The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Adelle awoke with a start. She’d somehow fallen asleep while sitting up on the uncomfortable bench. Her bottom and neck ached. Her limbs were stiff.

The young woman squinted. The police station basement had no windows and was still illuminated by harsh electric lights. So everything looked exactly the same as when Adelle was first locked up. And yet, the beautiful young woman could sense that it was now the morning; upstairs, she could hear many people walking about and multiple conversations.

A door opened at the top of the stairs. “Detective? Detective Carpenter?” an eager young man’s voice said. Officer Hanson.

“Yeah?” replied a gruffer, older fellow.

“Detective, you saw the report from night watch?” Hanson asked, eager. “Well, we had a murder last night! Up at that big Stockwood house, if you can believe it!”

Adelle stiffened.

“Hold on, kid,” Detective Carpenter grumbled. “I wanna finish my coffee and read the report myself, thank you.”

“Sure thing,” Hanson demurred.

Her heart pounding, Adelle listened intently. Neither men spoke for a few minutes. The low mumble of other, more distant conversations filled the air.

“Huh,” Detective Carpenter finally said. “The maid dunit, eh?”

“Yeah, she’s downstairs in the pen.” His voice busting with pride, Hanson asked, “This could be it, right, Detective? This could be the case?”

“What case?”

“The case that gets me promoted to Homicide,” said the younger man, eager.

Carpenter didn’t respond right away. “It says here… waitaminute… the maid confessed?”

“Yessir. Right in front of everyone!”

Adelle’s spirits nosedived. She wanted to weep all over again.

“She confessed?” repeated Carpenter, skepticism in his voice. “Hold on, hold on, tell me about this confession.”

Hanson related the entire chronology of the evening, ending just after Adelle’s hypnosis-inspired admission of guilt.

“Something don’t add up,” Carpenter grumbled. “Tell me something, kid: Why did the maid kill Oakwater?”

Hanson was caught off-guard. “Uh… She hated him?”

“That’s probably it,” Carpenter admitted. “Young girl, maybe with mental problems, rich guy who makes her scrub the toilets, maybe she feels jealous. That could sell. But before we give her to the DA, we need to lock down three things. What are they?”

Hanson fumbled the question. “Er, the time of the murder, right? And, uh, how it was—“

“Kid,” Carpenter interrupted, “you want to join Homicide? I keep telling you, and you don’t listen: A little observation is everything. Now, remember what I determine on every case. All murders have three core requirements: Means, opportunity, and motive.”

Adelle swallowed, listening very closely.

“Means we got,” Carpenter said. “Oakwater was poisoned, and I’ll bet a big house like Stockwood has a thousand household poisons. Opportunity we got. Oakwater was in his private suite, and the maid was able to waltz right on in. …but motive?”

“Like I said, maybe she just hated him?” guessed Hanson.

“Maybe,” allowed the older man. But he sounded unconvinced.

“Detective, she confessed,” Hanson argued. “I mean… she confessed in front of witnesses. What more do we need?”

“Simmer down,” said Carpenter. “Ah, you’re probably right. But I ain’t signing off on this and passing this case to the DA until we have every ‘i’ dotted and every ‘t’ crossed.” He exhaled. “If we can nail down motive, I’m satisfied.”

“Yessir,” Hanson replied.

Strangely, Adelle felt the slightest glimmer of hope.

“Where’s the girl now? In Lockup?” asked Carpenter. “Cuff her, then bring her up to Interrogation. I wanna ask some questions.”

A few minutes later, Officer Hanson marched Adelle into a small, gray room up on Albany PD’s second floor. There was a heavyset man in his late fifties seated at a metal table, smoking a cigarette and pouring over an open file folder. Adelle could see typed forms and black-and-white photographs in the file. The man wore a faded suit, with a drab black tie that was ten years out of date. His hair was thinning, and there were huge bags under his eyes.

“Have a seat,” grunted the man, and immediately Adelle knew he was Detective Carpenter.

The beautiful young maid lowered herself into a folding chair opposite the detective. Officer Hanson made sure the door was shut firmly, then moved to stand behind his superior.

“Jesus,” said Carpenter, eyeing Adelle’s revealing uniform. “I gotta get me a maid.”

