The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

As I made my way along the busy midtown streets, I mused to myself how far things had come, and how strange life can be. One day, you’re a poor little orphan girl, no mom, no dad, all alone, just trying to make your way though the world, when a kind and loving woman adopts you and brings you into her home, giving back everything you lost with interest. And one day, you grow up, smart and strong, and you decide to try and make the world a better place. You join the police academy. You study hard, train hard, you advance far and become a Detective, wearing your badge with honor and respect. And then, suddenly, a mishap... a shooting, a botched robbery that goes horribly horribly wrong. Even though you’ve done nothing wrong, and gone by the book, you take the blame. The ‘big blue wall’ comes crashing down around you... and just like that, you’re down and out, an outcast, a pariah, a civilian once again.

Pausing outside the Seventh Precinct, looking at the old red brick building again, I sighed, shaking my head ruefully. Since leaving the force, I’d made something of a name for myself. I still fought the good fight, but for money now, and on my own terms. I was a private dick, as tough as nails, even with my ‘delicate’ features, and Cupie Doll exterior. They actually came in handy, as I’d won more than my fair share of victories by being underestimated. I’d garnered a reputation for being the best detective in the city, hands down. And now, in a funny twist of fate, I’d been asked back by my former Lieutenant, the man who’d let me out to swing in the wind, to consult on a difficult case that they couldn’t seem to crack.

Truth be told, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing Dan again. Frankly, I could go my entire life without ever meeting him again and call it good. But he did ask for me specifically, I argued silently, climbing the steps leading to the front door. It probably came down from HIS superiors, otherwise he’d never have called, so if nothing else I get the satisfaction of watching him squirm while I hear him out. That brought a smile to my face, and I chuckled softly as I entered, walking directly over to the desk sergeant.

“Stacy Sanford to see Lieutenant Holliway,” I said with a smirk.

“Sorry, Sir, he’s in a meeting right now,” the man replied busily typing, not even glancing up. “And it’s Captain Holliway now. He was promoted a few weeks ago.“

“Captain?!?” I hissed, incredulously. I took off my Fedora and tossed it across the room, nailing the hat rack with a perfect shot. “Him?!? What did every other able bodied cop in the city suddenly keel over and die? How the hell did that weasly little RAT make Captain?!?”

The sergeant glanced up sharply at that. “Ah, Sir...I mean, Ma’am,” he said sternly. “Sorry, the hat and coat threw. I need you to keep it down, okay? Captain Holliway is in a very important meeting with the Mayor and the Chief of Police—”

“Um, yeah, I know, and they’re all waiting for me!” I replied, indignant. “I got a call half an hour ago saying to hurry down here, that they needed to consult with me about some ‘big case’ or something!”

“OH! Ah, um... Miss Sanford was it?” The sergeant blanched, glancing down at his log. “Ohh... ah, shit... sorry. Yes, I see it now, an A. Sanford...” He frowned. “I thought you said your name was Stacy?“

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, it would have been just like him to list it that way. “It’s short for Anastacia,” I growled, causing the man to take a step back. “Now, can you buzz me through, or do I go back home and spend my day off with someone who’s NOT annoying the shit out of me?” Wordlessly, he hit the button, and the door unlocked, allowing me passage back into the main office.

I could hear raised voices arguing as I approached Dan’s office. Captain, huh? Figures. I always knew the system was broken, but if a asshole like that can make Captain, then things are worse off than I thought. Hell, maybe it’s a good thing I got out when I did.

“...don’t care about your excuses, Holliway,” a loud nasally voice: Mayor Joseph Connelly, “you’ve had three weeks to deal with this situation, and you haven’t done squat! I approved your promotion with the assumption and assurance that you would get results! Three weeks now, and not only have you not found the ones behind these abductions, you don’t have any viable leads! NONE!”

“Mayor Connelly, please,” a low deep baritone pleasant sounding voice replied: Louis Marks, Chief of Police. “The situation is what it is. The person behind these attacks is well connected and very smart. The abductions have been very well planned out, with no witnesses, and no evidence. Our police can only do so much with no clues to investigate.”

“So you don’t have a plan, then?” the Mayor challenged.

“We still have an idea or two up our sleeves,” Captain Holliway stated as I reached his door. “In fact, here she is right now.” He smiled at me as I stepped inside, holding out a hand. “Ah, perfect timing, Sanford. Gentlemen, this is Miss Anastacia Sanford, formerly of the NYPD special unit task force. I asked her here to see if perhaps she might be willing to help us pin down a lead.“

“Really?” I said loudly, crossing my arms at my chest. “Is that why you asked me down here, Dan? And here I thought it was to finally pay me that ten dollars you borrowed from my five years ago.” I scowled, glancing at the Mayor. “Mr. Mayor, you’re pretty good with numbers, right? What’s the current interest on a five year loan these days?“

“Excuse me?”

“Ahhhh, um, yes, well, Mr. Mayor,” Holliway said quickly, taking His Honor gently by the arm, leading him to the door, “we have a lot of planning to do, and much to discuss, so ah, um, I’ll update you later with our progress, okay? That sound good? I’ll contact your, um, secretary—Margaret, was it? I’ll leave word with her as soon as we know more!” As the door closed, he sighed, turning to glare at me. “Not funny, Sanford,” he growled, walking back over to his desk. I shrugged.

“Really? I thought it was fucking hilarious.”

“Well, I’ll leave it to you two to figure this all out,” the Chief of Police said with a chuckle, heading for the door. “I’ll see the Mayor back to his office. Keep me apprised as well, Captain. I hope this ‘hot lead’ of yours pans out... for all of our sakes.” He paused and tipped his hat to me, smiling grandly. “Good to see you again, Stacy... always a pleasure.”

