man named Larry Boyd, and made an appointment for Nancy and Bess to interview him in an hour. Then he gave them directions to the company’s office in downtown Emersonville.

  “I must tell you this interview has been a most enjoyable distraction from this horrible murder business,” he told them, glancing at his watch. “Unfortunately, I have another class to teach, so we’ll have to cut our conversation short.”

  “We understand, Professor,” Nancy assured him. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you.” She and Bess rose to leave. They were already at the door when Nancy was struck by a sudden thought.

  “Just one thing, Professor,” she said, pausing. “I know we left the subject of the Wayne Perkins murder way behind, but where were you at the time of the killing?”

  His expression darkened suddenly. “I beg your pardon? Are you suggesting I had something to do with the murder?” he demanded sharply.

  Nancy realized she had gone too far. “Oh, no, of course not,” she said instantly. To her relief his flash of anger faded.

  “The police said Wayne was killed at around seven last night, yes? I live quite close to campus—I must have been home for well over an hour by then. You’d have to ask my wife. She keeps track of these things for me. You know us professors, always lost in the clouds. Now, I really must go.”

  Professor Edberg stood, pulled on his coat, and picked up his briefcase. He escorted the girls out and closed the office door. Bess eyed the professor’s coat.

  “Aren’t all the psych classes in this building?” she asked.

  “I’m team-teaching a ‘Literature and Psychology’ class with Dr. Yannopoulos from the English department,” Professor Edberg explained. “You should take it sometime. ’Bye now.” With that, he dashed off toward the stairs.

  “You were laying it on a bit thick there, Marvin,” Nancy said when he was gone. “ ‘Oh Professor, that’s so fascinating,’ ” she mimicked, then giggled.

  “He ate it up,” Bess added and grinned.

  “What did you think of him?” Nancy asked as the two girls headed down the stairs.

  Bess twisted a strand of blond hair absentmindedly around a finger. “He’s cute, kind of like a teddy bear,” she decided.

  A blast of frigid air hit them as they stepped outside. Ahead of them they could see Professor Edberg, hunched against the cold as he headed for a building that was across a small lawn.

  Nancy paused as she spotted an athletic figure running toward the professor from across the yard. At first she thought it was just a student out jogging. Then the runner let out a shout, and Edberg turned toward him, startled.

  “Oh, no!” Nancy shouted, as she recognized the figure. “It’s Parker!”

  Nancy and Bess hurried down the steps of the psych building and ran toward Parker, but Parker was faster. He vaulted effortlessly over a hedge that stood between him and Edberg. Nancy watched in horror as Parker grabbed the professor by the lapels of his overcoat. The distraught young man slammed Professor Edberg up against the trunk of a great oak tree.

  “Edberg!” he snarled, his face just inches from the professor’s. “My lawyer told me about the pack of lies you told the police. You’re going to pay for that!”

  Chapter

  Seven

  PARKER’S GONE CRAZY!” Bess exclaimed. “We’ve got to stop him before he hurts Professor Edberg!” She continued toward Parker and the professor, but Nancy grabbed her arm.

  “No! Look—here comes Ned!”

  Sure enough, Ned and several other fraternity brothers came running after Parker. They caught up to him and pulled him away from Dr. Edberg.

  “Parker, come on now, take it easy! You’re only making things worse this way!” Nancy heard Ned say.

  “Shouldn’t we still go to him?” Bess asked. “He looks really upset!”

  The girls were several yards away, and Nancy wanted to keep it that way. “The guys will calm him down. I don’t want Edber
g to connect us with Parker.”

  The two girls hung back by another tree, watching and listening. Parker strained against his friends, trying to get at Edberg.

  “You don’t understand!” Parker raved. “He’s trying to make me look guilty! He told the police that I had a grudge against Wayne and that he thought I was dangerous!”

  “And you’re proving it all now, aren’t you!” Edberg shouted, pointing a finger at Parker.

  Just then a campus patrol car pulled up. Captain Backman emerged and ambled over to Edberg and the boys. “Is there a problem here?” he asked.

  “This young hothead just assaulted me!” Edberg said, pointing at Parker.

  “Why did you do that, son?” Backman spoke soothingly, but there was an underlying command in his voice.

  Suddenly Parker’s shoulders slumped, and he looked sheepish. “I—I don’t know,” he muttered. “This murder charge is driving me crazy. My lawyer told me some stuff, and I guess I started blaming my troubles on Professor Edberg.”

  Edberg had regained his composure and now looked at Parker with a sympathetic expression. “That’s a common psychological mechanism called transference, Parker. You need someone to blame, and I’m an easy target.”

  “Do you really believe I killed Wayne?” Parker looked at Edberg imploringly.

  “I was grief stricken and angry when I spoke to the police,” Edberg admitted. “Perhaps I should have measured my words more carefully.”

  Backman spoke up. “You know, son, if the professor here presses assault charges, your bail will be revoked. You could go to jail until your trial, which might be weeks or even months away.”

  Edberg assured them that he wouldn’t press charges. “Parker has enough troubles without my contributing to them. I’ll let it go this time.”

  Parker thanked him and apologized for his behavior. Then his friends led him away. A moment later Professor Edberg continued along the path toward a building opposite the psychology building.

  Nancy exchanged a look with Bess. “Phew! That was intense—”