The young woman pressed her lips together.

Shrugging, Carpenter dove back into the file. “Adelle Lamarche,” he read, badly mispronouncing Adelle’s name. “Born September 20th, 1935, in Lalouvesc, France. Sponsored to enter the United States by one Charles Wilson Oakwater II, dated July 1st, this year.” The detective reclined in his chair. “So, Miss Lamarche… tell me all about your employer.”

“I didn’t kill him, Monsieur,” Adelle said quickly.

“No?” said Carpenter. “Last night, you said something very different.”

Adelle’s mind raced. She saw no option but to tell the naked truth… no matter how prosperous it sounded. What other choice was there?

“I was hypnotized, Monsieur,” she explained, desperate. “One of Monsieur Oakwater’s guests, she is a hypnotist. She did… that to me, and told me that I would believe I was the killer.”

Carpenter’s frown deepened. He tapped his cigarette into a plain metal ashtray. “Oh, I see. You were hypnotized.” His voice was not enthusiastic.

Nonetheless, Adelle launched into a detailed description of what happened to her the previous night. She related entering the Master Suite, seeing the killer in shadow, then discovering Charles Senior’s body. She then described William’s plan to hypnotize her, including the scheme he and Eleanor hatched to frame the poor young woman.

Carpenter and Officer Hanson listened without comment.

“That is what happened, Monsieur,” Adelle insisted.

“I ain’t convinced,” said Hanson. “Last night, you sang a totally different tune.”

“Oui, because I was hypnotized!” Adelle exclaimed. “I didn’t know what I was doing!”

Carpenter took a drag on his cigarette. “You got any proof?” he asked plainly.

Adelle stared at the older man, feeling trapped. She had to think of something, anything! But what…

An idea struck her.

“Tell me,” the beautiful young woman said delicately to Officer Hanson, “didn’t Mrs. Clatchet, our housekeeper, tell you that Monsieur Oakwater’s body was… how do you say…?” Adelle faltered, cursing her limited English. “…er, stiff? Like wood?”

“Yeah,” Carpenter agreed. He gestured to the report before him. “We got that documented.”

“So Monsieur Oakwater must have been dead for some time,” Adelle said hopefully. “Dead bodies, they do not, ah, stiffen immediately, non?”

Detective Carpenter drew on his cigarette again. “Typically, a body goes into rigor mortis three hours after death. But…” And here the detective rechecked the case notes with a frown. “…we know that less than two hours before you found him, Mr. Oakwater was at dinner. So something else caused him to stiffen up. Probably the toxins in his system.”

Adelle felt her stomach flop. “Well…” she hemmed, “…the body was also cold, mais oui? Do dead bodies instantly become cold upon death?”

“I’ll quote the report,” the detective drawled, inspecting the paperwork. “8:03 PM. The deceased Mr. Oakwater was cold to the touch when Officer Hanson inspected him, indicating an earlier time of death.”

“See, chief?” Officer Hanson said proudly. “Like you always say… A little observation is everything.”

“Oui, oui,” Adelle said hastily. “But I mean, Mr. Oakwater was cold when I first found him and when I alerted the others. At 7:15?”

Carpenter said nothing, but reclined in his chair.

“I believe Ms. Vesper tell your officer that?” Adelle prodded.

Detective Carpenter swiveled to look up at Hanson, clearly expecting the young officer to answer the question.

“Uh…” Hanson said, then stepped forward to scan his handwritten notes. “Yeah… a Ms. Eleanor Vesper and a Mrs. Blanche Clatchet both said the body was cold when they first came into the room.”

“Then I couldn’t have killed Monsieur Oakwater,” Adelle said, relieved.

The two policemen studied her quizzically.

Adelle explained: “Last night, before I go up to Mr. Oakwater’s suite, I must change my uniform. I am in the basement, and two other maids help me. They are with me the entire time. Then, I travel through the Great Hall, where Mrs. Hilda and several other servants see me. I immediately go into Charles Senior’s suite, find him dead, and then I scream.”

Detective Carpenter’s eyes widened in realization.

