William Bernhardt - Death Row

“Then that’s our next stop. Thank you, Doctor.”

The relief on her face was evident. “Am I free to go? I have an engagement tonight.”

“Let me check with my superior officer,” Baxter said wryly. She turned her head. “Can she go?”

“Yeah, you can go,” Mike said, then added, absolutely straight-faced, “But don’t leave town.”

Did he really look that much worse than the last time? Ben wondered as he peered at the man on the other side of the glass. Or was this just the product of an overactive imagination, perhaps augmented with feelings of guilt and senseless responsibility? It had only been a few days. Maybe it was the harsh glare of the overhead lighting, the clouding effect on Ben’s contact lenses.

Or perhaps Ray really had aged in the hours since Ben had seen him last. Think of all he had been through recently. Almost executed. Then the key prosecution witness recants. Then she dies before she can tell the authorities and the judge declines to grant his petition for relief. And once again, an execution date is looming, drawing near all too quickly. Maybe the recent developments had taken a toll on Ray’s body that to anyone else would simply be unimaginable. Maybe that was the reality of life on death row.

“I wish I had more to report,” Ben said into the receiver, “but it seems as if all we uncover are more questions. Interesting questions. Important questions. But damn few answers.”

“I like Christina’s theory about a second assailant,” Ray said. “It makes a certain sense. There was so much death, so much destruction. A second person is definitely credible.”

“A second person with a heart of gold? Who nonetheless participated in the torture and murder of an entire family?”

Ray hunched his shoulders. “Heart of gold might be stretching it. Some vestige of morality, perhaps. And we don’t know to what degree he participated in the killing. He or she, that is.”

“I’m still not convinced. Serial killing is not usually a group activity.”

“I don’t know from serial killers,” Ray said. “But it seems to me this crime breaks the mold in several respects.”

“That’s what the psychiatrist thought, too. Dr. Bennett. She seemed to have a hard time coping with the idea of anyone being cruel enough to do this.”

Ray grunted. “This from a woman who puts pins through butterflies.”

“Well, yeah.” Ben glanced at his notes. “Do you know anything about this organ clinic where Erin worked?”

“Sorry,” Ray replied. “Never heard of it. I don’t think it existed when I was last a free man.”

“It did, actually. Although Erin didn’t work there yet.”

“Any reason to think her workplace has anything to do with this case?”

“Not really,” Ben admitted. “I’m just trying to be thorough. I did get a tip from my pal Mike at the police department. He says the feds have been quietly taking a look at the clinic. They think Dr. Palmetto may have been involved in some black-market organ dealing.”

“Shades of Robin Cook.”

“Apparently it’s a big-money racket. Organs are even being sold over the Internet, which makes it all the harder to catch the marketeers.”

Ray thought for a moment. “If Erin was involved in something like that, it would definitely give someone a motive to eliminate her.”

“The thought had occurred. Does the name James Wesley mean anything to you?”

“No. Should it?”

“He dated Erin. Said she had some… peculiarities.”

“Another news flash.”

“Granted. Although this ear-candling stuff she went in for is pretty weird. Was her father like that?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“You got along with Faulkner, as I recall. Didn’t you?”

Ray thought a moment before answering. “We got along well enough. I worked directly under him, and he could be a bit of a blowhard. Especially after he started having such success with his flavor formulae and bringing in the big bucks. But there was no ill will between us or anything like that. I’ve told you before.”

“I know. I just wanted to see if any of this had spurred any old memories.”

“Sorry.”

“That just about covers it,” Ben said, closing his folder. “I don’t have anyone left to talk to.”

“What am I, chopped liver?”

“You know what I mean. Anyone who might have new information about the murders.” Ben curled the phone cord around his finger. “I was thinking… I might talk to Carrie.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because I said no.”

“Ray…”

“Carrie has been through enough, thanks to me. I won’t put her through any more misery.”

“Ray, if she can help you-”

“But she can’t. If she could, she already would have.”

“Still-”

“There is no ‘still,’ Ben. Listen to me. You will not talk to Carrie. Under any circumstances. And if you go against my wishes on this-you’re fired.”

Mike drove his Trans Am crosstown, heading south toward the home of Sheila Knight. Baxter was in the passenger seat.

“By the way,” Baxter said, staring straight ahead, “thanks for letting me take the lead on the Bennett interrogation.”

“No problem. You were useful.”

“Useful?”

“Can’t be a bad cop without a good cop.”

“Well. I’m so glad I could be… useful.” Out the corner of his eye, Mike could see her jaw clenching. “Thanks also for not trampling all over me when you decided to cut in. I mean, you could’ve just shoved me aside. After I was no longer useful.”

Mike licked his lips.

“You didn’t have to do that. After all, you are the superior officer.”

“Baxter…”

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” She stared out the side window, giving Mike the back of her ash-blonde hair. “You believe what Bennett was saying?”

“I think she believes it. That doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“Yeah. Hard to size up a woman who’s so full of contradictions. Working with criminals by day, butterflies by night. Smart, but funny. Cold, but horny.”

“Horny?”

“Oh yeah. She was hot for you.”

“For me?” Mike’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Are you making fun?”

“I’m not. She was drooling for you, Morelli.”

“You’re nuts.”

“I know a woman in heat when I see one. When you leaned over the table and started playing the stern disciplinarian, she turned to putty.”

“Go on.”

“If you’d turned her over your knee and spanked her, we’d probably have cracked the case by now.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Baxter, you’re full of it.”

“Says you. Why do you think she suddenly started spilling her guts? She went from ‘I shouldn’t say anything’ to ‘Let me tell you everything I know’ in about ten seconds flat.”

“I attributed that to my brilliant interrogation technique.”

“Sure, Morelli. Keep telling yourself that.”

“That shrink was not hot for me.”

Baxter narrowed an eye. “Why? Is that a problem for you?”

“Problem? What do you mean?”

“Why are you protesting so much? I’m no expert on women, but she seems like a pretty darned attractive specimen to me. And she’s bound to be loaded.”

Mike felt his palms starting to sweat. “Well… she’s not my type.”

“What is your type?”

“Never mind.”

“Do you have a type?”

Mike felt his face reddening. “Yes, I have a type.”

“Does it involve women?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t involve Dr. Hayley Bennett.”

Baxter held up her hands. “All right. All right already.”

They drove in silence. Baxter didn’t think she should say anything more, and Mike was almost afraid to. Until he couldn’t stand it anymore.