Once we were alone, Dan spilled the beans. Over the past few weeks, a rash of thefts had plagued the NYPD, all of them currently unsolved. The latest theft, however, was what had the Mayor’s panties in a twist. The Scepter of Nefertiti, a recent arrival to the Metropolitan Museum as part of the Egyptian exhibit, had been stolen. They’d managed to suppress news of the theft so far, and the museum had closed the exhibit, citing minor difficulties with climate controlled temperature settings for the display as the reason... but it was only a matter of time before the truth leaked out. And, as stated before, they had no leads, no evidence, and no ideas whatsoever on how the theft was done, or who had pulled it off.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said after a while, holding up a hand. “If you have no leads and no evidence, then what was all that BS you told the Mayor just now? And why the hell am I here?”

“Well, it’s not evidence per se,” Dan said with a deep sigh, “but it’s a hunch. See, the exhibit was really valuable, on loan from Cairo, so naturally the museum set up the latest in hi-tech security for it, and had guards patrolling the Egyptian wing after hours. And yet, no alarms were tripped, none of the guards saw anything, the security tape was erased, and they got away without leaving a single hair or fingerprint or any trace they were even there.” He shook his head. “To pull off something like that, a thief would have had to have inside information, knowledge of the alarm systems and the guards’ patrol schedule, but all of the guards and the museum curators have been checked, scanned, and cleared. In my mind that adds up to only one alternative.”

I sighed deeply, following the bread crumbs to the obvious conclusion. “Mind control,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. “You figure someone either put the whammy on one of the guards to steal the scepter, or simply read their minds to figure out how to get past the security.”

“Precisely. And while there’s no evidence supporting my theory, yet, it explains perfectly the lack of evidence in this case. It also leads credence to my number one suspect,” he replied, handing me a folder.

“Professor James Morrison,” I read, frowning, “head of the Empire State University’s Egyptian studies and Ancient Civilizations research department.” I shook my head. “Okay. So he’s a nut for Egyptian artifacts. That doesn’t make him a thief.”

“He’s also on our watch list for registered psychics,” Dan added smugly, as I flipped to the next page in the report. “The man is very smart. Some would say, brilliant. And there was an incident last year, with him and an underaged student that ended with him being dismissed from the University. No criminal charges were filed, however, because the girl in question decided to change her story.” He rolled his eyes. “And I’m SURE the good Professor had NO undue influence in her decision. At any rate, the guy’s shady... he’s smart, and he has a taste for ancient Egyptian crap. I’d like to bring him in for questioning, but without any actual evidence I couldn’t hold him even if I wanted it... and after a few seconds scanning my mind he’d know we were on to him...”

“And take steps to get rid of the evidence if he happened to be guilty,” I finished lamely. “So, basically, you want someone else to investigate for you... someone who can gather evidence against him that he can’t read, someone not susceptible to his psychic influence, and who isn’t officially a part of the police force in case anything goes wrong.“

“Well, i wouldn’t have put it exactly that way, but ... yes.” he said grinning smugly.

“I see. Well, Dan, I have to say... this is the DUMBEST idea you’ve ever had!” I grunted angrily. “And I suppose you expect me to solve this ‘unsolvable’ case for you out of the goodness of my heart? I’m pretty damn certain the city isn’t willing to shell out the thousand dollar retainer I usually require up front for my services! Plus... hell, I just don’t LIKE you! I could really care less if you go down in flames. This case has nothing to do with me.” I turned and walked to the door.

“Well, Anastacia, that’s too bad,” Dan said, standing up. “You’re certainly free to leave if you want. It’s just, well, you know... I thought we were friends. The kind of friends that help each other. The kind of friends that scratch each others’ backs, that benefit each other mutually. You know... for things like your accreditation...”

That drew me up short. “You bastard,” I growled, turning back to face his smug arrogant face. “You’re REALLY going to go there with me, Dan?”

“I just happen to have your file right here,” he said casually, tapping a large brown folder on his desk. “Your private investigator license is supposed to be renewed this month, I believe. And you KNOW how busy the city bureaucracy is these days, especially with the current crisis this department is dealing with because of these unsolved thefts.” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s a shame, but small things—like your license renewal, for example—tend to get lost in the cracks with all the big important cases going on.”

I sighed wearily, beaten. He had me by the short hairs this time, but I wouldn’t forget this. “Alright, Captain. I’ll do your dirty work for you. I’ll save your ass AGAIN. But this is the last time, goddammit. And if you even THINK of messing with my livelihood after this—”

“Now, now, Anastacia,” he said with a chuckle, “no need to get snippy. I wouldn’t DREAM of trying to screw you over. And believe me, after this, we’re square. Honest. We’re just two friends doing favors for each other. You help me with this case, and I make sure your license renewal is the FIRST piece of paperwork filed in the system this week.”

“The name’s Stacy, Captain,” I replied with a snarl, “and we’re NOT friends!” I slammed the door behind me on the way out.

Well, I suppose after such parting words I really couldn’t have expected Dan to trust me to follow through with my part of the deal, so I really shouldn’t have been so surprised with he assigned me a junior officer to serve as my “liaison”, which was a fancy way of saying “babysitter”. Officer Frank Watson was pretty much straight out of the academy, and as green as Kermit the Fucking Frog. Still... if nothing else, he was kind of easy on the eyes.

“So, um, Miss Sanford,” he began as we slid into his patrol car, “where do we head to first? To the suspect’s home address? Most frequent hang outs?”

“No, we’re heading to the museum,” I said with a yawn, pulling my fedora down over my face. “I want to take a look at the crime scene.”

“Th... the crime scene? But... but the Captain said there was nothing there. The crime lab went over the area with a fine tooth comb, and they didn’t find anything.”

