Death Row

by William Bernhardt

  The door squeaked a little when she opened it. Just a little, but in this pitch-dark silence, it seemed thunderous. She had seen two men back at Dr. Bennett’s office, but had only seen one leave. She wasn’t sure what happened to the other. He might’ve already been in the car waiting; she might’ve just not seen him. She had been watching many ways at once, and a man on his own moves a lot faster than a woman who’s being dragged against her will. She could’ve missed him.

  But it was also possible that he had remained behind.

  She removed her shoes so that she could slide across the tile floor, all but soundlessly. Her heart was practically beating its way out of her chest. She couldn’t think of a time when she’d been so scared. What a combination: the darkness, the silence, the horror of knowing she was in the vicinity of people who had committed murder, maybe several times over. Being here, on this site of tragedy. Her sweat glands were doing double time and her mouth couldn’t be drier if she had just scaled Black Mesa.

  But she kept on moving.

  This was the sort of thing Ben was always warning her against. Don’t be so impulsive, he would tell her. Think before you act. Of course, he was the Prince of Think Before You Act. Sometimes she wondered if he would ever act, he was so busy thinking about it. Christina, on the other hand . . . wasn’t. For good or ill, she was not the contemplative sort. She liked to get started and get done. She hated to see opportunities get away from her. If she wanted to do something, she did it. And that drove Ben insane. Maybe that was why he had never—

  But she didn’t need to distract herself with that kind of thinking now. She had to concentrate on what she was doing. On not getting killed.

  The moonlight seeping through the windows was not strong, but there did not appear to be anyone in the seating area. At least no one she could see. All the booths and tables were empty. As they should be.

  But where was Hayley Bennett?

  She slid over the counter and entered the kitchen. So this was where it happened, she thought. The meat, the potatoes, and ten thousand tons of fat. She quickly scanned the grills, the deep-frying apparatuses. There were lots of stainless-steel cabinets, but surely they were too small to conceal a body. A live body anyway.

  There was another room in the back. A bathroom? she wondered. A break room for employees? She couldn’t be sure. But at this point, it looked like her best shot. She quickened her pace. . . .

  She didn’t see the pot handle extending from the edge of the stove in time. She ran into it, knocking it off the countertop. It clattered to the floor with a sound that was positively ear-shattering. She jumped into the air, startled, then swept up the pot and clamped it to her chest.

  Had anyone heard? How could anyone not have heard? If anyone was here, they would now know they were not alone.

  She detected a soft rustling sound coming from the back room. Did she dare? She had no idea what she might be getting into. This could be the dumbest thing she had done in her entire life.

  No, the dumbest would be taking all these risks and then backing off when it looked as if she might find something. She had to press on.

  Slowly, cautiously, she turned the doorknob. The light was off.

  She took a deep breath and flicked the switch.

  Hayley Bennett was lying on the floor, pinned beneath the sink. And it was clear that she was in great pain.

  Christina rushed forward. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Christina McCall. I work with Ben Kincaid.”

  Bennett’s face was contorted with agony. “How did you find me?”

  “I’ll explain later. First we need to get you out of here.” She gently pulled the woman forward, trying not to hurt her—then saw that she had been handcuffed to the pipe beneath the sink.

  “I don’t suppose you know where the key is?” Christina asked.

  Bennett shook her head. Tears flew from her cheeks.

  “Thought not.”

  “Rothko will be back any minute.”

  “I figured as much.” Christina examined the pipe. It connected the drain of the basin to the wall. Probably the outside plumbing. It was made of sturdy metal, stainless steel, most likely. But she noticed that the plaster on the wall was flaking.

  She pulled on the pipe with all her strength. It gave. Just a bit, but it gave. On close inspection, she saw that the pipe was connected to the wall, not bolted to another pipe. If she could separate the pipe from the wall, it was just possible she could slide the handcuff off the broken end and get Dr. Bennett out of here.

  Christina wedged her back against the side wall, then pressed her feet against the pipe. She wished she had her shoes now, but there was no time to go back for them.

  “This is probably going to hurt,” she said.

  Bennett remained silent, but her eyes spoke volumes. Do it.

  Christina pulled back, gritted her teeth, and kicked the pipe with all her might. It moved, but it did not break.

  “Do it again,” Bennett said, her eyes and face crunched shut. Christina was certain the impact had caused her considerable pain. “Quickly.”

  Christina gave it everything she had. She hit the pipe hard, but it didn’t give any more than it had before.

  “Again,” Bennett said, water streaming down her cheeks. “Hit it again.”

  Christina started to do just that—but stopped when a creaking sound told her that someone had opened the tiny room’s door.

  “Who are you?” growled the man in the doorway. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

  Ben, Mike, and Sergeant Baxter stood in the center of what was left of Hayley Bennett’s office. They’d managed to put out the fire, but smoke still filled the small area so densely it was difficult to breathe, and ash and soot permeated the room. Her filing cabinets were incinerated. Even beyond the fire damage, the place looked as if Hurricane Hilda had blown through. Paper littered the floor. A coffee table was broken, a bookshelf was upended, a lamp was smashed.