“So?” Officer Hanson said. “So you killed Mr. Oakwater quickly—“

“A body takes fifteen to twenty minutes to get cold,” Carpenter cut him off. He scowled, disgusted. “Hanson, the butler testified that Adelle here was in the Great Hall and three minutes later, she was screaming. Two minutes after that, the Vesper broad testified that the body was cold. That’s five minutes, total. Mr. Oakwater was already dead when Adelle was in the Great Hall.”

The detective glared at Officer Hanson. “Your murderess has an alibi.”

Adelle had only ever taken the ride from downtown to Stockwood Manor once before, when she needed to file immigration paperwork at City Hall. She remembered how plain and modest the city seemed then. Today, with overcast and rainy skies, Albany looked even drabber than usual.

The young woman was sitting in the back of a police squad car. The handcuffs had been removed, and she had even been loaned a jacket that hung over her tiny shoulders. Carpenter drove, Officer Hanson sat in the passenger seat. Neither man spoke. Big band music played faintly on the scratchy radio.

The city quickly fell away, and then the squad car was pulling through the imposing stone and iron gates of Stockwood. Adelle shuddered as she saw the great house once more.

“You let me do all the talking,” Carpenter growled to Officer Hanson. “The morgue boys are here?”

“They were called last night to get the body,” Hanson replied. “Forensics are on the scene, however.”

When he answered the door, it was hard to say what made Woolsby more astonished; the reappearance of Officer Hanson or the reappearance of Adelle. The butler gave her a cold, furious glare.

“Listen, Jeeves,” Carpenter told Woolsby in a no-nonsense manner. “We need to see the crime scene. Right away.”

The Master Bedroom Suite’s greeting room looked quite different now. Adelle was stunned to see no less than six plainclothes policemen, all in inexpensive suits and white gloves, carefully picking over every object in the room. The spot where Charles Senior had died was now empty. Several high-powered electric lights had been set up on collapsible tripods, making the dingy room quite bright indeed. One of the policemen carried a portable camera, and even now, he was carefully setting up a shot of the floor.

“Mornin’, Bill,” Carpenter said to the oldest policeman. “Another day at the office, eh?”

“Hank,” Bill the Policeman nodded back in response. He scowled at Adelle. “Who’s this?”

“Witness,” replied Carpenter. “Turns out the maid didn’t do it.”

“Now, doll,” the detective instructed Adelle, “walk me through everything that happened last night.”

Somehow word filtered through Stockwood Manor that Albany Homicide had returned. While Adelle was explaining how she’d seen the killer in shadow, William Oakwater suddenly burst into the suite.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his face red.

“Sir, I’m Hank Carpenter, Albany Homicide,” Carpenter said dourly, flashing his badge. “We’re conducting an investigation. I’m gonna ask you to step—“

“What is she doing here?” William interrupted his face twisting as he regarded Adelle. “You can’t poke and prod into my father’s effects, not with her!”

“Sir,” said Carpenter firmly, “step outside.”

William huffed, “I’m calling the family lawyers!” But he did withdraw.

“I always heard that the Oakwater family thought of itself as royalty,” Bill the Policeman said, shaking his head.

The comment spurred a thought in Adelle. What had Charles Senior said only yesterday? If my father knew how his offspring had disgraced our proud name…

The young maid, turned in wonder, now gazing at the portrait of the harsh-looking man which hung on the opposite wall. Now that she stared, she saw the family resemblance.

Of course! The portrait was of Charles Wilson Oakwater I. Charles Senior’s beloved father.

It was as if Adelle could suddenly see the world with perfect understanding. She moved to the painting, gingerly reaching for the frame.

“Hey!” Bill the Policeman exclaimed. “What’re you—“

Adelle pulled at the picture, just a little. It wasn’t hanging on the wall, but attached with hinges. The portrait swung outward, like a cupboard door being opened.

Behind the painting, there was a black safe, built right into the wall.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Carpenter said flatly, as if he wasn’t actually surprised. To Adelle, he asked, “You knew that was there?”

“Non, Monsieur,” she said, and hoped the old cop believed her.

Carpenter moved to the safe, inspecting the spinning combination lock. Everyone in the room watched him with rapt interest.