“I know. That’s precisely why we’re going there first,” I drawled, sliding into the passenger seat. “not to take anything away from your CSI team, Watson, but I was a Detective too, once upon a time. Being outside the force after being on the inside teaches you to think outside the box. And nothing against your boss,” Heh. Well, nothing I’d care to share in polite company, anyway. “but if he’s so convinced that Morrison is behind the theft, it only convinces ME that the guilty party is someone else.“

Saying nothing, the charming young man drove us to the museum. And I have to say, for the record, having a badge carrying policeman working alongside me did not completely suck. Usually, when it came to questioning a witness, I needed to use guile, finesse, and sometimes a couple of greenbacks to get them to sing. When they find out you’re not a cop, they generally react in one of two ways; either they tell you to get lost, sometimes forcefully, or they run, hightailing it like a bat out of hell, either afraid of what I would do to get them to talk, or the person they’re working for finding out they’d snitched.

Having Officer Watson along made the process much easier. A simple flash of the badge, and we were allowed inside with no fuss or muss. The curator was even kind enough to give us a list of the guards on duty that night, and allowed us to speak to them directly. The first three gave pretty much the same story, collaborating the facts that Dan had laid out for me: no forced entry, no one saw anything, and the security tape was somehow erased. When I asked my usual follow up question of, “did you notice anything different or strange that night?” however, the fourth guard paused, considering.

“What is it, Sir?” I pressed, as he continued to think. “Anything at all, no matter how small or insignificant, could be important.”

“Well... I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said, finally, “but, well... you said ANYTHING.” He shrugged. “It was... moved.”

“Moved?” Officer Watson prompted, whipping out a pencil and pad. “What was moved, Mr. Adams?”

“The display case. It was moved slightly from where it normally sat, about an inch or so to the left. I mean, obviously, it was moved if the thief took the scepter out of the case and made off with it, but well... the case sits on this little grove in the floor, where the pressure sensor is located. The previous display had a square display, but the Scepter of Nefertiti had a round pedestal, and when it was set up, it was placed slightly off center. You could see the groove in the floor where it sat, and it always bugged the hell out of me that they’d placed it a bit off from the center when they set it up. But the thief, whoever it was, he moved it back dead center after he swiped the scepter.”

“interesting,” I said nodding slightly. “Thank you, Sir. You’ve actually been very helpful.” I turned to the curator. “Do you mind if I go take a look at the room? I’d like to examine the display case myself.”

“Sure, go right ahead,” the man said with a shrug. “Your CSI guys already looked it over, but feel free to check it if you like.”

“Thanks,” I replied, walking down the hallway to the exhibit, Watson hot on my heels. Heh. Watson. I was beginning to feel like a true Sherlock Holmes! I knelt down at the floor, peering at the edge of the podium. It was just as the guard had stated; a small square shaped grove etched onto the hard tiled floor, with the circular podium resting in the exact center. I sighed deeply, muttering softly to myself before rising back to my feet again.

“Okay. I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”

“Huh? W... wait! Don’t you want to dust for prints?” Watson called after me. “If you’re right and the perp knew about the sensor plate and took the time to line it up, he might have left a print there at the base—”

“I doubt it,” I replied without stopping, heading straight towards the entrance of the Museum. “Anyone careful enough to do all of this without getting caught would have taken care to wipe and clean any place he touched directly, including the base. Besides, your CSI guys are good. Fred Halver would never miss something like that.”

“Huh? Oh, Fred’s not with CSI anymore,” Watson said, catching up to me. “He retired a few months ago. Sid Jenkins is the head of the department now. Captain Holliway promoted him just after Fred retired.”

I paused blinking in surprise. “Sid Jenkins? HE’S the head guy now?” I sighed deeply, shaking my head ruefully. “Well, of course he is. Sid and Dan are good friends, after all.”

“Um, I’m not sure of what you’re insinuating, Miss Sanford,” Watson replied evenly, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Insinuating? No, son, I’m saying it flat out. Your Captain likes to play favorites. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, if your favorites happen to be the best man for the job. My only issue with Dan Holliway is how he treats those who aren’t in his inner circle.” I didn’t want to go into the past with this rookie. Hell, that part of my life was rough enough going through it, and having to see and deal with Dan Holliway was more than enough reminiscing to last me a lifetime. “Let’s just say if not for him and his small circle of friends, maybe I would still be on the force today.“

Watson merely nodded, avoiding my gaze. Rookie he might be, but he knew well enough not to broach the subject with me any further. “Um, okay... so where to now?”

My answer was cut off as a call came through on the radio. A code four fifty nine in the Upper West Side. I frowned, then gasped as the address was stated. “That’s the American Museum of Natural History! Watson, turn us around, and head for Central Park!”

“But... we’re already on a case,” he protested weakly, changing lanes.

“A Four-Fifty-Nine? B&E at the Natural History Museum?” I said loudly, stating the obvious. “It’s probably connected to our case, Einstein! Hurry up and get us there before the Crime Scene gets worked over!”

“Yeah, okay,” he murmured, turning us around towards the Upper West Side. “You’re the boss.”

A strange sensation swept through me as we stepped inside the building, a momentary feeling of vertigo followed by a fizzy prickly feeling in the back of my head. “This area is off limits!” a man in a NYPD jacket stated, coming up quickly to greet us. “This room is officially a crime scene! Turn around and head back outside, now.”

“Yeah, I know it’s a crime scene. That’s why I’m here,” I replied, holding out my ID. “Stacy Sanford. Your Captain asked me to look in on a rash of high profile thefts in museums, and I have reason to believe that this case connects to the one we’re investigating.”

“The Captain asked you?” the man said, frowning. “Wait! Hold the phone... that’s a fucking PI badge! You’re not a cop! Franklin! Get this bitch out of here, now!”

