William Bernhardt - Death Row

“Is that what it was, mostly? Domestic problems?”

“Actually, at that place, it was mostly work-related stress. Still is. When I first started there, the place was just taking off. They were getting their first big-bucks clients. Mostly thanks to Frank, who had hit it big as a flavorist. He was bringing in some major accounts.”

“That must’ve made the bosses happy.”

“Well, yes and no. That was part of the stress he was experiencing, you see. He wanted to quit and go out on his own. Why should the corporation get all the profits when he was the one doing the work? But he was under contract. Everything he did then and for six years into the future belonged to Prairie Dog Flavors, regardless of how or where he devised it. They owned him.”

“I’m beginning to see why he might need a shrink.”

“It was tearing him apart. He was generating tons of income-but not getting enough of it himself. And remember-he had a nice house and a large family to support.”

“Did he get along with the other people at the plant?”

“He tried, but he was convinced everyone hated him. And acted accordingly, I’m afraid. He thought they were all envious, and not without some justification, I imagine. Anyone who did as well as Frank was bound to engender some ill will.”

“What about Dr. Reynolds? Was he one of the jealous ones?”

“He was one of the ones who hated Frank’s guts. Familiarity breeds contempt, you know. He was forced to work closely with Frank. Frank told me he tried to treat Conrad well, but it just never worked out. I don’t know what the truth is. But I know this-Reynolds had some real problems with Frank.”

“When did you last see Frank?”

“The day before the murders. Special session, at his home.”

“You make house calls?”

She gave him a wry expression. “I did then. He’d had a severe panic attack. Trouble breathing. I thought he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

“Why?”

Bennett considered a moment. “He told me he was working on something-something big. He was having a meeting with someone-had to break away to talk to me. But he wouldn’t go into any details.”

“Did you tell the police this?”

“Of course I did. And at first, I thought they were interested. Then they tripped onto your client and became convinced he was guilty. And at that point-”

“The investigation stopped. Yeah, I know.” Ben reached back and massaged his stiff neck. “I can’t get over this idea that the chem lab is a major pressure cooker. I hate to be stereotypical, but I thought they’d all be nerds wearing white lab coats and Coke-bottle glasses who wouldn’t know how to spend money if they had it.”

“You throw major moolah into any environment, you’re going to get stress.”

Ben nodded. “That explains my immunity.”

Bennett leaned forward, twirling her glasses in a small orbit. “Are you sure about that?”

“About what?”

“Stress. And you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well… maybe I’m out of line. But I get the impression you’re suffering from a fair amount of stress right now yourself.”

Ben considered. “I’ve just had a bad hearing. A bad case gone worse. And my client’s about to pay the ultimate price.”

“You’re talking about Raymond Goldman?”

Ben nodded.

“I can see how that would be emotionally draining. Particularly when it’s someone with whom you’ve worked closely for a number of years.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re about to lose a case-and a client. What else?”

“What else ?”

“There must be more. Talk to the doctor.”

Ben twisted around in his chair. “Well… my office is teetering on the verge of bankruptcy. Again.”

“And what else?”

“The repairs on my boardinghouse exceed the monthly income.”

“What else?”

“My private life is a disaster. I never do anything but work. I haven’t been out on a date for so long I barely remember what they are.”

“What else?”

He paused. “My cat is having kittens.”

Bennett gave him a long look. “No wonder you’re a shambles.”

There was a knock on the door. “Come in.”

The trim young man at the door took Ben by surprise. “Peter. I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I didn’t phone ahead. My apologies.”

“Dr. Bennett,” Ben said, “do you know Peter Rothko? Tulsa’s fast-food king?”

“No, but I’ve read about you, of course.” She extended her hand. “Congratulations on your success.”

“I’ve been very fortunate.”

“And modest to boot. My, my.” Ben wondered if she was thinking the same thing Christina did: Tulsa’s most eligible bachelor. “If you’re done with me, Ben, I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Certainly. Thanks again for coming.” She excused herself. “What brings you here, Peter? Need some help with your bench presses?”

“Nothing that pleasant, I’m afraid.” He sat down in the chair Dr. Bennett had vacated. “I know you contacted me to help with the technical background, not the actual investigation. But when I heard about this, I had to bring it to you.”

“Heard about what? Something that could affect the case?”

“Affect it?” Rothko nodded solemnly. “What I’ve got could turn this case upside down.”

Baxter checked her watch. She really shouldn’t be wasting time like this, standing in line. But there was a growling in her stomach that could not be ignored. She craved food, the greasier the better. Large portions.

Not good for her figure. But sometimes, she mused, a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

There was no denying it-this case was starting to get to her. Not the work, not the gruesomeness of the murders. Not even the fight to keep it alive when everyone else wanted to close it. What bothered her was the fact that it wasn’t going anywhere. It was a well-known fact that if a murder case wasn’t solved in the first six hours, the likelihood that it ever would be solved diminished significantly. In a protracted investigation, it was not at all unusual for a case to hit a stagnant stretch. Sometimes that presaged the breakthrough that resolved the mystery once and for all.

The problem here was, she thought they’d already had the big breakthrough. They just didn’t know what to do with it.

She wondered if Mike was still in his office, poring over all those library books. She suspected he was. She had heard-well before she’d even met the man-that he was seriously dedicated, that he had no outside life to speak of, that he was like a feral dog with a bone. He clenched the case between his teeth and refused to release it. Until it had been conquered. And this case was far from conquered.

She couldn’t believe she had kissed him. What the hell had come over her? Even now, just thinking about it made her cheeks flush. Not that he wasn’t good-looking-he was, big time. Very sexy, even if he was still hung up on his ex. But he was her partner. Her partner! When would she ever learn? She had just bounced back from that screwup in OKC with the chief of police. Was she going to repeat the same mistake on this end of the turnpike?

No, she was not, she silently resolved. From now on, it was probably best that they not be in the same room together, not any more than necessary. But even if they were. No matter how long they were together, no matter how lonely she got, no matter how blue were his eyes or how husky his voice-she couldn’t go down that road again. Best to forget it ever happened.

So why did she not think that was going to happen?

Damn everything but the circus! And they say men always repeat the same mistakes. Was she doomed to spend the rest of her life screwing everything up, over and over again?