“This is why the old man was killed,” the sleuth said with certainty.

“Yeah?” Bill the Policeman asked. “How are you so certain?”

“There’s an old saying among detectives,” replied Carpenter, still eyeing the combination lock. “Look for the secrets people keep; that’s why they get murdered.”

The heavyset detective eyed the safe as he put on his gloves. “Run and ask to use the house phone,” Carpenter instructed Officer Hanson. “Then phone the station, tell ’em to get the safecracker out here.”

“You’re opening that?” Bill the Policeman asked in surprise.

“This is a murder investigation,” stated Carpenter. “We follow the evidence.” He glanced at Adelle. “You know who is in this painting, doll?”

“Oui, Monsieur,” she replied. “Charles Senior’s father.”

Detective Carpenter rubbed his jaw. “I’m playing a hunch here,” he muttered aloud. “What dates would have been important to this man?”

Adelle’s mind flashed back to the framed photo outside the library: “Charles Wilson Oakwater I opens his first coal mine. August 19, 1874.” And from the study: “Stockwood Manor Construction Begins: May 4th, 1893.”

“Try… 8, 19, 5, 4,” she said with a growing certainty.

Carpenter looked suspicious, and Adelle quickly told him about the photographs. “They’re elsewhere in the house,” she said lamely. “If you would like to see them…”

“Yeah, we’re gonna verify that,” the detective said, nodding at Officer Hanson, who took a note. “Okay, then…” He began spinning the dial. “8…”

Everyone waited in suspense as Carpenter worked.

“…and lastly, 4,” he announced, then pulled the safe’s latch.

There was a soft clunk, and then the safe door slowly swung open.

“I’ll be damned,” Carpenter said, pleased. He shot a glance at Hanson. “See? A little observation is everything. Maybe I should put Miss Adelle here on Homicide.”

Officer Hanson’s expression fell.

“Okay, quick, somebody get a photograph of the inside,” Bill the Policeman ordered.

Adelle craned her neck. The interior of the safe contained a cardboard document box, stacks of wrapped hundred dollar bills, and a revolver.

Carpenter waited until the photographer was finished, then grabbed the document box. He set it on an end table, then quickly began inspecting the contents. Inside the box, there were file folders, all thick with documents.

“Hey, Bill?” asked Carpenter. “You mind if I sit over there?” He jerked his head toward the couch on the far end of the room.”

Bill the Policeman glanced at his colleagues, then shrugged. “Over there is fine.”

Without a word, Detective Carpenter carried the box to the couch, sat down, and started reading. The other policemen continued their work.

Adelle was now completely ignored. Not knowing what else to do, she stood off to the side, fidgeting. She dared not leave the room without an officer’s permission. And besides, she doubted she’d receive a warm welcome from the Oakwaters or Stockwood’s servants.

By unhappy coincidence, Adelle found herself standing approximately near the spot where she’d discovered Charles Senior’s body. The archway to the bedroom was just across the way, not ten feet from her. The young woman found herself studying that space now, and thinking back.

She’d seen the murderer, she’d actually laid eyes on the killer! If only she’d realized it at the time. Adelle sighed, wishing she could remember even the slightest detail.

Her mind wandered. What had Carpenter said earlier? All murders have three core requirements: means, opportunity, and motive.

Well… that probably ruled out Wendy Viebeck. Wendy was absent when the body was discovered, and she was asleep in her bed when Charles Senior was killed. Plus, her marriage had never taken place, so she was not in the will. She lacked opportunity and motive.

Adelle chewed her lip. As much as she was loathe to admit it, it was unlikely Eleanor Vesper was the killer, too. Eleanor was financially dependent on Charles Senior to fund her perverted hypnosis research. Without his money, Eleanor was just a crackpot hypnotist lacking resources. Killing Charles Senior worked against her best interest. She had no motive.

Speaking of the women in Charles Senior’s life, Hilda Oakwater was definitely off the list. She hated her father-in-law, that much was certain, but she had been in the Great Hall holding a sleeping Baby Chuckie at the time of the murder. And Hilda was fat, very fat. There was absolutely no way the chubby woman could have been the dark, thin, and crouching shadow Adelle had seen in the bedroom. Nor could she have sprinted up the stairs to kill Charles Senior, then return back to the Great Hall. She lacked opportunity.