“Hey!” I yelled as a uniformed Sergeant grabbed me by the arm. “Lay off! I told you, I was called in by Captain Holliway! Dammit, let go of me—”

“What the hell is all this noise?” A familiar voice called out from the room. Glancing up, he blinked in surprise. “Stacy? Stacy Sanford, is that you?” He glanced over at the thug manhandling me and nodded. “It’s okay, Franklin, she’s cool. Let her go.”

“She’s ‘cool’?” The other CSI parroted back, scowling.“This is a crime scene, Blake, not a tourist attraction! We can’t have civilians traipsing through the area, destroying the integrity of the scene!”

Just then the doors I’d walked through burst open, and Officer Watson entered, panting slightly. “Sorry. There was nowhere close by to park. I...” he blinked, finding himself stared at. “Um.... is something wrong?”

Perfect timing. “Officer Watson, would you kindly collaborate my story, that I am in fact working with the NYPD at the behest of your Captain to try and solve this rash of museum thefts?”

“Um, yes, ma’am. Mr. Blake, Mr. Coburn, Ms. Sanford is telling the truth. The Captain assigned me to act as her liaison, and to provide her with any and all help in her investigation.” He took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, presenting it to the men. “I, um, have to say, however, that the Captain didn’t send us here specifically. When we heard about the theft over the radio, Ms. Sanford demanded to be brought her to see the crime scene.“

“Did she now?” Coburn murmured, glaring at me. I felt it again, that same prickly feeling in the back of my head, and I grimaced. The man was a psychic, no doubt trying to read my mind, and pissed that all he was getting back was static. Growling, he turned and walked away, storming off.

“Well, well... isn’t HE Mr. Personality,” I quipped, getting a laugh from Blake. “So, Reggie, how’s tricks? I see you’re still playing mad scientists on the city’s payroll.”

“Hey, you know me, Stace,” he replied with a tired sigh, “too damned stubborn to move on, too damned ornery to die.” He shrugged. “So... you’re helping track down that missing scepter for the Captain? I have to say, I didn’t see THAT coming. I thought you hated Holliway’s guts for hanging you out to dry?”

I winced, glancing away. “I’m not exactly here as a favor to the guy. He’s holding my license renewal over my head. And anyway... you know me. I like puzzles.”

“Well, you’ve sure picked a doozy this time,” he replied, leading her into the cordoned off room. “The thief stole an Ankh. Solid gold, with jade stones inlaid. Same M.O. as the Scepter job. No signs of forced entry. No witnesses. And I’ve only done a preliminary check so far, but there doesn’t seem to be any fingerprints, fibers, or hairs anywhere in the vicinity. No traces whatsoever.” He shook his head. “Whoever this guy is, he’s good.”

I shrugged. “Or maybe she’s good.“

“She?” he asked raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, it’s too early to rule anything out. Besides, two-thirds of the best cat burglars in the world are women, you know. I just try and keep an open mind.” That got another laugh from Blake.

“Heh heh... an ‘open’ mind? That’s funny coming from you, Ms. ‘Impenetrable Skull’.”

I chuckled as well. Giving the place the once over, I spotted something that drew my attention. “So, basically, the room is untouched, nothing moved or messed with since the call came in?”

“Nope. No one’s been in here except Coburn and myself, and other than dusting for prints, we haven’t touched a thing thus far.”

“Good.” I nodded. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and ask the on duty guard a few questions, then I’ll be out of your hair. I need to go have a talk with the Captain’s ‘lead suspect’ and give him the third degree.”

“No problem. And Stace, it was good seeing you again after all this time,” Blake called out as I walked away. “If you get a chance, stop by the lab some time and say ‘hi’.”

“Will do, Blake,” I said softly, heading up to the security officer’s desk.

“So, did the security guard have anything meaningful to add?” Watson asked as I entered the squad car. I shrugged.

“The thing about being a Detective is not what you know, or don’t know, it’s asking the right questions. Your comrades in arms questioned the guards at both museums, and they all gave the same answers. I, however, asked a different question, and learned something that makes me think we’re on the wrong track.”

“But... if that’s the case, why are we going to Professor Morrison’s house now?” he asked.

I sighed. “Whatever I think or don’t think, it’s all conjecture at this point. You can’t arrest someone based on what you THINK. You have to have proof. That’s why we’re going to check on the professor. Besides, I promised Holliway that I’d investigate, after all...” I glanced at my watch. “By the way... can we stop at the Smoke Joint on the way? I’m really jonesing for a fully loaded dog right now!”

So, one hour and three fantastic hot dogs later, we arrived at the Brownstone manor house residence of Professor James Morrison. I made a quick call on my cell phone, before we arrived, just to be sure my hunch was correct, then sighing deeply, approached the manor house. “You stay here, Watson,” I said, pausing at the door. “We don’t want the Professor to know that he’s a suspect just yet. I’m a Resistor, so he can’t read my mind, but he can read yours if you come inside with me.“

“So... I’m just supposed to sit here in the car and wait while you question him?” he grumbled. “It seems like that’s all I’ve been doing today, standing by while you talk to people, or staying out of your way...”

Okay. So I kind of felt a little bad for the guy. He hadn’t asked to be put on babysitting duty after all. But he was kind of cramping my style. I hadn’t worked with a partner since I was on the force. Five years of PI work had instilled within me the value of working alone, of doing things my own way. And once he headed back to the car, I skirted around the edge of the building, and working my lock pick magic on the back door, slid inside.

