Death Row (36 page)

As soon as he was gone, Hubbard cocked his head toward Mike and whispered, "Shrink date."

"Dr. Reynolds sees a shrink?"

"Oh yeah. Lot of the people here do. We have a doc who comes by once a week to... how do you say it? Commune with the employees. On-site."

"I didn't realize chemistry attracted so many psychological ailments."

"It doesn't attract them. It creates them." Hubbard drummed the eraser end of his pencil on the lab table. "You can't imagine the kind of stress we have, when a new formula can literally mean millions-even billions of dollars in profits. Half the guys in the plant would probably be drooling into a cup right now if it weren't for Dr. Bennett."

"Dr. Bennett?" Mike did a double take. "Dr. Hayley Bennett? She's the company shrink?"

"Yeah. You know her?"

"I sure do. And she never once mentioned to me that she had patients here."

"Guess it never came up."

"Yeah," Mike said, scribbling furiously into his notebook. "I guess it never did. I don't suppose you've had any sudden revelations since the last time we talked. Remembered anything important about Frank Faulkner."

"Sorry, no. I was just Ray's Scrabble buddy. I never knew Frank all that well. Dr. Reynolds would be the one to ask about him."

"They were pretty tight, huh?"

Hubbard hesitated. "Well... they knew each other, anyway."

Something about the tone of Hubbard's voice caught Mike's attention. "Does that mean they weren't close?"

"I don't think so. Something was going on between them."

Mike's forehead creased. He tried to remember what Reynolds had told him during his interview, or what he'd read in Ben's report of his interview with the man. "But... Reynolds is the boss. How could Frank function if they didn't get along?"

"Reynolds is the boss now. Not seven years ago. Only after Frank was gone. He could never have been the boss when Frank was alive."

"And why is that?"

"Because when Frank was around, Frank was the boss. Of everything. He might not have had the title, but he ran the show. He had the clients, he'd come up with the most successful formulae. He was the big cheese. Acted like it, too."

"That must've created some resentment."

"No doubt. Especially with Dr. Reynolds."

"Why so?"

"Because Reynolds had to work with him every day. Reynolds was Frank's lab assistant, way back then."

"I thought Ray Goldman worked under Frank."

"He did. Well, technically, I think he reported to Reynolds. Doesn't matter, really. We all did whatever Frank wanted. But Reynolds got the worst of it. Frank treated him like a servant. He answered Frank's phone calls, kept his calendar. Acted like a little lapdog."

"Reynolds can't have liked that."

"I'm sure he didn't. But what Frank wanted, Frank got. He was King of the Hill. And deservedly so. He was brilliant, you know. His work as a flavorist was revolutionary. Everyone wanted him to work for them. He was drawing down huge bucks." He paused. "Reynolds was number two. At best."

Mike drummed his fingers. "Dr. Reynolds didn't mention any of this to me when I interviewed him."

"No, I don't expect he would. I've always wondered why the cops didn't talk to him more. I guess they twigged onto Ray right off the bat and became convinced he was their man."

"And you think that was a mistake?"

Hubbard shrugged. "Maybe I'm prejudiced. For all his eccentricities, especially when it came to women, Ray was my friend. But if it was my job to come up with an alternate explanation for what happened... I'd give Dr. Reynolds a good hard look."

"Thank you for coming to see me," Ben said as he showed Dr. Bennett to the chair opposite his desk. "I've been so busy since the hearing I've barely left the office. But I know your schedule is packed, also."

"Oh, not really," she said, waving a palm. "It's my afternoon off. After I finished up this morning, I went home to my butterflies."

"Fascinating hobby."

"You think so? Sometimes I wonder." She chuckled. "I've been holding a stiletto so long I think I'm developing a callous. What can I do for you?"

Ben glanced at the notes he'd made before she arrived. He wanted the interview to seem spontaneous, conversational. So she would be at ease. So she wouldn't see him coming.

"I hope this isn't going to be more about Sheila Knight," she said. "I really can't tell you more than I already did. Especially not now."

Ben followed her meaning. Especially not now that Erin's lifelong friend was just as dead as she was. "No, it isn't about her."

Bennett was wearing her hair down and holding her eyeglasses which, Ben noted, wrought an amazing change in her appearance. She had never been unattractive, but today, she looked downright sexy. "And please don't press me to reveal any more confidences from Erin Faulkner. Or anything about her and her father. I simply can't."

"I understand. It would violate privilege."

"Twice over."

Ben slowed. "Twice over?"

"Right. Since Erin Faulkner was my patient. Just as her father had been."

"Frank Faulkner was your patient?"

"Oh yes. Up to the time of his death."

"You've counseled both Erin and her father? This seems quite a coincidence."

"It wasn't a coincidence at all. I first met Erin at her father's plant. Where I counseled some of the employees. Still do. She remembered me years later when she decided to seek therapy herself."

Ben sat up straight in his chair. "You counseled for the plant where Frank and Ray both worked? Prairie Dog Flavors?"

She nodded. "On a freelance basis. I came in once a week. Helped the eggheads sort out their problems."

"I'm surprised that work interested you."

"Are you kidding? At that point in my career, most of my patients were referrals from the Justice Department. Total scum. Murderers, sex offenders. Lots of sex offenders. Some of the most horrible, twisted people who ever walked the earth. After a few days of that, you'll welcome the chance to talk to some mild-mannered chemists about their impotence."

"Is that what it was, mostly? Domestic problems?"

"Actually, at that place, it was mostly work-related stress. Still is. When I first started there, the place was just taking off. They were getting their first big-bucks clients. Mostly thanks to Frank, who had hit it big as a flavorist. He was bringing in some major accounts."

"That must've made the bosses happy."

"Well, yes and no. That was part of the stress he was experiencing, you see. He wanted to quit and go out on his own. Why should the corporation get all the profits when he was the one doing the work? But he was under contract. Everything he did then and for six years into the future belonged to Prairie Dog Flavors, regardless of how or where he devised it. They owned him."

"I'm beginning to see why he might need a shrink."

"It was tearing him apart. He was generating tons of income-but not getting enough of it himself. And remember-he had a nice house and a large family to support."

"Did he get along with the other people at the plant?"

"He tried, but he was convinced everyone hated him. And acted accordingly, I'm afraid. He thought they were all envious, and not without some justification, I imagine. Anyone who did as well as Frank was bound to engender some ill will."

"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?