Death Row (40 page)

"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 will 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."

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."

"What happened?"

"Rothko. He arrived at the scene-and found a slaughterhouse. He was incensed. He hadn't wanted this. So he says. He did what he could to make the situation better-took the baby back to its crib, took some money to make it look like a robbery, smoothed Frank's daughter's skirt. He didn't know about Erin being in the basement, and he certainly wouldn't have allowed Aravena to hang around the scene of the crime just to pleasure himself."

"What about the eyes? Why were all the eyes removed?"

Mike took a deep breath. This was not his favorite part of the story. "You've probably wondered why killing Frank would give Rothko the formula. Frank didn't keep it at home, after all. Rothko needed to get into the plant, which had notoriously high security. He collected Frank's ID card, but that wasn't the only thing Rothko needed if he was going to sneak into the lab and steal the formula. As I believe you've experienced, Mr. Kincaid, this lab has a retinal-scan screening device. To get in, he needed Frank's eyes."

Ben had heard all this before, but that didn't make it any less horrific. "That explains the mutilation for Frank. Why the others?"

"Cover. If only Frank's eyes were missing, someone might've figured out the reason. But when it happened to the whole family, it seemed like the work of a sadistic psychopath. Which it was, of course. But it was not random violence. It was violence with a very specific purpose." Mike lowered his chin. "Soon thereafter, the Tulsa PD became convinced that Raymond Goldman was the killer. And he was ultimately convicted, due largely to the eyewitness testimony of Erin Faulkner, who was under great pressure to identify Mr. Goldman as the killer. But it was an ID she was never sure about, and it haunted her thereafter. Her despondency was written off by most who knew her as the grief of a sole survivor. But it was also the guilt of someone who suspected she had been instrumental in the incarceration of an innocent man."