I gave a quiet whistle as I made my way through the house. For a former college instructor, the man certainly had a nice house. A two-story Brownstone, the main foyer was tastefully decorated with a definite Egyptian flair. The rest of the house seemed pretty normal, if a little bit messy, and best of all, unoccupied. I noted with interest the kitchen. Huh. Seems the Professor likes to eat out... a lot His trash can was practically overflowing with pizza boxes, and Chinese take-out containers littered the counters.

Definitely a bachelor’s pad, I mused, heading out into the rest of the house. A search of the bedroom showed nothing out of the ordinary, and there was nothing of interest in the closets or dresser drawers. I was just about to head back out to the car and my waiting partner when I noticed a light shining through a previously passed doorway. Curiosity got the better of me, and I tested the lock, finding it open. It was apparently the Professor’s private office, and there, in the middle of a large oak desk, sat the missing Ankh from the American History Museum! I stepped forward to take a closer look at it when I felt a presence behind me. I turned... but a little too slow as something heavy and hard slammed into the back of my head...

“WAKE UP!”

I jerked suddenly, sitting up, blinking rapidly. Then groaned, my head spinning from the whack I’d received earlier. Trying to wipe my bleary eyes, I quickly realized I’d woken in the all-too-familiar position of being tied up, hand and foot to a heavy oak chair. Huh. At least I’m actually wearing clothes this time, I thought numbly. Motion to my right reminded me of what had brought me back to consciousness, the sound of a loud and angry voice yelling in my ear. I glanced up into the face of an older gentleman, with rugged handsome features, sandy blonde hair, and smoky grey eyes. Under any other circumstances, being tied up in bondage with a man like this would be my idea of fun... but the expression on his face, and the slight ringing in my ears told me that fun was the farthest thing from this guy’s mind right now.

“So... um... Professor Morrison, I presume?” I asked, candidly. “I’d extend a hand, but unfortunately, I’m rather tied up at the moment.”

The man’s frown deepened. “About the kind of response I’d expect from the infamous Anastacia Sanford,” he said with a sigh, holding up my ID. “And yes, your reputation has preceded you. I would normally ask what you’re doing here in my house,” he said, walking over to his desk, picking up the ankh, “but I’d be willing to be this has something to do with it.”

Well... things could be worse, I suppose. “I admit, it’s not exactly what I was searching for, but it WAS a great find,” I said in mock cheerfulness. “I felt a little like Indiana Jones, yanno? But I guess you understand that better than I do, being an archeologist and all.”

“You can can the small talk,” the Professor replied, grimly, pulling a switchblade from his pocket, popping the blade. “I have no intention of keeping you around any longer than I have to...”

I was just beginning be concerned, when the Professor suddenly stopped, and cursed, whirling around just as the door burst inwards, and five uniformed police officers, including my partner, Officer Watson, entered with guns drawn. “Freeze, Professor!” my old friend Joe Turner yelled, stepping slowly in between me and the knife wielding academic. “Back away, slowly, pal, and drop the knife!”

Growling, clearly upset, he obeyed, dropping the weapon, and putting his hands up. “This is a set up!” he growled, glaring at me. “I’m being framed! I didn’t steal that damned ankh! And I didn’t kidnap that woman!” he insisted, gesturing at me. “I just got here moments ago myself!”

“Yeah, yeah, tell it to the judge,” Joe said, kneeling down to untie me. “You okay, Stace? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I’m okay, Joe,” I said grimly, massaging my newly freed wrists. “And... I’m really glad you guys showed up, it really saves me the trouble of calling you later. But... the guy’s telling you the truth. He didn’t do this to me, and he didn’t steal the ankh.”

“WHAT?!?” the group yelled en mass, including the Professor himself, as surprised by my statement as the officers. I merely grinned.

“It’s true. He is being painted as the fall guy in this little melodrama. But that’s okay. I’ve figured out who the real culprit is.” I glanced over at the Professor. “So, how about it, Prof? Feel like helping me catch the guy who tried to set you up, and wiping away a bit of the blemish on your good name?”

The elderly man nodded, smirking. “Just try and stop me,” he growled.

Though I don’t show it often, I do have a flair for the dramatic. After calling ahead to the precinct and notifying Holliway that I’d solved the case, I asked him to prepare the conference room, and to invite the other officers on shift to watch as I explained how he did it. I also made a direct call to Police Chief Marks, knowing Holliway only too well. He would obviously take most of the credit for this case, but I at least wanted someone around as a witness that knew who’d REALLY solved the crime... someone Dan wouldn’t be able to bully into submission.

Arriving at the station a while later, I was pleased to see my audience already assembled. I also noticed with amusement the looks on two particular faces as Professor Morrison entered the room in handcuffs. Captain Holliway strolled over with a bit of swagger to his walk. “Great job, men, great job,” he said loudly, chuckling. “So, Professor, you thought you could make a mockery of the NYPD, did you? I bet you thought yourself pretty slick, the way you pulled off those heists! Well, we’ll see how clever you feel when you’re doing hard time up in Bayville—”

“Um, sorry to rain on your parade there, Cap’n,” I said, moving center stage, “but the good professor here is NOT the guilty party.” I nodded to Watson, who uncuffed Professor Morrison.

“Wh... what the hell? What do you MEAN he’s not the guilty party!” Holliway yelled. “You called me and told me you’d solved the case—”

“And I have,” I cut in, stopping his rant midstream. “I did some digging around, just like you asked me to, and I’m positively sure that Professor Morrison is not the thief. And I’m reasonably sure I know who the real thief is. But... more on that later. I have a few questions for you first, Captain Holliway. How many of these unsolved high profile museum thefts have there been so far, in total?“

Dan scowled. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything—”

“Answer the question, Captain,” Chief Marks said, stepping into the room, arms crossed. “I’d like to know the answer to that myself.”

Grumbling, glaring daggers at me now, he murmured, “About seven in total.”