  “Some kind of struggle took place here,” Baxter said, announcing what was already all too plain. “Before the fire.”

  “Yeah,” Mike said, “and judging by her absence, Dr. Bennett lost.”

  “Not to mention that man we found unconscious in the entryway. I’m guessing he walked in at the wrong time.”

  “What about Christina?” Ben asked. The urgency in his voice was unmistakable. “Did Rothko get her, too?”

  Mike pondered a moment. “If he had, wouldn’t her car still be outside?”

  “Maybe. Unless he did something with it.”

  “He hasn’t had time.”

  “Do you think she might be with him?” Baxter asked. “Or following him? I know that seems insane, but—”

  “I don’t think it sounds insane at all. Knowing Christina, it’s all too possible. Mike, we’ve got to do something. We’ve got to find them.”

  “I know,” he said grimly. “But I don’t know where they are. Baxter and I have checked his home, his club, his gym, his office. Even the corporate dining room. We’ve been everywhere he might be expected to be.”

  “There must be another place,” Ben said, “that we haven’t thought of yet.”

  “Easy to say—but where?”

  “I don’t know where!” Ben shouted. “But we can’t waste any more time. We have to find her!”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Baxter held up her hands. “Let’s all stay calm and think about this rationally. If you were Rothko, and you had killed two people—maybe more—and you wanted to kill again, where would you go?”

  Mike grabbed a cushion and flung it onto the sofa. “How the hell should I know where he would go? He killed the last two women in their homes—or left them there, anyway. But for some reason, he seems to have taken Dr. Bennett away with him.”

  “And there are no signs that she’s dead, either. Maybe he didn’t have time to set it up. Maybe that man we found unconscious intruded. Maybe he needs to keep Bennett alive, at least for a while. Maybe he just needed
to stash her somewhere till he had time to kill her.”

  “Too many maybes,” Mike said. “This isn’t helping.”

  Baxter ignored him. “So he needs a place that’s quiet, secluded. Someplace that can be secured. Someplace no one else would go. But it can’t be too far away. The longer he’s on the road, the more likely he’ll be caught or she’ll get away.”

  Ben nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “So,” she continued, “we need a place that’s in or near Tulsa, empty or deserted, that Rothko would know about and would able to—”

  “I know where he could be,” Mike said suddenly. His eyes were dark and fixed. “In fact, I’d bet on it.”

  “Where?” Ben pleaded.

  “The last place on earth I want to return to.”

  “And that is?”

  Mike was already out the door. “We don’t have time for chitchat. I’ll show you.”

  “Gabriel,” Dr. Bennett said. Her voice was pleading. “Please don’t hurt her.”

  Aravena stared at them, his face stony.

  “Gabriel, listen to me. I know you better than anyone. Better than you know yourself.”

  “You gave me drugs,” he said. His voice was cold and hollow. “You tried to turn me into something I wasn’t. Something weak and hideous.”

  “I tried to help you, Gabriel. I tried to save your life.”

  Aravena turned his attention back to Christina. “What are you doing?” he repeated. His fists clenched.

  “What does it look like? I’m trying to get her free so we can escape before your pal returns.” Her honesty was a stall for time. As she spoke, she scanned the room for potential weapons. A scrub brush? A toilet plunger? Somehow she didn’t think that was going to do it.

  “He will be back very soon,” Aravena said.

  “I’m hip to that, thank you. So what are you, his personal pet monster?”

  She could tell the words stung. His face twitched. “You will never be able to break that pipe.”

  Christina frowned. “I was beginning to get that idea. But—”

  “But I can.” Aravena took a step forward.

  Christina flinched. Her entire body tensed.

  “I will not harm you,” Aravena said. He looked at the pipe beneath the basin. “May I?”

  Christina didn’t understand any of this, but she figured this was not the time for a lengthy cross-examination. She scooted out of the way, letting Aravena slide in.

  Aravena crouched beneath the sink and took the pipe in both of his powerful hands. And pulled.

  His face turned white with effort. He grunted, sweated, twisted. His muscled arms trembled. And in less than thirty seconds, he had removed the pipe from the wall.

  Water began to spew out. Aravena slid the handcuff off the end of the pipe, freeing Dr. Bennett.

  “I am sorry I hurt you,” he said quietly.

  Bennett pushed herself to her feet. It was evident she was in great pain, but she forced herself to move. “We need to get out of here.”

  “I will help you.” Aravena shut off the overhead light, then poked his head out the door. Once he had ascertained that the coast was clear, he waved for them to follow.

  They tiptoed through the kitchen, following the path Christina had blazed to get here. First Aravena, then the women, slid across the countertop. Only a few more steps, Christina told herself. Only ten more feet and we’ll be out of this hamburger house of horrors. She could call Ben and Mike and get the police out after Rothko and everything would be—

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  All three froze in their tracks. Christina felt her heart sink.

  It was him. Rothko. And he was pointing a gun at them.

  “Don’t leave the party so soon, my friends,” he said, smiling. “I haven’t served the cake and ice cream yet.”

