William Bernhardt - Death Row

Christina inched forward. “How long have you been collecting butterflies?”

The doctor did not look up. “Well, I don’t exactly collect them. I admire them. Lepidoptery is a science, not a hobby.” She smiled slightly. “Of course, I’m just an amateur practitioner. But still.”

Ben gazed at the walls of her study, which were covered with framed and mounted butterflies. Dozens of them. The myriad sizes, shapes, and colors were truly beautiful, Ben thought, even if he was basically looking at dead insects. The mounting also seemed very professional, at least to his untrained eye. The good doctor knew what she was doing.

“It must be an enormous amount of work,” Christina commented.

“True. But I enjoy it.”

“How long did it take you to pick it up?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Years, I suppose. A little bit at a time.” She set down the stiletto she was using to position a butterfly on a cork-based board. “Of course, I’ve spent my whole life learning to identify the butterflies themselves. Several years learning to use the tools of the trade. How to catch them. How to use the stiletto and scalpel to mount them. It’s delicate work. Requires some real skill.”

“Fascinating,” Ben said, and for once, he meant it. “How did you learn it all?”

“Well, I’m a member of the American Lepidopterists’ Society. They have meetings and such. Very detailed guidelines about collecting and exhibiting specimens. Data sharing. The handling of live material.”

Ben bent down for a closer look at her work. “Mind if I ask what that is?”

“That, my friend, is a pristine specimen of Ornithoptera victoriae victoriae . Queen Victoria ’s Birdwing from the Solomon Islands. I’ve been after one all my life. And now, thanks to the Society, I have one. They find already deceased specimens and preserve them.” She grinned like a kid with a cookie. “You can see why I couldn’t wait.”

“It’s beautiful,” Christina said, wishing she could think of a more profound comment.

“That it is. And extremely endangered. Like all too many rainforest species, its days are numbered. The Society has tried introducing them into new environments. But it rarely takes. Unless there are some serious changes in the way we manage our natural resources, we’ll probably see this and thousands of other beautiful and diverse species disappear. In our lifetimes. A tragic loss.”

Staring at all the lovely examples lining her walls, Ben couldn’t possibly argue with her. And he would’ve much rather talked about butterflies than murder. But that was not a long-term option. “Could we talk about Erin Faulkner for a moment?”

Dr. Bennett laid down her tools. “Of course. Poor Erin. I liked her. Genuinely. Not just in a doctor-patient way. She was a good person. And at one time, she was very strong, I believe.”

“Before her family was murdered?”

Bennett nodded. “The way she handled herself during that crisis, the courage she showed in her escape, those were all remarkable. But the emotional toll it took on her-that was incalculable.”

“Were you surprised when you heard she was dead?”

“Of course. I mean, suicide had always been a possibility for her. She was struggling with so much trauma. So much guilt. But I thought she was getting better.” She sighed.

“You know,” Christina said, “there’s some doubt about whether it was suicide. In the police department, I mean.”

“I know. I just finished talking to a homicide detective. Some big gruff guy with a Raymond Chandler fixation.”

Ben’s lips turned up. “Major Morelli, perhaps?”

“Yes. That was the one. I suppose they have to be thorough.” Her eyes drifted, and Ben thought he caught a touch of genuine regret. “But it’s hard for me to imagine it could be anything other than suicide.”

“Did Erin ever discuss the source of her… guilt? I assume you can talk about this now.”

“Yes. The privilege expires with the patient, I’m afraid.” She paused. “ Erin would never have used the word guilt . Not as such. But it was always there. It was as much a part of her as her arms and her damaged leg.”

“She felt guilty because she survived. The only member of her family.”

“Yes. That was certainly a part of it. But I also…” Her head tilted slightly. “I always had the sense there was something more.”

Ben’s eyes lit up. “Did she ever indicate what that other source of guilt might be?”

“No, I’m afraid she never did. Erin had not been my patient that long, you know. And she had not yet learned to speak freely. Had not learned to trust yet, not entirely. That woman should’ve been in therapy long before she was, frankly. If she had been…” She shook her head. “But worlds could be built on ifs, couldn’t they?”

“Did she ever talk about the home invasion?”

“Yes, but she didn’t like to. And of course, she didn’t see that much of it herself. She was crippled and knocked unconscious early in the horror. When she woke, she was chained up in the cellar.”

Ben nodded. He was all too familiar with the grim events of that night. “Can you think of anything she said, anything that might not be in the official reports? We have reason to believe that the man accused and convicted, Ray Goldman, did not actually commit the crime.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Ben blinked. This was a refreshing change of pace. “And we’re trying to find out who did.”

“Well, I could help you there.”

Christina’s eyes widened. “You can?”

“Oh yes,” Dr. Bennett said, removing her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I know who killed the Faulkner family. I always have.”

“Can I talk to you?”

Mike glanced up from his coffee cup. Sergeant Baxter was bearing down on him. It seemed there was to be no rest, even during coffee breaks.

“Can it wait?”

Baxter placed one fist against her hip. “No, it can’t.”

Mike glanced over her shoulder. There were four other guys in the canteen, and they were already looking this way. “Not very private.”

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Mike poured himself another cuppa. “Okay, Sergeant, what’s the beef?”

“You filed a negative report on me.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You accused me of unprofessional conduct.”

“And your point is?”

Mike could feel the steam rising from the top of her head. “What the hell are you trying to do to me?”

“I think you’re personalizing this, Sergeant. I’m just doing my job.”

“Bullshit.” She knocked the Styrofoam cup out of his hands. Hot black coffee flew across the room. “I didn’t complain when you tried to get transferred to a different partner. I didn’t complain when you filed reports disputing my conclusions. I didn’t complain when you tried to use all your sick leave to get away or threatened to catch the Blue Flu if you didn’t get transferred. But this is different! This goes on my permanent record.”

“Sergeant, we may be partners, but you would do well to remember that I am also your superior officer. When I see conduct that in my opinion does not conform with the standards of this department-”

“Cut the crap, Morelli.” She surged forward, giving him nowhere to escape. “You want to embarrass me in front of the other officers, you do that. You want to make me out as some kind of man-hating ball buster, fine. But don’t screw with my career!”

“All I did was-”

“I know exactly what you did! And I know why you did it, too!”

“Sergeant Baxter-”

“I’ve been a cop for twelve years. And I’ve run into a lot of sexist creeps in my time. But no one ever messed with my record.”