Death Row (25 page)

"First, there's the matter of doctor-patient privilege to consider."

"That didn't prevent you from speaking with us before. You said the privilege died with Erin."

"But that was different. At that time, you were inquiring into her death. I thought I not only could speak but should speak. But this." She shook her head. "This is something altogether different. I don't know that this has anything to do with her death."

"With all due respect," Baxter replied, "we have to be the judge of that."

"I know, I know. But still..." Bennett's hands gestured futilely in the air. "I just don't like it."

"We could subpoena you, Doctor."

"Fine. Subpoena me. We both know what will happen. I'll claim privilege, the judge will put me in jail for a few hours, and then I'll go home. And you'll be none the wiser." She hesitated. "I just don't know what I should do."

Which was Mike's cue. He stepped closer to the interrogation table. He had deliberately staged the questioning, calling Bennett at a time when she was out of the office and claiming great urgency, forcing her to come to him. He wanted this interview to take place at police headquarters, not in the cushy comfort of Bennett's home or office. He didn't want her to be comfortable. He wanted her to be on edge, at least a little. He wanted her to feel vulnerable.

"I know what you should do, ma'am. You should tell us everything you know. Even if you don't see the relevance. You should give us unrestricted access to your files."

"I can't do that."

"You can. And you will." He leaned across the table, hunched like a vulture, his eyes burning into hers. "I insist."

Bennett drew back. "Are you trying to intimidate me?"

"Yeah. Is it working?"

"Kind of." She ran a nervous finger across her lips. "You do that smoldering-intensity thing really well."

"I've had a lot of practice."

"Seriously, some of my patients are major-league bad boys, murderers and rapists and such. But they don't give me chills the way you just did."

Mike shrugged. "It's a gift."

Bennett allowed herself a small smile. "What makes you so sure there was some dark family secret Erin was hiding?"

"I'm not sure of anything. But Dr. Harris was making some pretty broad hints, and he generally seemed to know what he was talking about."

"The man is a quack."

"But a quack who spent a lot of time talking to Erin Faulkner."

"I don't see how this could possibly relate to her death."

"I do. And believe me when I say that if you withhold evidence that might help us break this case"-he glanced at Baxter-"or put it to bed once and for all, I will come down on you. Hard."

Bennett's long-nailed fingers fluttered in the air. "I can't prove any of this."

"Tell us what she told you."

Bennett frowned, started again. "There were some indications of... child abuse. In Erin Faulkner's past."

"Indications from?"

Bennett sighed. "From Erin. She first revealed it to me during hypnosis. After that, she talked about it more freely."

"And her father was the molester."

"That was... what she said. Yes." She took a shallow breath. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Actually, yes. I've quit and I don't care to be tempted."

"It would really calm me."

All the more reason to say no. "Sorry. Departmental policy."

She was wearing a vivid red dress that stopped at midthigh. Very attractive, but not very professional. Certainly not the image of the icy lady psychiatrist. Mike wondered if she had been planning to go out on a date. Or maybe hit the singles bars. "Erin was conflicted, and this dark chapter in her past only made it worse. Of course she grieved for what had happened to her family, and she felt a good deal of guilt about having survived when the others did not. But I sensed there was also a certain amount of... relief."

"Because the man who had been molesting her was gone?" Baxter suggested.

"Perhaps."

"Did she give you any details?" Mike asked.

"She did. But do you really want to hear them? As she explained it, the abuse initially just involved touching. Inappropriate touching. But as she got older, it... progressed."

"To intercourse?"

"I don't think so. But there was definitely intimate contact. Sexual contact."

Baxter nodded. "And did you believe Erin?"

Bennett hesitated before answering. "I have learned to be cautious about such accusations. Especially when they originate under hypnosis. She seemed very convincing. But there have been cases of false accusations."

"Did you think Erin was lying?"

"No, I certainly didn't think she was lying. But it is possible she was... mistaken."

"Okay," Mike said, "did you think she was mistaken?"

"No. But I'm not a human polygraph. I can't eliminate the possibility. And in a case such as this one-when the complainant has been through a great deal of emotional trauma, when the accusations only arise years after the incident, when the accused molester is long gone and utterly unable to defend himself-there is cause for concern."

"You're being very diplomatic, Doctor," Mike said, "but not terribly helpful. Did you believe her?"

"Yes," Bennett said, raising her chin. "I did. But I'm not anxious to tarnish a dead man's memory without objective proof."

"Is there anyone else who knew about these accusations?"

Bennett shrugged. "I don't know. It seems unlikely. As I said, they only emerged under hypnosis."

"And when was that?"

"About six months ago."

"But you can't rule out the possibility that she told this to someone else."

"I suppose not. Why?"

Mike pushed away from the table. "Because it opens up a whole new world of possible motives, Doctor. That's why."

"Can you think of anyone else Erin might've told about this?" Baxter asked.

Bennett pondered a moment. "Well, she was seeing a young man for a while. James Wesley."

Mike nodded. "We've spoken to him."

"But the relationship didn't progress far. They never became intimate. Frankly, I don't think Erin was ready for that yet. And I can't imagine the subject coming up casually over dinner."

"What about Sheila Knight?" Baxter asked.

"It's possible. Sheila knew Erin for years-even before the tragedy. She could conceivably have known about the abuse when it was happening."

"Then that's our next stop. Thank you, Doctor."

The relief on her face was evident. "Am I free to go? I have an engagement tonight."

"Let me check with my superior officer," Baxter said wryly. She turned her head. "Can she go?"

"Yeah, you can go," Mike said, then added, absolutely straight-faced, "But don't leave town."