Hmm.

Thinking carefully, Adelle worked though more suspects. Woolsby? No motive, certainly. He had actually liked Charles Senior. Mrs. Clatchet? Like Hilda, she was too fat to be the killer. The other servants? Why would they kill and risk their own jobs? That made no sense.

Only three people seemed to be promising suspects: William, Samuel, and Charlie Junior.

All three knew Stockwood well and could have located a cleaning supply closet. Means. All three knew where their father was after dinner, and could have escaped into the suite bedroom. And all three had the thin body that could have crouched into the dark shadow Adelle had seen. Opportunity. All three were in the will, and all of them hated their father. Motive.

But Adelle was uncertain. How did anyone ever solve a murder? It was so easy to see the case for and the case against when-

“Okay, then,” Detective Carpenter announced, jolting Adelle’s thoughts. “I was right; this is why Oakwater was killed.” He slipped the file folder back into the document box.

“Yeah?” Officer Hanover said, breathless.

Carpenter rose to his feet. “Assemble the family and staff downstairs. Let’s go and catch us a murderer.”

Detective Hank Carpenter certainly had a flair for the dramatic. He commandeered the expansive map room, a large chamber with a central table, long leather couches, and framed charts on the walls. The Oakwaters sat on those couches, icy and resentful. Eleanor Vesper, who had stayed the night in a guest room, joined them. Woolsby, Mrs. Clatchet, and the entire service staff, plus José, lined up along the far wall. Everyone waited in dreadful suspense.

The homicide detective took his time. With the other policemen and Adelle in his wake, he assumed control of the center of the room. “Thanks, everyone, for coming,” he grunted, although he did not sound thankful in the slightest.

“What is going on?” demanded Charlie Junior. Hilda, holding a snoring Baby Chuckie, sat beside her husband, but refused to look at him.

“We’re all gonna have a little chat,” Carpenter announced. “I have some observations to make, and I want to judge everyone’s reactions. Get me?”

He paused. “Hey, where’s… what’s his name… Sammy? Samuel?”

Adelle blinked. She hadn’t noticed; Samuel was absent.

Woolsby cleared his throat. “Forgive me, sir,” he said stiffly, “but Mr. Samuel left, ah, quite abruptly. Not five minutes ago. He went to the garage—“

“Get the station on the horn,” Carpenter ordered Officer Hanson. “Put out an APB on Samuel Oakwater. To be arrested on sight. Get on it.”

Hanson nodded, then hurried out.

“Wait a minute, here,” William bristled. “You think Sam is Papa’s killer? What about her?” And he stabbed a finger at Adelle.

“Miss Adelle is not the killer,” Detective Carpenter stated. “Let me be clear on that.”

The Oakwaters and servants all dropped their jaws.

“But we heard the little slut—“ Hilda began.

“Miss Adelle has testified that she was hypnotized last night,” interrupted Carpenter. “Ain’t that the case?”

No-one responded. But more than a few people snuck suspicious glances at a pale-looking Eleanor.

“In any event, Miss Adelle has an alibi, which we’re gonna verify in this room, right now,” Carpenter declared. “But first, let’s find Mr. Oakwater’s killer, eh?”

“This is outrageous,” growled William.

Carpenter took the document box from another policeman, then dramatically placed it on the table. “You know what this is?” he asked the room.

Once again, no-one responded.

“It seems,” the detective said, drawing out a thick file folder, “that Mr. Oakwater Senior had his misgivings about all of you. So he hired private eyes to tail you, watch you, learn any and all dirty little secrets about you. These are the PIs’ reports.”

The color drained from each of the Oakwater children’s faces.

“Let’s take Sammy, for a start,” Carpenter said lazily, opening and flipping through the file folder. “Sammy was into a lot of bad stuff. Prostitution rings, coordinating drug runners, publishing pornography and smut, business with the Mafia… lotta bad stuff.” He paused, still browsing. “But nothing in here proves he killed his father.”