That set the rest of the room to murmuring loudly, until I captured everyone’s attention. “I see. So seven unsolved cases, all involving museums, and all with no suspects, no leads, and no evidence. That’s why you asked me to help is, wasn’t it, Cap?”

“Yes,” he replied through gritted teeth, “though I’m starting to seriously regret that decision. Can you get to the point where you tell us who the thief is?”

“Patience, Daniel-san,” I quipped, going all ‘Miyagi’ on him. “A few more important questions. First of all, were the same officers and staff assigned to each case, or was it spread out among the precinct?”

“Spread out, of course,” he replied irritated. “We’re a busy house, and it wasn’t really a major concern until just recently.”

“And did you make the news of these thefts ‘public knowledge’ among your people? Did you inform everyone at the daily briefing about this rash of unsolved burglaries?”

“No. As I said, it wasn’t a concern until now!”

“Okay, okay,” I said placatingly, nodding to myself. It confirmed my assumption. “So, just one more question, then. When Officer Watson and I went to follow up on a lead and went to American Natural History Museum, the unit investigating there gave us a hard time, like they didn’t know you have a PI working on this case with your approval. Did you mention to anyone else that I was investigating on your behalf?”

“No, of course not!” he growled, crossing his arms. “Why the HELL would I tell anyone about you? It was embarrassing enough having you show up with the Mayor here earlier. And if I’d known you would turn this event into a damned three ring circus, I never would have asked you here in the first place!”

“Well, we both know the only reason I’m here is because you didn’t have a choice in the matter,” I pointed out candidly, “but, again, that’s neither here nor there. Let’s move on shall we? You believed that the one behind these thefts was Professor James Morrison, because, as you put it, he’s smart, he’s got a taste for Egyptian artifacts, he has a somewhat shady past, and he’s a registered Psy-talent. Is that correct so far?” He nodded. “Okay. Now, what do we know about the thief? He’s definitely smart. Each theft took place from a popular exhibit in a museum after hours, with security guards patrolling, and electronic surveillance and alarm systems in place. That means the thief had to have a working knowledge of the security system used, as well as knowledge of the guards shift and patrol routes. Furthermore, the thief was careful enough not to leave behind any incriminating evidence on his wake after the fact. No fingerprints, no hair follicles or loose threads. Not even a flake of dead skin.”

“Yes, yes, we know all this,” Dan said impatiently. “You’re not telling us anything new here, Anastacia!”

“That’s Stacy, ‘Danielle’,” I growled back, “and I’m getting to it if you’ll keep your trap shut! I am trying to paint a picture of the kind of person it would take to carry out such a crime. To pull off such a daring robbery would take intelligence, but to pull it off flawlessly, without any trace of evidence, requires more than that. It requires patience and dedication... resolve... and a finely honed attention to detail.” I nodded to Watson, who pointed the small holocube I’d prepared at the far wall.

“What you’re seeing here is the inside of the good Professor’s home,” I replied with a chuckle. “As you can see, the Professor does quite well for himself. Expensive furniture, nice little Egyptian themed foyer, big screen TV, and the works. Ah... but what’s this?” I asked, bringing up slides of his kitchen, and his bedroom, as well as close ups of his closet. “Looks like the Professor gave his maid the week off. And while not exactly slovenly, he is definitely not what you would call a neatnik.” I nodded to Watson, who shut off the cube. “I’ll also inform you of something that you can check and confirm on your own time. Before his ‘forced retirement’, Professor Morrison had something of a reputation at the University. A very good instructor, very smart, very knowledgeable, he unfortunately had something of a short temper. More than one faculty conference with him ended in a shouting match that bordered on violence.”

“Yes, well, I’m well aware of my shortcomings,” James stated without shame. “If I’d been more of a ‘people person’ maybe some of my co-workers would have stood behind me over the false allegations of that student that got me fired. Make no mistake, people... I’m a bastard. I’m not well liked. But being an asshole doesn’t make me a thief.”

“Very true,” I finished up, taking control of the conversation again. “If being an ass was against the law, I’m pretty sure most of us would be behind bars, myself included. But... I digress. The point is that James Morrison simply doesn’t have the temperament or the natural born neatness to be the thief.” I sighed heavily, pacing slowly back and forth across the room. “No... there’s no doubt in my mind. Professor Morrison is not the thief. But... that doesn’t mean that someone with those exact qualities needed isn’t in this very room right now, does it... Blake?” I asked, pausing directly in front of my old friend.

“What?” he asked, starting, glancing up at me in confusion. “Wh... what do you mean, Stace?”

“I mean that you’re the one that stole those artifacts, Blake,” I said softly. I shook my head. “I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed. I mean, I can understand why you did it... I just think this was the wrong way to go about it.”

Several of the other officers started yelling at me then, thinking I’d lost my mind. “Listen!” I yelled loudly, getting everyone’s attention once again. “Listen! I know how this sounds, and believe me, I didn’t want to believe it myself at first, but all the facts point to Blake.” Taking a moment to let the, quiet down again, I explained. “I went to the museum and examined the crime scenes and questioned the guards, just like you all did before, however, I asked a question that no one else thought to ask. I asked if anything at the crime scene besides the stolen items were moved or disturbed in any way. And, surprisingly there was. At the first scene, the pedestal was moved a half inch over the pressure pad until it sat in the exact center, rather than slightly off-center, as it had been placed when the event was set up. Now I mean the pedestal that the scepter rested on, not the glass case holding it, which was the only thing needed to remove to take the scepter. And the podium itself was granite, and damned heavy. The thief didn’t move it by accident or on a whim. He PURPOSEDLY move it the quarter inch it was moved to place it dead center.“

“Okay, but I still don’t see what that has to do with anything—” Dan began.