Did he really look that much worse than the last time? Ben wondered as he peered at the man on the other side of the glass. Or was this just the product of an overactive imagination, perhaps augmented with feelings of guilt and senseless responsibility? It had only been a few days. Maybe it was the harsh glare of the overhead lighting, the clouding effect on Ben's contact lenses.

Or perhaps Ray really had aged in the hours since Ben had seen him last. Think of all he had been through recently. Almost executed. Then the key prosecution witness recants. Then she dies before she can tell the authorities and the judge declines to grant his petition for relief. And once again, an execution date is looming, drawing near all too quickly. Maybe the recent developments had taken a toll on Ray's body that to anyone else would simply be unimaginable. Maybe that was the reality of life on death row.

"I wish I had more to report," Ben said into the receiver, "but it seems as if all we uncover are more questions. Interesting questions. Important questions. But damn few answers."

"I like Christina's theory about a second assailant," Ray said. "It makes a certain sense. There was so much death, so much destruction. A second person is definitely credible."

"A second person with a heart of gold? Who nonetheless participated in the torture and murder of an entire family?"

Ray hunched his shoulders. "Heart of gold might be stretching it. Some vestige of morality, perhaps. And we don't know to what degree he participated in the killing. He or she, that is."

"I'm still not convinced. Serial killing is not usually a group activity."

"I don't know from serial killers," Ray said. "But it seems to me this crime breaks the mold in several respects."

"That's what the psychiatrist thought, too. Dr. Bennett. She seemed to have a hard time coping with the idea of anyone being cruel enough to do this."

Ray grunted. "This from a woman who puts pins through butterflies."

"Well, yeah." Ben glanced at his notes. "Do you know anything about this organ clinic where Erin worked?"

"Sorry," Ray replied. "Never heard of it. I don't think it existed when I was last a free man."

"It did, actually. Although Erin didn't work there yet."

"Any reason to think her workplace has anything to do with this case?"

"Not really," Ben admitted. "I'm just trying to be thorough. I did get a tip from my pal Mike at the police department. He says the feds have been quietly taking a look at the clinic. They think Dr. Palmetto may have been involved in some black-market organ dealing."

"Shades of Robin Cook."

"Apparently it's a big-money racket. Organs are even being sold over the Internet, which makes it all the harder to catch the marketeers."

Ray thought for a moment. "If Erin was involved in something like that, it would definitely give someone a motive to eliminate her."

"The thought had occurred. Does the name James Wesley mean anything to you?"

"No. Should it?"

"He dated Erin. Said she had some... peculiarities."

"Another news flash."

"Granted. Although this ear-candling stuff she went in for is pretty weird. Was her father like that?"

"Not that I'm aware."

"You got along with Faulkner, as I recall. Didn't you?"

Ray thought a moment before answering. "We got along well enough. I worked directly under him, and he could be a bit of a blowhard. Especially after he started having such success with his flavor formulae and bringing in the big bucks. But there was no ill will between us or anything like that. I've told you before."

"I know. I just wanted to see if any of this had spurred any old memories."

"Sorry."

"That just about covers it," Ben said, closing his folder. "I don't have anyone left to talk to."

"What am I, chopped liver?"

"You know what I mean. Anyone who might have new information about the murders." Ben curled the phone cord around his finger. "I was thinking... I might talk to Carrie."

"Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"Because I said no."

"Ray..."

"Carrie has been through enough, thanks to me. I won't put her through any more misery."

"Ray, if she can help you-"

"But she can't. If she could, she already would have."

"Still-"

"There is no 'still,' Ben. Listen to me. You will not talk to Carrie. Under any circumstances. And if you go against my wishes on this-you're fired."

Mike drove his Trans Am crosstown, heading south toward the home of Sheila Knight. Baxter was in the passenger seat.

"By the way," Baxter said, staring straight ahead, "thanks for letting me take the lead on the Bennett interrogation."

"No problem. You were useful."

"Useful?"

"Can't be a bad cop without a good cop."

"Well. I'm so glad I could be... useful." Out the corner of his eye, Mike could see her jaw clenching. "Thanks also for not trampling all over me when you decided to cut in. I mean, you could've just shoved me aside. After I was no longer useful."

Mike licked his lips.

"You didn't have to do that. After all, you are the superior officer."

"Baxter..."

"Sorry. Couldn't resist." She stared out the side window, giving Mike the back of her ash-blonde hair. "You believe what Bennett was saying?"

"I think she believes it. That doesn't mean it's true."

"Yeah. Hard to size up a woman who's so full of contradictions. Working with criminals by day, butterflies by night. Smart, but funny. Cold, but horny."

"Horny?"

"Oh yeah. She was hot for you."

"For me?" Mike's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Are you making fun?"

"I'm not. She was drooling for you, Morelli."

"You're nuts."

"I know a woman in heat when I see one. When you leaned over the table and started playing the stern disciplinarian, she turned to putty."

"Go on."

"If you'd turned her over your knee and spanked her, we'd probably have cracked the case by now."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Baxter, you're full of it."

"Says you. Why do you think she suddenly started spilling her guts? She went from 'I shouldn't say anything' to 'Let me tell you everything I know' in about ten seconds flat."

"I attributed that to my brilliant interrogation technique."

"Sure, Morelli. Keep telling yourself that."

"That shrink was not hot for me."

Baxter narrowed an eye. "Why? Is that a problem for you?"

"Problem? What do you mean?"

"Why are you protesting so much? I'm no expert on women, but she seems like a pretty darned attractive specimen to me. And she's bound to be loaded."

Mike felt his palms starting to sweat. "Well... she's not my type."

"What is your type?"

"Never mind."

"Do you have a type?"