“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?
Stay tuned, she muttered under her breath. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.
After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the front of the line. Thank heaven. Moral dilemmas could wait. Right now she needed carbos.
“I’d like an extra-large—” She froze in midsentence. Was that what it looked like?
“Pardon me, ma’am,” said the well-groomed man in his early thirties. “Is something wrong?”
“What is that . . . thing?” Baxter said, forcing her lips to move. She pointed.
“This lapel pin?”
“Yes, that. What is it?”
And then he told her.
And then she knew.
Chapter
28
Ben leaned across his desk, hanging on every word Peter Rothko said.
“So I was at this convention in Kansas City,” he explained. “Networking with some of the other fast-food dudes. Carl Breyer. Harlan Woods. And somehow we got to talking about flavorists. Someone asked what was happening down at Prairie Dog. I told them I thought Conrad Reynolds was running the show, but that Chris Hubbard was doing all the work.” He paused. “And that’s when Harlan’s face went white.”
“He knew Hubbard?”
“He knew all about Hubbard. And what he knew wasn’t good.”
Ben felt his heart beating away in his chest. Could this be the break th
ey’d been waiting for? That they needed so desperately? “Like what?”
“Like for starters, Chris Hubbard isn’t his real name. He changed it. Correction: he had to change it. After he was arrested. For—get this—indecent exposure.”
“You’re joking. That kid chemist?”
“I’m as serious as an IRS audit, Ben. Apparently this guy whipped it out and showed it to a nine-year-old girl one day in her front yard. Where he had no business being.”
“Was he convicted?”
“Harlan wasn’t sure about that. He thought Hubbard—or whatever his name really is—might’ve copped some sort of plea. But the publicity was so huge he had to move and do the name change.”
“How did your friend know this?”
“Apparently Hubbard applied for a job with him, so Harlan had him checked out. Harlan believes in very extensive employee checks. We’re talking real Ross Perot–type stuff. A little over-the-top, if you ask me. But I guess it paid off in this case.”
“Incredible.” Ben reached for the phone. “I’ve got to get this to my friend at police headquarters. If you’re right—” Ben looked up. “You may have saved the life of an innocent man.”
“I hope so.” Rothko ran a hand through his burnt-orange hair. “By the way, Ben—you play racquetball?”
“Not well.”
“Perfect! Let’s play a few rounds sometime.”
Ben smiled, his right hand already punching Mike’s number. “Deal.”
Gabriel Aravena obsessively checked the clock on the wall of the convenience store. Stupid, he told himself. That will not make the time pass more quickly. Just the opposite, it seemed. But he couldn’t help himself. He was so scared. So worried about what he might become. If he didn’t get out in time.
April should be back by now. Just as he was not trusted with the proceeds, so he was not trusted to deliver the paychecks. It had never mattered much to him—until now. The seconds seemed to tick away like hours as he desperately waited for her return.
What was taking so long, anyway? Didn’t she know how important this was? Didn’t she know the danger he was in? Of course—she didn’t. She couldn’t. Only he knew. He . . . and the other.
He felt damp—on his chest, under his arms. It was showing, too. He saw the woman staring at his shirt as he counted out her change. No matter. He was used to being stared at. Better to be thought a freak for sweating than because you were turning into a woman.
“The eagle has screamed!”
Aravena whirled around. It was April! Waving an oh-so-welcome slip of paper in her hands.
“Payday has arrived, Gabriel. Time to go out and par-tay!”
As he gazed at her, he felt so much affection he almost reached out and embraced her. Why not? He was quitting this job anyway. It was hard to believe that only a few days ago he had been fantasizing about hurting her. Sexually. But he had still been on the Depo back then, or just off it. Ironic, wasn’t it? The drug that was supposed to cure him in fact did anything but. It may have suppressed his physical ability to have sex, but it didn’t suppress his imagination. It inflamed it. When his body couldn’t find release one way, it looked for another. . . .
“Thank you, April. It is much appreciated.”
“Don’t thank me, Gabe. I’m just the messenger.”
“Still—thank you. For everything.”
Her brows knitted. “Excuse me?”
“You have always been most kind to me. And I have appreciated it. I always will.”
She gave him a strange look. “What’s this all about, anyway? Why are you getting all mushy on me?”
Fool! he cursed at himself. You should have kept your mouth shut. “It’s just—I thought—you never know. When will we see each other next?”
“That would be . . . tomorrow at nine for the morning shift. Wouldn’t it?”
He did not answer.
“Gabe, you’re not planning to quit on me, are you? Not just when you finally made manager.”
“No, no. Of course not. I just . . .” He tilted his head slightly. “One never knows.”
She jabbed him in the side. “Don’t go weird on me, Gabe. I like you just the way you are.”
As she walked to the back to sign for a milk shipment, it occurred to Aravena that that was quite possibly the kindest thing anyone had ever said to him.
It was five o’clock, quitting time, and Gabriel had the check in his hand. He removed his name tag and headed toward his car. He still had not chosen a destination. But no matter. There were many possibilities, and in his position, one was much the same as another. He was actually looking forward to the drive more than the arrival—being out on the open road, feeling the wind whistling around him, knowing he was on his own and no one and nothing could ever possibly—
“Hello, Gabriel.”
His jaw dropped. The check fluttered to the ground. “You.”
“Good to see you, too, Gabe. Could we talk?”
“Stay away from me,” Aravena said, backing away. “I want nothing to do with you.”
“I’m sorry. But that’s not an option. I need you.”
“I do not want to be a monster!”
“Ah, but it’s too late for that, isn’t it, Gabe?” The sun was setting, and a shadow clouded Aravena’s face. “You already are.”
Hayley Bennett was tearing her office apart, ripping through the files with such speed that a mess was guaranteed. And someone would have to clean up this mess, she told herself. But that did not stop her. She had to know.
She’d been going through the files for a long time, too long, but at last, she found the one she wanted. An old file, but one she still kept, one she likely always would. She pored through it, throwing the pages onto the floor as she finished scanning them.
It took her less than a minute to find what she sought.
How could she have been so stupid? She tossed the file down, disgusted with herself. It had been right in front of her all along, but she had been too stupid to see it. All that time she was talking to the lawyer, anytime in the past seven years, if she had just realized—
But she hadn’t. There was nothing she could do about that now. She could make a difference in the future, however. Could and would.
She grabbed the receiver on her desk phone. She would call Kincaid back, then call the police. One way or the other, she would make it right.
“Hello,” said the voice on the other end of the line. “Kincaid & McCall.”
“This is Dr. Hayley Bennett. I need to talk to Ben Kincaid.”
“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 n
ote 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.
Death Row Page 29