“And there was the other sites as well. I talked to the guard at the museum where the ankh was stolen from a few hours earlier. It seems that the guard on patrol there left a cup of coffee on the edge of a shelf behind a bush in the room where the ankh was kept, and when he came back out of the bathroom later, not only was the ankh gone, but someone had thrown his coffee cup into the trash. With something of a pattern starting to surface, I made a few more calls to the sites of the other thefts on the way here just to confirm it, and all of them have reported similar instances... Paintings being straightened, books being taken out and reordered, dirty areas being cleaned. In other words, a definite OCD trait.”

Now everyone turned to look at Blake. He was known around the station, even back in my day, for his obsessive need to keep his work space and others tidy and efficient. It was part of what made him such an effective CSI, but in general, it pretty much drove people nuts. “It’s... it’s not like that!” he protested, getting to his feet. “So what, the thief was a neatnik! That doesn’t prove anything! Lots of people have similar hang-ups...”

“True, but most people with those hang-ups would not be allowed to visit various crime scenes, or have access to the same supplies and technology that you do, Blake,” I countered. “After the first two robberies, when Captain Holliway started getting heat from the Mayor, he asked his go-to guy, Sid Jenkins to take a look at the surveillance systems for the other museums in the area, to see if there were any obvious problems or exploitable faults. And of course, the head of the CSI asked HIS main guy to check on it for him. The museum curator mentioned you’d asked him about any changes to the security system days before the scepter was stolen. So it seems to me that you had the inside track on not just their security system, but every museum in the metropolitan area!”

“Okay, okay... so yes, I knew about the security systems,” Blake admitted, “but you’re forgetting something! The last robbery... the gold and jade ankh! You yourself found them in Morrison’s home! He obviously stole it, and the other missing items!”

I sighed deeply, shaking my head. “And that, Blake, was your only real mistake. Well, that and trying to cross me. Yes, I found the ankh in his house... but only because you planted it there.” I held up my hands to forestall his protests and the other officers’ objections. “Just give me a chance to lay it out for you. First of all, the gold ankh was obviously planted. If Morrison was as ‘careful and clever’ as he was presumed to be, why the heck would he leave his newly stolen loot in his office on the front desk out in the open with the lights on? Secondly, the Professor is psychic. If he’d come home to find some stranger snooping around in his home, his first instinctive reaction would be to scan the person psychically, to see who it is and what their intentions are, and perhaps use a psychic assault to stun the person into submission. But whoever attacked me didn’t bother to scan my mind at all, they just whacked me in the back of the head. Whoever attacked me would have had to have known about my being a Resistor, and that using any kind of mental manipulation on me would be useless. And, correct me if I’m wrong, Blake, but you ARE psychic as well, aren’t you?”

That drew a gasp and an angry retort from the rest of the crowd as well. Blake glared at me now, biting his lip, saying nothing. “That’s okay. You don’t need to answer. I know you’ve managed to keep it a secret all these years, so I don’t expect you to admit to it just now. Suffice it to say, I do know. Your Captain chose me specifically to investigate because I’m a Resistor. And I know good and well when I’m being scanned. I was scanned when I entered the American History Museum earlier today, where you and your friend Coburn were working, yet you played it off, pretending to be surprised when you heard us arguing out in the hallway a moment later. So... I wonder, what were you busy doing in the room by yourself that it took you another two or three minutes to poke your head out?”

“I... I was... working the crime scene, of course!” he protested angrily. “The same crime scene where the missing art found at the Professor’s house was taken from. How could I have stolen it and planted it in his house for you to find if I was there working the crime scene all that time?”

“But you weren’t there working the crime scene all that time, were you?” I challenged, noting with satisfaction how pale he went. “I was just starting to put things together when I met you earlier, but I wasn’t sure. So, I let it slip that I was heading over to question the Professor at his home after I left the museum, then I went upstairs to question the guards and curator. It was at least another half hour or so before I left. Then, just to give you more time, I had Watson stop by the Smoke Joint to grab a quick bite to eat before actually arriving at the Professor’s house. I purposely gave you plenty of time to beat me there, to slip inside and plant the evidence to be found. And you lived up to my expectations... well, except for trying to bash my skull in. I didn’t see THAT one coming.“

“Stacy... my god... do you hear yourself?” Blake said, laughing. “This is just crazy! I was at the museum all night working. There’s no way I would have been able to slip away without being seen—”

“Not unless you had the ability to psychically imprint your image and the idea that you were there in the minds of your co-workers and the guards on duty,” I replied, shooting down that argument. “incidentally, Captain, that’s how he was able to pull off the thefts. He simply made his way to the exhibit, planted the idea that it was missing in the guard’s mind when it was actually still there, then when they raised the alarms, he calmly strolled in, took the relics, and blanked the incident out if the guard’s mind. And as a CSI, he was able to clean up any evidence left behind while working the crime scene, effectively covering his tracks.”

“Uh huh,” Holliway said dubiously, staring back and forth between Blake and myself. “And I suppose you can back up this wild accusation?”

“Your desk sergeant can collaborate that I called in from the payphone at the Smoke Joint around seven PM, a half hour after Watson and I left the museum, asking to be patched through to the unit working the scene. CSI Coburn answered, but when I asked to speak to CSI Blake, he couldn’t be found. And when I asked if their vehicles were still parked in front of the museum, the operator reported that the CSI van had apparently moved to a new location: 12746 West 23rd Avenue, in the Chelsea District.”

“My townhouse,” Professor Morrison supplied. “And the timing fits with a phone call I received around that time from someone claiming to be a legal representative of the University, wanting to meet with me about my dismissal. I drove out to meet with him only to find out I’d been stood up... that it was all a wild goose chase. And when I returned home, I found my front door standing wide open, an unconscious woman tied to one of my chairs, and a piece of stolen Egyptian art lying on my desk.”