  Chapter

  30

  “Can’t you drive any faster?” Ben said.

  Mike’s eyes were fixed on the road, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. “You know, Ben, most of the time you tell me I drive recklessly and nag at me to slow down.”

  “This is different,” he muttered. “Christina’s in there. I know she is. This is just the sort of thing she would do. Brash. Impulsive. Crazy.”

  “If she’s so crazy, why do you work with her?” Baxter asked.

  “Damn good question. She never does a thing I tell her.”

  “Why would you want a partner who never does anything you tell her?”

  “Now there’s a question,” Mike said, eyes still straight ahead. “Why would anyone want a partner who never does anything he tells her?”

  Baxter gave him an evil look, but said nothing.

  “Can’t you do something?” Ben urged. “Radio for backup, maybe?”

  “I already did,” Mike answered. “On my cell phone. But we’ll get there before they do.”

  “Damn!” Ben’s hands gripped the dash tightly.

  Baxter leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You really like this Christina, huh?”

  Ben’s head turned. “We’ve been working together a long time.”

  “So it’s a working relationship?”

  “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her,” Ben said softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.” He whipped his head around. “Can’t you drive any faster, Mike?”

  Mike pursed his lips. “I’ll see what I can do.” He shifted gears and floored it.

  “My friends, you wound me,” Rothko said, swinging the gun in the air. “Leaving so soon. Without saying good-bye?” He was smiling the entire time he spoke. Remarkably amiable, for a cold-blooded killer, Christina thought. Almost psychotically so.

  “And it appears that you’ve caused some property damage.” His eyes darted momentarily to the back, where water was spilling out of the bathroom. “I’ll have to dock your pay, Gabriel.”

  Aravena’s face was set. He did not say a word.

  “And who might you be?” he asked, finally turning his attention to Christina. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “I work for Ben Kincaid,” she answered. “And he knows I’m here.”

  “Does he?” He stepped forward, tossing her strawberry-blonde hair with the point of his gun. “No, I don’t believe he does. Because if he did, he’d be here already, wouldn’t he?”

  “He’s slow,” Christina replied. “But certain.”

  “Well, then he will be too late.” He pressed the gun against Christina’s cheek, tracing a line down the curve of her neck. “I’m afraid I can’t let any of you leave.”

  “You’re going to kill us?” Bennett asked. Her face was red and streaked with tear trails. “All of us?”

  “I don’t see that I have any choice.”

  Christina tried to think of a way out of this mess. But the man was holding a gun barely inches away. There was nothing she could reach before he drilled her. And she had no doubt that he would do it. Not when she looked into his eyes.

  “Why are you doing this?” Christina asked. “Why did you kill those people?”

  “Why should I tell you?” He took a step back and smiled. “That’s our little secret, isn’t it, Gabriel?”

  Aravena stiffened.

  “You won’t get away with this,” Christina said. “We’ll be missed. Our bodies will be discovered, even here. It’ll be traced back to you.”

  “Ah. Now that’s where you’re wrong. Nothing has ever been traced back to me. Not for all these years. And your bodies will not be discovered.” Keeping the gun trained on them, he reached across the front counter to the nearest stove top. And turned on the gas.

  Christina felt a cold chill run down her spine. “You’re going to burn the place down.”

  “It isn’t much good to me like this. I had to close it. I don’t know why, but after a shooting takes place in a restaurant, no one ever wants to eat there again. I was planning to raze the joint and build a playground or something. This wil
l just accelerate the process.”

  “You’re going to kill us and then burn the bodies?” Bennett said. Her voice was dry and cracked.

  “Well, I’m definitely going to burn the place down,” Rothko said. “And I’m definitely going to wound you so you can’t escape. But I didn’t say anything about killing you. That seems unnecessary.” A demented grin spread slowly across his face. “You’ll enjoy the fire so much more if you’re alive.”

  “In there?” Ben said. “Burger Bliss?”

  “In the closed and abandoned Burger Bliss, yes,” Mike muttered. “They shut this place down after the shooting incident. The one I botched.” He and Baxter exchanged a look. “It’s the perfect place for Rothko. He owns it; he controls it. He can restrict access. He undoubtedly has keys. And there’s no one else here. No one else even close, this time of night.”

  “That’s Christina’s car!” Ben screamed. He pointed to an orange Dodge parked on a side road.

  “That’s it, then.” Mike dimmed his lights and parked his car. “I’m going in.”

  Baxter grabbed him by the shoulder. “Wait a minute, Mike. Think this out. Let’s wait for backup to arrive.”

  “No way.” Mike shrugged her hand away and got out of the car. He quickly strapped on a bulletproof vest. “That’s how I played it last time I was here. And we both know how well that turned out.”

  “Mike, you couldn’t have helped—”

  “People died, Baxter. Because I screwed up. I tried to deny it, just as I tried to deny that you were right about Erin Faulkner. But the fact is, I blew it.” He checked his gun to make sure it was loaded. “I won’t let that happen again. Not if I can stop it.”

  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.”