Adelle wanted to kick herself. Samuel couldn’t be the killer! When the family had converged into Charles Senior’s suite, Samuel had been high… or at the very least, a little buzzed. Adelle remembered how the young man had trouble standing once he beheld his dead father. Besides, everywhere Samuel went, he spread the noxious stench of his horrid cigarettes. The smell oozed from his clothes. But Charles Senior’s suite had smelled of stale food on the night of the murder, not pine and mint.

Carpenter set aside the “Samuel” file, then drew out another.

“So whattabout the old man’s namesake?” the detective drawled. “Charles Oakwater III. According to this here report, Charles Junior here has a real hard time being faithful to his wife and kid. He also borrows money like crazy. I don’t understand a lot of these numbers papers, but I’d guess the IRS and maybe Fed commission would like to talk with Charlie boy about these wheeling and dealings.”

There was a pregnant pause as Detective Carpenter stared down the youngest Oakwater son, who did his best to look brave.

Adelle wondered: Had she seen Charlie Junior in the darkness? It was possible. She didn’t doubt that the man was capable of slimy things. Perhaps dreadful things.

Charlie Junior, seething, clenched his fists. “Nothing you’ve said proves that I murdered my own father,” he said defiantly.

“You’re right,” agreed Carpenter. “It doesn’t.” He leafed through the “Charlie” file, as casually as if he were perusing a magazine at the newsstand.

“In my experience,” the detective said, “people don’t become murderers just because they have low character or make poor decisions. After all, Charlie Boy, as disastrous as you are at finance, you always knew that your Daddy Moneybags would be there to catch you if you fell. You’re actually better off with your father alive.” He shut the folder. “I don’t think you’re the killer.”

Charlie Junior let out a long, wobbly exhale.

All eyes in the room now turned to William.

“But now, let us consider Oakwater’s oldest boy,” intoned Carpenter. “At first glance, the pride of the family, eh? The only one of Mr. Oakwater’s sons to go into business and actually make money. The only one to truly carry the Oakwater torch.”

The detective took out the “William” folder, which was quite thick. William himself sat quietly, trembling in either fear or rage.

“But it seems, Willy Boy’s investments ain’t doing so well,” Carpenter announced. “The diamond mine in Brazil? A bust. The expedition for oil prospecting in Australia? Even worse. And the miracle cure medical company he bought? A big scam. Turns out that William is teetering on the brink of bankruptcy.”

“So I killed Papa for his money, is that it?” the eldest Oakwater blurted out.

“You are the executor of his will,” Carpenter said levelly. “That is, until your father was about to get married. At that point, your new stepmother would be first.”

“There’s also some other coincidences which bother me,” the detective continued, his eyes boring into William’s face. “Adelle testified that you were the first person to reach her after she found Mr. Oakwater dead and screamed. So you were close by at the time of the murder. And it was you who insisted she be hypnotized to thinking that she was the killer. Why so keen to frame a maid, eh?”

“None of that,” William retorted, “proves that I’m the killer.”

“True enough,” said Carpenter. “But I’m saving the biggest secret for last. You had an extremely important reason for killing your father, didn’t you, William? You want to tell everyone here why you never married and had kids, like Charlie?”

William’s defiant glare melted. “No…” he whispered.

“You’re a deviant, Mr. Oakwater,” confronted Carpenter. “A sicko homosexual. And your lover is that man.” And he pointed at José.

All of the servants jumped. José, his eyes wide, shook his head in dismay.

“Care to deny it?” Carpenter rumbled. “Because there are photographs. Your father’s PIs were watching you from the hotel across the street from your condominium.”

“How dare—“ William tried.

“Sodomy is illegal, Mr. Oakwater,” the detective said, signaling the policemen. “Once you knew that your father learned of your disgusting perversion, you had to kill him, or risk exposure. Isn’t that right?”

“He made me do the homosexual sex! He made me!” José sniveled. “He blackmailed me, sí! He said that if I didn’t—“

“Silence, José!” William shouted in desperation.

“William Oakwater, you are under arrest for deviant sexual relations and the murder of Charles Wilson Oakwater II,” Carpenter declared, cold satisfaction in his voice. “Boys, cuff these faggots. Both of ’em.”

As William and José cried out, the police swarmed forward.