William Bernhardt - Death Row

Bennett pondered. “Well… I’ll think about it. But you must also remember-it’s not unheard of for an organized nonsocial to be able to disguise his illness. To hide his aberration. Lots of people knew Ted Bundy-and liked him. No one thought he was a killer. Until he’d knocked off about forty people.”

Ben nodded. A sobering thought.

“If there’s nothing else, Ben…” She smiled. “I hear a rare lepidoptera calling me.” She picked up her pins and stiletto.

“Of course.” He and Christina headed for the door. On first arrival, he had thought the butterfly business a rather unusual hobby. Maybe even a little sick. Killing the pretties. But after hearing about what she did, what she knew, what she dealt with on a regular basis-he could see why she enjoyed her butterflies. He could see why she needed them.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Chief Blackwell bellowed.

Mike drew himself back into the armchair. He felt about two feet tall. Like he’d been called into the vice principal’s office. “I can’t work with her, Chief. I just can’t.”

“You can if I say you can.”

“No, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.”

Mike gripped the arms of the chair. “It’s impossible, sir. She’s got a chip on her shoulder the size of Sand Springs. She’s bullying and domineering. A real harpy.”

“Don’t start with the sexist remarks.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“No? I suppose you meant to say something about her panties?”

Mike closed his eyes. “I should’ve known she’d go running to you.”

“For your information, Major, she did not report the incident, although pursuant to departmental regulations, she should have. Happily, I got reports from about twelve other eyewitnesses who heard the whole thing. You’re the talk of the department.”

“Chief, it was just me and Frank and some of the boys shooting the breeze.”

“I don’t care what it was. And I don’t want to hear any excuses!” Blackwell pounded his fist against his desk. “I don’t understand this, Mike. Hell, you’re supposed to be the sensitive one on the force. The college man with the graduate degree. The English major, for God’s sake. And you’re behaving worse than the worst of the old-guard male chauvinists. The difference being-they don’t know any better. You do.”

Mike’s mouth felt dry. “Chief, you know I don’t have a problem with women working on the force-”

“I don’t know that I do, Mike. I used to. Now I’m not so sure.” He leaned across his desk. “What do you think would happen if word got around about this? What if the press got a hold of your ‘panties’ remark? What if it got back to the mayor? Huh? I can assure you she would not find it amusing.”

“Sir, I have absolutely no objection to women police officers. Or even personally working with women. It’s just… this woman. Baxter. I can’t work with her.”

“Why? Are you hot for her?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that Sergeant Baxter is quite attractive. And I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice, either. Is that the problem? Do you have feelings for her? Are you suppressing your sexual frustration with open hostility?”

“Sir, I can assure you that isn’t the case.”

“Yeah, I hear your mouth working. But I’m not sure your brain is along for the ride.” He rapped a pencil on his desk. “That would explain a lot. I’m aware that your personal life has been totally screwed up ever since your divorce. Rarely a date, from what I hear. Hanging out with defense attorneys. Perverse stuff like that.”

“Sir, I give you my personal guarantee. There is no sexual attraction. If the rest of the female population were covered with pustulant weeping boils, there would still be no sexual attraction.”

“Says you.” Blackwell stared across the desk at him. Mike didn’t remember ever seeing the man look so angry. “May I remind you how this assignment started, Major? It started because you screwed up. Badly.”

“Sir-”

“Just shut up and listen. A lot of the higher-ups thought I should’ve yanked your badge right then and there, after you butted into that hostage scene where you had no business and made a mess of it. But I said no. I said give him another chance.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

“Our record as an equal opportunity employer has not always been the best. The mayor wants to change that.” He paused, looking squarely at Mike. “You can see where she might have an interest in that sort of thing. She wants Baxter to succeed. And therefore, so do I. That’s why I assigned her to you. And that’s why you are going to do everything possible to make the assignment a success. Do you understand me?”

Mike’s face tightened. “I suppose.”

“I will not accept excuses, Mike. You will make this work.”

“I’ll do my best-”

“Don’t give me that schoolboy crap about doing your best. You will make it work. Are we clear on that?”

Mike stood at attention. “Yes, sir!”

“I’m tearing up this bogus report you wrote. I wouldn’t allow that to sit in anyone’s file, much less Sergeant Baxter’s.”

“Yes, sir.”

Blackwell pointed a finger. “And make no mistake about it, Mike. I don’t care how long we’ve worked together. If you screw this up, I’ll have your badge.”

“Chief-!”

“I mean it, Mike. You keep that in mind as you continue to work with your new partner. You want this to work.” He lowered his voice. “Because it’s not just her career that’s on the line here. It’s yours.”

Ben was almost out his front door when Joni stopped him. “Got some news.”

He pulled the door closed behind him and locked it. “Mr. Perry finally going to pay his bill?”

“Not that exciting.”

“You got the Silvermans’ air conditioner fixed?”

“Not that mundane, either.” She shifted her weight, and as she did, Ben couldn’t help but notice the tool belt slung low around her hips. Pretty darned appealing, as handymen go. “It’s about that bundle of fur you room with.”

“Giselle?”

“Yeah, that one. I took a look at her last night, before you got home.”

“Did you take her to the vet?”

“Didn’t need to. It’s obvious.”

“What’s obvious? Feline schizophrenia?”

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. All the signs were there. Moodiness. Strange behavior. Desperation to get outside. All those cats swarming outside the house. All of them male.”

“Is this Final Jeopardy?” Ben asked. “Because if it is, I’m about to lose everything I wagered.”

“That’s because you, for all your brains, are so pitifully unaware of some of life’s little fundamentals.”

“Like what?”

“Like sex, Ben.” She grinned. “Your cat is in heat.”

Ben was nonplussed. “Then get her a fan.”

Joni sighed. “Come along, Benjy. We’re going to have a little talk. The one your daddy should’ve had with you a long time ago…”

The man who greeted Ben an hour later at the front door of the laboratory was wearing a white coat with a pocket protector that held an array of pens and pencils and even a small calculator. Ben supposed he looked the very image of an industrial chemist, but for some reason he kept thinking of Sherman and Mr. Peabody.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Dr. Reynolds.”

“Not at all.” Conrad Reynolds was a short, balding man in his late forties, and remarkably convivial for someone who spent his days with test tubes and formulae. “I still remember Ray Goldman fondly. And Frank Faulkner, for that matter. Please come inside.”