William Bernhardt - Death Row

“Don’t tell me to chill. I won’t let you screw up my career.”

“Baxter, relax.”

“Don’t patronize me. This is serious!”

“Baxter! Shoosh!” Once she finally quieted, he lowered his voice. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t do it without a court order. Relax already.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Sorry. I overreacted.”

“No joke.”

“It’s just… something I’m sensitive about.”

Mike slowly turned to look at her. “You had some trouble in Oklahoma City, didn’t you?”

“You know I did.”

“I know there’s more to it than what I read in your report.”

“Which was?”

“Basically, Kate doesn’t play well with the other children.” He shrugged. “So what? We’re cops, not insurance salesmen. There has to be more.”

Baxter did not reply.

“The way they hustled you out of OKC and set you up here with Blackwell and the mayor-someone was pulling some major-league strings. Someone who wanted you out of the OKC PD in a big way.”

Baxter stared at the floor of the car. She wasn’t taking the bait.

Mike continued. “Whatever it was, it probably didn’t even directly relate to police work. Otherwise, it would’ve been in your file.”

“Maybe there’s nothing to put in the file.”

“There is,” Mike said firmly. “Something they didn’t want to write down. Something you’re not telling me about it.”

“And how do you know? Is my face making the wrong kind of crinkly lines? Is it because you’re such a damn good cop?”

“No. It’s because you’re such a damn good cop.”

Baxter’s eyes rose.

“Too good to be cut loose so unceremoniously without a compelling reason.”

Baxter’s eyes were black, like deep inky wells, neither capturing nor reflecting light. “There was a reason.”

“I’m listening.”

“And you’re right. It had nothing to do with police work. I was…” She paused, breathing in and out deeply, several times. “I was involved with someone.”

“Another cop.”

She nodded.

“Your partner?”

“Worse. The chief.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “As in, chief of police? Hardesty? The old man?”

She pressed her hand against her forehead. “I can’t explain it. It just… happened.”

“What is he, like eighty-five or something?”

“Just fifty-two, Morelli. And for your information, a very handsome fifty-two.”

“Jesus!” Mike stared out the car window. “No wonder you got the boot. Isn’t he married?”

“Separated. Still-it wasn’t a good idea.”

“No kidding. How did it start?”

Baxter receded into her bucket seat. “We were working this case together. It was big-that’s why he was personally involved. Corruption in the City Council. Big-time stuff. Late nights. Close quarters. One thing led to another.”

Mike remained incredulous. “Hardesty?”

“Look, I’m a human being, okay? Haven’t you ever had a thing with someone at work?”

“As a matter of fact, no.”

“Of course not. Not the Great and All-Powerful Major Morelli.”

Mike fell silent for a moment. “Of course, when I started on the force, I was married. After my wife dumped me, I was more an object of pity around the office than anything else. No one was remotely interested.”

“She dumped you?”

“Big time.”

Baxter inched forward. She was physically closer to him than she had ever been before, not counting the times when they were about to tear out each other’s throat. “Tell me about it.”

“Not much to tell, really. She didn’t feel that my career-not to mention my income-was accelerating as quickly as it should. So she ran off with some rich guy who was in medical school.”

“It all came down to money?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Well, that’s what I’ve always said. That’s how I’ve explained it away.” Why was he talking about this? He hadn’t even told Ben this. But for some bizarre reason, he felt as if he wanted to tell her. “And there’s an element of truth in it. But the more time passes, the more I realize I use that explanation-because I like that explanation.”

“Why?”

“Because it absolves me. Makes it look as if I didn’t do anything wrong. It was all her fault.” His eyes turned outward, toward the cabin. “But I think the truth is, I was a pretty sucky husband. I worked too much and gave her too little. It was my job to make her happy, after all. And I didn’t. That’s why she left. I don’t think it was the money so much as just that… she was bored. I bored her. Me and the life I was creating. She didn’t want any part of it.”

“It’s not possible to make someone happy all the time,” Baxter said. Her voice seemed softer than it had before. “No matter what you do.”

“Yeah. But I could’ve done better. A lot better.”

“You will. Next time.”

“Next time.” Mike laughed, but it was not a happy laugh. “I used to tell myself that. But time keeps on passing, and I become more and more obsessed with my work, and I don’t see much happening in my personal life. Julia has gotten on with hers. She’s been through several doctor boyfriends, got some highfalutin’ nursing job. Even had a kid. A little boy.” He drummed his fingers on the steering column. “I love kids. We always talked about having kids. But we never did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. To waste your time with all this soap-opera crap.”

“Don’t do that.” She reached out and touched him on the shoulder. “If I’m going to be your partner, I have to know… who you are. Don’t push me away.”

Mike looked at the hand still on his shoulder. He could feel heat radiating from it, from her. “I won’t.”

“And it isn’t crap,” she continued. “It’s your life. My life. Such as they are. We all make mistakes. But we have to push on.”

“Yeah?” Her head was moving closer to his, there in the darkness and the close quarters of the car. His head seemed to be closing the gap as well.

“It’s too easy to crawl up in your shell and say forget it. It’s over. That’s not living. You have to take risks. You have to… reach out.”

Their lips were barely an inch apart.

“Morelli?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you think about cops who engage in intimate relationships with their partners?”

“I think it’s stupid. Unprofessional. Usually a sign of serious mental problems.”

“Me, too,” she whispered. “So are you going to kiss me or what?”

Their lips touched.

And barely an instant later, they heard the shot.

“What the hell was that?” Baxter said, pulling away from him.

“That was a gunshot. And it came from inside the cabin. Come on!”

Mike flew out of the car. He pounded on the front door of the cabin. “Open up! Police!”

No answer.

He looked at Baxter. “You wanna do it, or shall I?”

“Ladies first.” She brought up her heel and kicked the door, right beside the knob. The wooden door splintered. Two more well-placed kicks and the door was open.

“Come on.” Mike led the way into the front living area, through the kitchen-

Then stopped. They didn’t have to go any farther.

Baxter’s hand flew up, covering her mouth. “Oh, my God. Oh, no.”

Mike stared silently at the grisly-and all-too-familiar-tableau.

The worst of it was that the walls of the cabin were white, so the blood and brains and tissue now splattered all over them stood out with dramatic intensity. It was like a scene from a madman’s surgical ward, but the only patient present was Sheila Knight, and the only surgical instrument, such as it was, was the small pistol still clutched in her lifeless hand.