William Bernhardt - Death Row

“I’m sorry, he’s out of the office at the moment. Could I take a message?”

“Is there someplace I could call him? Because it’s really-”

An instantaneous clicking noise, followed by dead space.

“Hello?” she said, furiously pushing the disconnect button. “Hello? What happened?” She tried to hang up and start again. No dial tone. “Hello? Operator? Is anyone there? I have to call-”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to do that, Hayley.”

Bennett looked up-and gasped.

“I was afraid you might do something like this. Something stupid.”

Bennett took a defensive position behind her desk. She flipped the receiver of her cordless phone around and brandished it like a club. “I won’t let you hurt me.”

“You will not have any choice in the matter.”

A figure emerged from the shadows.

Bennett’s lips parted. “Gabriel?”

He held his arms up, palms outward. “I am sorry, Doctor.”

Despite the hormonal influence of the drugs he had been taking, she knew he was a strong man. Powerful. There was no way she could outmuscle him.

Aravena walked slowly toward her until he stood on the opposite side of the desk. “Come.”

Bennett’s pulse was racing. She felt hot, tired, and more scared than she had ever been before. “Why are you doing this, Gabriel?”

There was a distinct note of sadness in his voice. “Because I have to.”

“You don’t have to, Gabriel. You don’t. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I have no choice.”

Bennett made a break for it. She shoved hard, knocking him backward, then raced toward the door. She never even got close. Aravena grabbed her right arm and jerked her backward. There was a cracking sound. Had he broken her arm? she wondered. It hurt enough.

She tried to club him with the cordless phone receiver, but he deflected the blow easily. He hammered her hand down on his knee, knocking the phone away.

He swung her around again, hard, and Bennett gasped at the pain that radiated up her arm. He pinned the same arm behind her back, causing further agony, then clutched her by the neck, pulling her close to him. She was completely under his control.

“Very good,” the other person in the room said. “She’s yours now, Gabriel. Do with her as you please. Have fun. I know you want to. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? So enjoy yourself.” The voice paused, and in that pause, a shudder raced down Bennett’s spine and chilled her to the bone. “Just make sure you kill her when you’re done.”

What the hell was that all about? Christina wondered as she hung up the phone.

Dr. Bennett had always struck her as somewhat eccentric, what with the butterflies and all, but that was just weird. Hanging up in the middle of a sentence. Had a patient flashed her or what?

The tone in her voice bothered Christina. She seemed… not herself. Distraught.

Or maybe Christina had just imagined it. It was so hard to tell with phone calls. There might’ve been a bad connection, static on the line, interference, something…

She looked up the number, then dialed Bennett’s office. No answer. She didn’t have a receptionist, Christina remembered. She was the only one in the office. She tried Bennett’s home number, but no one answered.

Not that that meant anything. But it did make Christina… concerned.

What had the woman said? She wanted to talk to Ben. Immediately. And then she cut off.

Or had been cut off.

Christina called the operator, pleaded a false emergency, and asked them to check the line.

“The line seems to be dead,” came the response, a few minutes later. “Probably damage to the line.”

That was enough for Christina. It could be nothing, she realized. But she’d also been in enough tough scrapes to know that if something seems wrong, it just might be. And that you’d better not wait until the last minute to check it out.

She considered calling Mike, but decided that was premature. What would she report-a disconnected phone call? That wasn’t even for her? No, he was busy enough. She’d check it out discreetly. Then call if there was anything amiss.

A minute later, Christina was in her car, driving toward downtown. Bennett’s office was a little off the beaten track, but the nice thing about Tulsa was that unless it was rush hour, it never took too long to get anywhere. In only a few minutes, she turned onto the street in front of Dr. Bennett’s office…

Just in time to see two people piling into a BMW parked outside. One was a dark, strong, dangerous-looking man. Just a glance at him gave her shivers. The other, the driver, she didn’t get a good look at.

The sun had all but set, and with her lights dimmed, it was hard to see. But as they started their car, Christina thought she spotted something through the back window. Something brownish, with a trace of red. Auburn.

Hair? Hayley Bennett’s hair?

She glanced at the office. The front door was open. She couldn’t see much of the interior, but she saw enough to know there was a gigantic mess. A table overturned. Papers strewn all over the floor.

The car was pulling away.

For the first time, Christina really wished she had splurged on a cell phone.

If something had happened to Hayley, and she let that car get away…

She shifted into drive. This could be the stupidest thing she had done in her life. But if she’d been stuffed into the back of a car, she’d sure as hell hope someone had the guts to follow.

She just had to make sure she wasn’t seen. Because if those two had done something to Dr. Bennett, and they knew she was onto them…

Don’t go down that road, Christina told herself as she floored the accelerator in pursuit. I am strong, I am invincible…

Just concentrate on the driving.

When Baxter poked him in the ribs, Mike jumped almost a foot into the air.

“Wake up, Sherlock. I just busted this case wide open.”

Mike blinked his eyes several times rapidly, pushing himself away from his cluttered desk. “I wasn’t sleeping. I was just… resting my eyes.”

“You don’t have to make excuses to me, partner. If I’d been scrutinizing all this boring incunabula for the last forty-eight hours straight, I’d be asleep, too.”

Mike rose out of his chair, trying to rouse himself. “Did you say something about the case?”

She beamed. “Sure did.” She pointed to the evidence bag on the corner of his desk. “I know what that is. Or what it represents, anyway.”

“Don’t hold out on me, Baxter. How’d you figure it out?”

“I met someone who was wearing the same image on his lapel.”

“His lapel?”

“Right. Told me he used to have the key chain, too, but it broke. Must be a flimsy link. Everyone seems to be losing them.”

“And it is…”

“A club card, basically. A pass. Admittance to one of the city’s most prestigious corporate dining suites.”

“What’s a corporate dining suite?”

“Where have you been all your life, Morelli?” In truth, she hadn’t known either, until about fifteen minutes ago, but she might as well milk this one precious moment of one-upmanship for all it was worth. “All the biggest corporate headquarters have private dining rooms. Some of them are four-star restaurants, with private chefs and fancy linen and the works. The Williams Companies have a great one, for example.”

“But this doesn’t look like the Williams Companies logo.”

“It isn’t. It isn’t anyone’s public logo. This was created just for the dining room. Only the top administrators and executives got it.”

“And you learned this… how?”

All the possible responses ran through Baxter’s brain. Vast intelligence. Exhaustive research. Pummeling informants.