William Bernhardt - Death Row

He replaced the gun in its holster, then started moving stealthily toward the restaurant. “Wish me luck.”

“Who wants to go first?” Rothko said, pulling back the hammer on his gun. “I’m thinking a good shot to the kneecap will prevent you from leaving. And then we can start the fireworks.”

Christina’s brain was racing, trying to formulate a solution to their predicament. But it just wasn’t there. Nothing that came to mind was remotely feasible. And Aravena, strong as he was, was just as helpless as she. There was nothing left for them to do. Nothing but to stand here and watch this madman pick them off one after the other.

“You don’t want to do this,” Dr. Bennett said.

Rothko chuckled. “Oh, I think I do.”

“You don’t. You just think you do.”

“Oh, puh-lese.”

“I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t know what twisted you into the man you are now. Perhaps you were pushed too hard. The need to succeed was too great. Perhaps you have unresolved issues. Sexual problems. Maybe you made one mistake and had to go on making bigger ones to cover it up. I don’t know. But I know this-you don’t have to do this horrible thing.” She extended her hand. “I can help you.”

Rothko scowled. “Dr. Bennett, are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re saying I’m crazy.”

“I’m not. I don’t even know what that word means.”

“Well, I’m not crazy!” he shouted. “I’m not!”

“Fine!” She held up her hands, the handcuffs still dangling from one wrist. “But I can help you. If you’ll let me.”

“You’re making me sick.” He lifted the gun, eye level. “I’ve made my decision, Dr. Freud. You’re first.”

“No!” Aravena shouted.

“Oh, yes,” Rothko replied. He pulled the trigger.

“No!” An instant before the shot rang out, Aravena dove in front of Dr. Bennett. The slug hit him in the chest. Blood flew through the air. He crumpled to the floor.

“Gabriel!” Bennett screamed. Christina stared, her mouth gaping.

“This is getting pathetic,” Rothko said bitterly. “Do you think you accomplished anything, Gabe? You didn’t. All you did was change the order.” He raised the gun again. “Say sayonara, Doctor.”

Another gunshot rang out. Christina winced. She wrapped her arms around herself, trembling, and waited for Dr. Bennett to fall.

But she did not fall. Peter Rothko did.

“Is everyone all right?”

“Mike!”

Mike raced forward, gun still in his hand.

“He’s hurt!” Christina said, pointing to Aravena’s motionless body on the floor.

Mike ran to his side. “Goddamn it. Straight to the heart.” He whipped out his cell phone and called for an ambulance. “I’ve already called for backup. They might bring a medic.” He moved over to Rothko’s side.

“Is he dead?” Bennett asked.

“Unfortunately, no. He’ll make it.” He collected Rothko’s gun and emptied the chamber.

Christina ran to the stove and shut off the gas. “Be careful about firing in here,” she warned. “The gas has been on a long time.”

“Thought I smelled something.” Mike returned to Aravena. His eyes were open, but just barely. He tore the man’s shirt and looked more closely at the wound-then grimaced.

Bennett knelt beside Mike. “Will he-?”

Mike looked at her, then shook his head.

Bennett gripped Aravena’s hand tightly in both of hers. “Why, Gabriel? Why did you do it?”

Aravena’s eyes were almost entirely shut, but he still managed to speak. “I… am not… a monster.”

“No,” she said, “you’re not,” and once again tears poured down her cheeks. “You’re a hero. You made yourself who you wanted to be.”

Ben, Mike, and Christina were huddled outside the courtroom doors with Ray Goldman, in orange coveralls, his feet shackled, and two marshals standing not four feet behind him.

Mike looked at Christina with concern. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Christina finessed the question. “I don’t have any choice. It’s now or never.” Her eyes briefly met Ray’s. “Tomorrow’s the day, you know.”

“Speaking for myself,” Ray said, “I think we should go for it.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Christina couldn’t help smiling. She pulled an outline out of a file folder. “Here’s what I thought we’d do, Mike. Start with all the information you’ve extracted from Rothko, then follow up with the background details you’ve uncovered. If we handle it right, we’ll get a new trial. I thought I would-”

“Wait a minute,” Ben said. His voice was quiet but firm. “I’ll take the lead on this one.”

Christina and Mike looked at each other.

“It is my case,” Ben added. “Has been for seven years.”

Christina glanced edgily toward the courtroom doors. “Oh, sure. Now that we actually have a case…”

“It isn’t that. I think… it’s time I grew up. I’m not a first-year associate anymore and I’m not going to act like one.”

“Ben, you don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do. All of you have confronted your fears. Especially you, Ray. You’ve been looking everyone’s greatest fear straight in the face for years. So I can damn well face Judge Richard A. Derek.”

Christina handed him her file. “I pass the case.”

“Well… don’t go too far.”

Her eyes beamed. “You think you might need my support?”

Ben turned toward the courtroom. “Yeah. Especially when my knees give out.”

“In the end, it all came down to flavor,” Mike said, testifying from the witness stand. “Frank Faulkner had it. And Peter Rothko wanted it. Badly. He knew he needed something fabulous to jump-start his floundering restaurant chain and to enable him to compete with the major players in the industry. Faulkner was being hailed as the Einstein of the field; his work was innovative, brilliant. Rothko contacted him about devising a special flavor for Burger Bliss’s upscale burgers. And Faulkner was eager to make some extra money. Unfortunately, he was bound by a long-term contract; legally, anything he devised belonged to his employers. So his work for Rothko had to be done on the quiet.”

Ben squared himself behind the podium. “And did he, in fact, devise a formula?”

“According to Rothko, he did. But something went wrong. Faulkner demanded more money-much more. More than Rothko could hope to raise. Contrary to what he told you, he never inherited any money, and his restaurant was bleeding cash. So if he wanted the formula, he was going to have to try a different tactic.”

“Like murder?”

“Exactly. Rothko enlisted a man named Gabriel Aravena. Aravena had just begun state-ordered therapy with Dr. Hayley Bennett as part of his probation. He had a history of violent sex crimes-especially involving young girls. We believe Rothko essentially hired him to take out Faulkner.” He paused. “Apparently hiring a hit man is a lot cheaper than buying a trade secret, these days.”

“So Aravena was sent to take out the Faulkner family?” Ben asked.

“According to Rothko, Aravena was only supposed to kill Frank. But something went hideously wrong. The rest of the family came home, much earlier than expected. Aravena couldn’t cope with this unexpected complication. He went berserk. He was an unstable, sick man-at that time-with sexual issues and a strong penchant for violence. He ended up torturing and killing all of them-except Erin Faulkner. She fit his profile of sexual desirability and so he restrained her in the basement, apparently with the idea of… spending more time with her once the house was secure and the rest of the family was dispatched.”