“Okay, Professor, I think we get the point,” Holliway said wearily. “Okay, Sanford. You make a strong case here. But maybe you can answer the question of WHY. Why go to the trouble of stealing a bunch of rare Egyptian artifacts that he’d never be able to sell, and why go through the hassle of trying to set up Morrison to take the fall? I mean, what’s the motive here?”

“Oh? You haven’t figured that part out yet? That was actually the easiest part of the puzzle. It was revenge.”

“Revenge? Against the Professor?” the Captain asked, frowning. “But we did a complete background check on Morrison, and there’s no connection to him with anyone on the force—”

“No, not against the Professor. Against YOU, Dan.”

Predictably, the murmurs started again. “ME?!?” Holliway asked, gaping. “Why the hell... what does any of this have to do with me?!?”

“Because you’re a damned arrogant, ungrateful, uncaring asshole!” Blake suddenly shouted angrily, quieting the room. “You fucking prick! You and your... your... fucking favoritism! I’ve been with this unit for twenty damned years! I’ve been a crime scene investigator since I first joined the force, and I’m the BEST damned investigator in the city if not the state! I can’t even count how many cases were solved thanks to evidence I specifically uncovered! And yet, when Fred Halver retired, you picked SID to take over as the lead investigator, just because the two of you are old drinking buddies! And he’s not the ONLY old friend you promoted ahead of more qualified officers with better credentials! You’re a sorry fucking piece of shit, Holliway, and I would like nothing better than to see you fall!”

“Get him out of here!” Holliway bellowed, red in the face. “Lock the bastard up right now! Shit! I can’t fucking believe this...” He frowned, then glared at his men. “Didn’t you hear me? I said arrest the bastard!”

“No, I don’t think so,” Blake said calmly, drawing the service revolver from one of the uniformed officer’s belt. “Sorry, Captain, but I took the opportunity to put the rest of the officers here into a stupor, keeping them all nice and quiet so none of them would interfere while I take care of you personally.” He pointed the gun at Dan, who stuttered and back way in fear.

“Hold it, Blake,” i said, drawing my own piece. “I think you forgot about someone being immune to your little influence. Put down the piece. It’s over.”

“C’mon, Stacy,” he said, eyes trained on Holliway. “You can’t tell me you’re actually trying to save this lousy waste of space? The man hung you out to dry, remember? Rather than admit that he and his guys jumped the gun, he let you take the blame for everything that happened! If it wasn’t for him, you’d still be on the force. Hell, if it wasn’t for HIM, you’d probably be the one wearing Captain’s bars by now! You can’t tell you me don’t want to see this bastard pay!“

For a minute there, I actually considered. After all, Blake was right. Dan Holliway WAS a fucking bastard. He HAD hung me out to dry. And if someone DID actually put a bullet in the guy’s skull one day, not only would I not shed a tear over it, I’d probably break-dance all over his grave.

“You’ve got a point, Blake,” I said regretfully. “But this isn’t about him, it’s about you. You’ve gone off the deep end here, Blake. You stole a bunch of priceless artifacts from a museum. You framed an innocent man. And you damn near caved in the back of my head earlier, you dipshit!” I added with a growl. “Look, I know you’re pissed. Hell, I still haven’t gotten over what he did to me, and it’s been five years. But this isn’t the way to handle it! You really shoulda thought it through, Blake. If you kill him, your life is over. Right now, you’re just a thief. Turn yourself in and you’ll do like three to five years tops, probably less considering the circumstances. But if you kill that man, a police officer, in cold blood, you’re looking at Life. If you’re lucky!” I stepped slowly towards him, lowering my gun, holding out my free hand to him, “Come on, Blake. Do the smart thing here. Let go of the gun.”

His eyes finally turned from Holliway to me, as did his gun. He stared at me for a long moment, and for a second or two I had the crazy idea that he might just say ‘fuck it’, shoot me AND Holliway, and be done with it. Then with a loud sigh, he reversed the grip of his gun and handed it over to me. The rest of the officers awoke, released from his spell, and carried him downstairs to the holding cells. And I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

Epilogue:

“Ms. Sanford? Ms. Sanford!” I heard Watson calling after me as I paused at the police station’s exit. “You’re leaving already?”

“Yeah, kid. I did what I was brought in to do. I solved the case. And I even managed to get my license renewed on the spot,” I replied, showing him the stamped and signed certification. Of course, it had taken a bit of maneuvering to get Holliway to agree. Despite having saved his life, he’d pitched a fit about my methods, and making a spectacle of him with the Chief of Police watching. When I noted, idly, that it was probably a good thing that the Mayor hadn’t been in attendance as well, and that if, say, some rather clever person had used a holocube to record the entire incident and present it to the mayor personally, to give him an ACCURATE version of exactly what went down—strangely, Dan couldn’t seem to get the paperwork signed and authorized fast enough.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” he said with a grin. “Watching you work, listening to you connect the dots and figure it all out... even the way you presented everything.... it was a real treat. I really learned a lot.”

“Hey, thanks! Glad to know I’m inspiring to the next generation,” I quipped. “You might make a pretty good detective yourself one day. Just remember, what you learned at the academy is just the starting point. You have to be able to think outside the box now and again, to keep an open mind, and to question everything, not just the what or how, but the why of things. And the single most important lesson I learned in class from my favorite teacher was this: ‘That when you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever is left, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’“

“Huh?” Watson asked, frowning. “I never heard that before. What class did you learn that in?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson,” I said with a grin, thinking about my old Literature teacher, Mr. Grey, as I left the building. “Elementary.”