William Bernhardt - Death Row

“Yeah, well, it’s not going to last,” Mike said confidently.

“What makes you so sure?”

“The fact that I have more vacation and sick time saved up than everyone else in the department combined. As soon as this suicide is closed, and before Blackwell can give us anything else, I’m going on vacation. And while I’m out basking on the sunny shores of some tropical beach, darn it, I’m likely to become sick.” He winked. “Bad case of the blue flu.”

“You rogue,” Tomlinson said.

“Yeah,” Bolen echoed. “Hope it ain’t terminal.”

“Blackwell won’t be able to let her sit idle forever. He’ll have to pair her with someone else. At any rate, he won’t see my butt back till he does.”

“Blackwell isn’t stupid. He won’t like it.”

“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t have tried to palm her off on me in the first place.”

“He had to give her to someone.”

“Not me.” Mike polished off the rest of his coffee. “I know Blackwell’s trying to punish me for that Burger Bliss screwup. But the weird thing is-I get the impression he’s trying to punish her, too.”

“Then he oughta just give her a spanking,” Tomlinson said. “She might like that.”

“I’ll punish her,” Bolen said boisterously. “I’ll punish her with my brush hog.”

“But to do that, you’d have to get your blade up,” said a voice from the back of the room. “Which I very much doubt you could do.”

Three jaws dropped.

Sergeant Baxter was standing behind them, at the door.

“Baxter,” Mike said, tossing his crumpled cup into the trash. “How long have you been standing there?”

“So long I’ve heard enough macho bullshit to fill the Augean stables.”

“Aw, Baxter, we were just-”

“Could I please have a word with you, Major Morelli? Partner? ” she added icily.

“Of course,” he said, eyes and teeth clenched as if in pain. Or about to be. “If you’ll excuse me, boys.”

“Remember,” Tomlinson whispered, “don’t let her drive.”

“Brush hog,” Bolen muttered. “Brush hog.”

“Can’t we put someone else on the stand to talk about what Erin said?” Loving asked Ben. “Like, you, f’r instance?”

“That would make things simpler, wouldn’t it?” Ben answered. “But unfortunately, it would be hearsay. Even given the fact that Erin is now unable to testify, no judge would let it in. And even if one did, how persuasive would it be? The guy’s defense attorney says that the recently deceased witness for the prosecution retracted her testimony? We’ll never get Ray out with that.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. Yet. That’s what I want all of you to find out.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Jones said. “While I’m at it, I’ll get you a hot stock tip from Loving’s international banking cabal.”

“This is not the time for sarcasm, Jones. This is the time to roll up our sleeves and work. Loving, I want you to start digging into Erin Faulkner’s life. Digging deep. I want to know everything about her. I want you to talk to her friends, her coworkers, her psychiatrist. Anyone and everyone. I want to know everything she’s done in the seven years since the assault on her family.”

“I’ll get right on it, Skipper.”

“Good. She told us her testimony was false. She might’ve told someone else.”

“She said she hadn’t,” Christina reminded him.

“Nonetheless. She might’ve let something slip. In therapy. At a pajama party, when she’d drunk too much. Even a hint. Anything would help.”

“All right,” Loving said. “Will do.”

“Some of the people you interview may not be eager to talk to you. Especially after you tell them you’re working for Ray Goldman. But I know you won’t let that slow you down.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes, Ben.”

“Good.” He adjusted his chair. “Jones, I want you to dig up everything you can about the home invasion at the Faulkner residence seven years ago. Absolutely everything. We’ve already got extensive files on it. I want more. And I’d like it on my desk as soon as possible.”

“Okay. Why?”

“It’s a long shot, but there might be some clues there. Some hint of what really happened.”

“Ben, what are the odds that we’re going to find something seven years after the fact that the police didn’t catch?”

“I’m a lawyer, not a bookie. I don’t care about odds. I want facts.”

Jones shrugged his shoulders. “Then you’ll get ’em. But it seems like-”

“Remember, the police were certain, almost from the start, that Ray was their man. They might’ve overlooked anything that didn’t point his direction. They might have even buried it.” He gave Christina a knowing look. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

“Not by a long shot.”

“It’s even possible Ray was intentionally framed.”

“By the police?”

“By someone. We have to check every possible angle. So find out everything possible about the crime, Jones. And I’d like whatever you can scrape up about this suicide, too.”

“Roger wilco.”

Ben turned his chair full circle. “Christina, first and foremost, you’ve got to educate yourself on the law pertaining to federal habeas appeals. The attorney general’s office has people who specialize in these. And most of the time, they win. You’ve got to go toe-to-toe with the big boys.”

“Understood.”

“They’ll be wanting to beat you over the head with the ‘presumption of finality.’ Barefoot v. Estelle and all that. You have to be ready to counter them, point by point.”

“Got it.”

“But I’d also like you to get involved in the investigation of Erin Faulkner. I want your take on her.”

“Really? Why me?”

“You’re a woman.”

Christina fluttered her eyelashes. “At last he notices.”

“What would cause a woman to keep quiet for seven years while an innocent man sat on death row? What would motivate her to speak now, after all that time? If we had more insight on those questions, we might be able to figure out what happened.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Pardon me for being the voice of reality,” Jones said, “but I know for a fact that Ray Goldman’s defense fund ran dry a long time ago. He hasn’t got a dime to his name and he hasn’t worked for seven years.”

Ben and Christina exchanged a look. “Jones-”

“Forgive me for being so venal, but some of us like to eat regularly. Maybe we should let Indigent Appeals handle this. Are we going to make any money?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said, “and frankly, I don’t care. Not at the moment, anyway. We can worry about practicalities later. First and foremost has to be the appeal. This is our last chance.”

He looked at each of them, a grim expression set on his face. “Our time is running out. And if our time runs out-so does Ray’s.”

“C’mon, Baxter,” Mike implored. “We were just shootin’ the breeze.”

“Bull. You were shooting off your mouths, as a metaphor for shooting off something else.”

“We were only having a little fun.”

“That was not fun. That was not fun for me at all.”

“Well… I’m sorry. But it was harmless.”

“It was not harmless!” She whirled around, jabbing the heel of her palm into his chest. They had walked to the stairwell between the third and fourth floors of the downtown headquarters building. The stairwell was reasonably secluded, but whenever Baxter shouted, it echoed tremendously. Mike suspected the mayor could probably hear what she said three stories down.

“It was not remotely harmless. It was damaging to my reputation.”