William Bernhardt - Death Row

Ben smiled a little. “You’re a leg man.”

“Guess my secret’s out.”

“It’s not a crime.” Ben folded up his notebook and prepared to leave. “What about Ray? Was he a leg man?”

“Oh, no.” A crease crossed his forehead. “He made that very clear on more than one occasion. He went for the eyes.”

Ben felt his back stiffen.

“He was nuts for a good pair of eyes,” Hubbard continued. “He’d catch the ladies’ gaze and follow them from one end of the club to the other. Staring at their eyes.”

“Ear kindling? That sounds dangerous.”

“Not kindling. Candling.”

“Ear candling?” Mike shrugged. “Still sounds dangerous.”

The doctor appeared all too accustomed to this reaction. “It’s a well-established scientific technique. Dates back to ancient Egypt.”

“So does trepanning, but I wouldn’t want to try that either.”

Dr. Harris smiled. “Totally different, I assure you.”

“And Erin Faulkner went in for this?”

“She visited me once a week. More regularly than she saw her psychiatrist, I understand.” Dr. Jamison Harris was a relatively young man-in his early thirties, Mike guessed. He was a trifle overweight but seemed in generally good shape, with long, brown hair that curled uncontrollably down his head and touched his shoulders. “She enjoyed her sessions.”

“Do you mind if I ask-why?”

“It’s very relaxing,” Harris explained. “And we live in an age when people are looking for relaxation, for something to calm their nerves and relieve their stress. Simple ways to achieve an altered state. No one more than Erin Faulkner.”

Sergeant Baxter frowned. “Personally, I think I’ll just stick with a good hot soak in the tub.”

Harris nodded. “And do you light candles when you take your bath?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Turn on some soothing music?”

“When I have the time.”

“And what Erin Faulkner did with me was much the same. Only more so. And with some medical benefits.”

“If you say so.” Mike dug his fists deep into his trench coat. “You ever heard about this ear-candling bit, Baxter?”

“Actually, I have. I had to educate myself. We shut down a couple of so-called therapists who were doing it in OK City.”

“What was the charge?”

She gave the doctor the eye. “Quack medicine.”

Harris held up a finger. “But they weren’t licensed to practice medicine, right? I am. I’m beyond your reach.”

“True enough. But I wonder how the AMA feels about this?”

Mike gave her a stern look. Don’t alienate the witness before they have a chance to interrogate him.

Baxter took the cue. “Maybe I haven’t had it explained to me properly. Could you tell me what it is exactly you do?”

“I’d be delighted.” Harris walked them across his apartment to a long table in the corner. It looked to Mike like something he might expect to see in a massage parlor, which, combined with the fact that the doctor was operating out of his apartment, did not elevate his opinion of the man’s practice.

“It’s very simple, really,” Harris said, raising a long white object. “I light the wide end of a hollow conical candle made of waxed cloth. Very gently, I insert the narrow tip on the opposite end into the ear. The heat generated by the flame creates a vacuum that sucks out all the foreign matter in the ear.”

“Like what?”

“Wax, obviously. But there’s more. Dust, dirt. Ear mites. Sometimes even small insects. Spiders and such.”

Mike cringed. “Out of someone’s ear?”

“You heard me.”

“You know, I’ve personally viewed sixty-four homicide victims, most of them violent deaths. But this is making me sick.”

“It’s not that bad, I assure you.”

“But how do you know if you actually accomplished anything?”

“After the procedure is finished-it takes about an hour-you can cut open the hollow candle and see for yourself what came out.”

“Oh happy day. And you say Erin Faulkner went in for this?”

“She said it was the high point of her week. She looked forward to it. It made her feel clean-in a way that nothing else did.”

“I’d like to ask you a few questions about what Erin might’ve told you. When she was in for her… er… candling sessions.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Privilege, you know.”

“She’s dead, Doctor.”

“Yes. But I still prefer not to reveal confidences. Not unless I’m ordered by the court.”

Apparently this was more than Baxter could bear. She stepped in between Mike and Harris. “Look, Doctor-if you were performing open-heart surgery, I might buy that. But this is medicine-show crap and we both know it. I’m not going to let you hide behind any so-called medical ethics.”

“I very much resent that. The ear-candling technique is a tried-and-true-”

“Don’t pull that crap on me, Doctor. I’m aware that this is the hot trendy new treatment for society broads who don’t really have anything wrong with them. But that doesn’t mean it works.”

“And tell me again where you got your medical degree?”

“There’s absolutely no proof whatsoever that this procedure does any good. What’s more, it could lead to infection, not to mention burns on the ear canal or eardrum or hair. The FDA considers it a heath hazard.”

“As if they knew anything about medicine.”

“Does the American Academy of Otolaryngology know anything about medicine?”

Mike did a double take. Now he was impressed.

“Because I happen to know for a fact,” Baxter continued, “that they don’t think it works. They say a lighted candle could never create enough suction to draw wax or much of anything else out of the ear. They say that stuff that shows up when you cut open the candle is just melted wax.”

“That’s absurd! It’s-it’s-ear mites, and-”

“Dogs get ear mites, Doctor. Dogs and cats. Not people. And ear wax is good for you, at least up to a point. It traps dust and dirt and prevents infection. Ear canals are hard to get at for a reason-to protect the eardrum.”

“It helps relieve headaches. Stress. You’re totally ignoring the psychological benefits.”

“What, the pleasure of lying on a table for an hour with a decent-looking guy in the room?”

“My business has been thriving.”

“You’ve got other customers? Besides Erin?”

“I’ve never been so busy. Does that surprise you?”

“Well, frankly, yes. I mean, I know Erin was kinda messed up-”

“Excuse me,” Harris said, cutting him off, “but I don’t agree with that at all.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

Mike sighed. “Dr. Harris, surely you realize that a report from us to the state licensing board or the AMA could get you shut down inside of a week. What’s more”-he glanced at his partner-“it should be fairly apparent to you by now that Sergeant Baxter would really enjoy doing it. I think you better talk to us, Doctor. Don’t you?”

“Okay,” Jones was saying to Loving as Ben entered the office, “I understand about the food and the water and the weapons. But why do you need the metal helmet?”

Ben’s eyes diverted to Jones’s desk, which was currently ornamented by an underwater diving helmet that had been tricked out with mirrors and an antenna. It looked like something Commander Cody might wear in an old movie serial.

Ben pulled up a chair. This was an explanation he wanted to hear.

“Two words,” Loving said, his face grave. “Mind control.”

Jones was not impressed. “I’m supposed to believe someone wants to control your mind?”