William Bernhardt - Death Row

“That’s more or less the point.” Blackwell rifled through some records on his desk. “He doesn’t exercise much restraint on you, does he?”

“Should he?”

“I see in his report that he advised you against intervening in the Burger Bliss siege. But you basically blew him off.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“But why should you listen to him? He’s your protégé.”

Mike’s eyes began to narrow. “Sir… where are you going with this?”

“I’m sure you’ve figured that out already, Mike. I’m assigning you a new partner.”

“But sir, Tomlinson-”

“Tomlinson will be fine, Mike. He’s earned a promotion and he’s going to get it. Please don’t bother arguing-I’ve already made up my mind.”

Mike knew there was a time to play and a time to fold. He sensed this was one of the latter. So he remained calm and cool and asked, “Who did you have in mind?”

Mike continued to remain calm and cool-until about a second after he heard the name.

“Jesus Christ, sir. No! Anyone else. Please! Anyone but her !”

“Mike, you’re wasting your time.”

“Please reconsider. Please.”

“I’ve asked her to join us.” Blackwell pushed a button on his desk phone. “Send Baxter in, please.”

A moment later, Sergeant Kate Baxter entered the office. She was slender and about five feet nine, with honey-blonde hair that fell to her shoulder blades. Her skin was a trifle pale and lightly freckled. She did not wear makeup, nor did she seem to particularly need makeup. All in all, not an unpleasant package, but as far as Mike was concerned, he was looking at the Bride of Frankenstein.

“It’s alive!” Mike muttered under his breath.

“Major Morelli,” Blackwell said, “I’d like you to meet your new partner, Sergeant Baxter. And likewise.”

As she shook Mike’s hand, she stared levelly into his eyes. Mike knew she was sizing him up. Just as he was her.

“Nice to meet you at last,” Mike said.

“I’m sure.”

Was he wrong, Mike thought, or did he get the impression she wasn’t any happier about this assignment than he was? He only hoped it was true. Maybe there was hope yet.

“Sergeant Baxter has an outstanding record, Mike. As I think you know, she just transferred from the Oklahoma City Homicide Department. Worked some major cases. Made a big impression.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Sergeant,” he said, still looking at her.

“As does yours, Major.”

Mike arched an eyebrow. “What have you heard?”

She hesitated. “I don’t like to repeat gossip.”

“Relax, Sergeant. You can speak freely. After all, we’re going to be partners.”

“Well…” She held back a few more moments. She glanced at Blackwell, who just shrugged. And apparently decided, what the hell? “Well,” she said, staring straight at Mike, “I’ve heard that you’re an arrogant, authoritative, sexist pig who likes to quote obscure bits of poetry to make other people feel inferior.”

Mike felt his teeth rattle. This was never going to work. Never in a million years. “Is that right?”

“I’m afraid so. But I’m sure it’s all untrue.”

“It is. Except for the poetry part.”

“I see.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was more like a don’t-push-me-or-I’ll-wring-your-neck smile. “And what have you heard about me?”

Well, why not? She started it. “Frankly, I’ve heard that you’re a ball-busting, man-hating royal pain in the butt. That your police skills are adequate, but that you alienated so many people you had to run down the turnpike and come work here.”

“Do tell.” Her face remained expressionless, but Mike knew he’d gotten to her. Good. He didn’t need this.

“Well, I’m glad we’ve cleared the air,” Blackwell said, eyes on the ceiling. “Now, why don’t we get to work?”

“Sir,” Mike said, “I wish to formally protest this assignment.”

“I don’t want to hear any more complaining. If you’ve got problems-work ’ em out.” He slid a file across his desk. “Here’s your first case. Get to it!”

As soon as he started back to Tulsa from McAlester, Ben punched up Speed Dial 1 on his cell phone. “Christina?”

“I’m here, faithful leader. How’s life in the slammer?”

“God willing, I’ll never know. I’ve got news.”

“Really?” Her voice fell. “I’ve got news, too.”

“Ray insists that we handle the habeas corpus proceeding.”

“You explained to him about the potential viability of an incompetent-counsel argument?”

Ben crossed lanes, got out his PikePass, and took the right-hand ramp onto the turnpike. “I did. He doesn’t care. He thinks Erin Faulkner is going to be his savior.”

“Oh.” The line fell silent for several moments. “This relates to my news.”

“Something about Erin?”

“Yeah.”

“Did she drop by to give a formal statement?”

“Not hardly.” The crackling of static on the line gave Christina’s next sentence an eerie resonance. “She’s dead.”

“Erin Faulkner.” Mike sat at his office desk, poring over the file. “Why do I know that name?”

“Apparently,” Baxter replied, reading over his shoulder, “she was the only survivor of a fairly hideous home invasion a few years back.”

Mike snapped his fingers. “Of course. How could I forget? Horrible tragedy. My pal Ben represented the perp. Not that that prevented us from sending him on a one-way rendezvous with the Big Needle.” He thumbed through the file. “Ben stills calls the case his greatest failure. But the truth is, he never had a chance. His client was buried by the evidence. Particularly the testimony from this girl.”

“Young woman, don’t you mean?”

“She was fifteen at the time, Baxter. Don’t get all PC on me. I’m an English major and I won’t tolerate anyone policing my language.” He continued working through the file. “Looks like suicide.”

“Yes…” Baxter said slowly. “It looks that way.”

“Not surprising, I suppose. After what she’d been through.”

“How do you mean?”

Mike continued reading, not looking up. “Ever heard of the sole-survivor syndrome? She must’ve had it big time. Eight family members killed. I’ll wager her life has been a nightmare of psychological recrimination. Guilt, anxiety, loneliness. Inability to connect with others. Most likely she never married. I’ll bet she had few close friends, if any.”

Baxter arched an eyebrow. “Speculating in advance of the facts? Not exactly standard detective procedure, is it?”

“Understanding people is what detective work is all about, Sergeant. If you can figure out the people, the rest of it is easy.” He closed the file. “Too bad.”

“That’s it? Too bad?”

“I suppose Blackwell wants us to take a look at the scene, then sign off on the certificate of self-inflicted death.”

“He wants us to investigate the crime.”

“Yeah. All violent deaths have to be investigated. It’s departmental policy. But I can guarantee you he doesn’t want us to expend a lot of time and manpower on an obvious suicide.”

“You haven’t been to the scene. You’ve barely looked at the file. How can you know that it’s a suicide?”

“Because I didn’t just join the department yesterday, Baxter.” He stood and grabbed his trench coat. “Let’s get this over with. But first I think it would be best if I established some ground rules, right at the start.”

If there had been a wall between them before, Mike sensed it had just become titanium-reinforced. “What did you have in mind?”

“Like, first of all, I’m in charge. I outrank you, I’ve got more seniority, and that means I’m the boss. I’m not going to put up with a partner who doesn’t do what she’s told, or is constantly challenging or second-guessing me.”