“Because there is, of course. The but is, for all our work, we haven’t come up with much that’s new. Certainly nothing that’s going to get a habeas corpus petition granted by Judge Derek. And the hearing is just around the corner.”
He turned toward Jones. “I read your report on the Faulkner home invasion. Several times. So did Christina. And she has this… theory-”
Christina smiled. “Thank you for not making little quotation marks with your hands.”
“Don’t mention it. Christina has this theory that maybe there were two killers. Two people in the Faulkner home. And that if we approach the case from that angle, we might see something we missed before. Something everyone missed. So…”
Jones buried his head in his hands. “Don’t tell me you want me to do more research on that horrible crime.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Boss… that case is seriously depressing. Every horrible thing that could happen to those people did, or damn near. I just can’t take it anymore. Paula says I haven’t been sleeping well. She’s says I’ve lost all my energy and drive and-”
Ben held up a hand. “I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say we’ve already heard more than we’d like of what your wife says about your drive. Just review the material. Find a trace of that second man.”
“Yes, Boss,” Jones said, but he didn’t appear happy about it.
Ben shifted his attention. “Loving, great work on Erin’s death. Between your reports and what I get from Mike, I feel as if I’m riding around in the police car with Mike. Except, from what I hear, I don’t want to be riding around in the police car with Mike.”
Loving grinned. “I heard ’bout some of that down at Scene of the Crime last night. He still partnered with Mad Dog Baxter?”
Ben nodded. “With no hope of parole. And frankly, that’s just as well, because his partner doesn’t believe Erin killed herself.”
“Then who did?”
“So far, they have no answer. What do you think, Loving? Wouldn’t be the first time you beat the cops to the punch.”
Loving shook his head. “That’s a pretty big order, Skipper.”
“Well, you’re a pretty big man. What do you say?”
“What I always say. I’ll give it my best shot.”
“You’re the man, Loving. Do it to it.” Ben shifted his gaze around to Christina. “Any luck on the legal-research front?”
She shook her head. “The case you want doesn’t exist, Ben. In these conservative times, habeas corpus relief is a rarity. Particularly in the Tenth Circuit.”
“But there have been some petitions granted.”
“And believe me, I’ve pored over those cases. Wiseman v. Cody. Horton v. Massie. Battenfield v. Gibson.”
“Detect any pattern?”
“Nothing we haven’t talked about before. We need to hit Judge Derek with all the evidence we’ve got indicating that Ray Goldman is innocent. And anything that points a finger in another direction.”
Ben nodded. He knew that nothing they had uncovered to date would be sufficient to persuade Derek to issue such extraordinary relief. Besides being a major jerk, he was a Bush Sr. appointee. His friends back at the country club wouldn’t approve.
“One more thing,” Ben added. “I need someone who can educate me on fast food.”
Loving shrugged. “There’s a McDonald’s on every street in Tulsa.”
“I’m thinking more like an expert witness.”
“Loving’s an expert on eating it,” Jones said.
“That wasn’t what I had in mind. I need someone who knows the ins and outs of the business. Especially the taste-creation part that was Frank Faulkner’s specialty.”
Christina shrugged. “Well, the ideal candidate would be Peter Rothko.”
“Who’s he?”
Christina stared at him. “Come on, Ben. I pointed him out to you at the bar reception, remember? And he’s been all over the news, ever since that horrible hostage situation where so many people were hurt. Peter Rothko is Tulsa’s fast-food magnate. Owns the Burger Bliss chain-you know. They serve high-class fast food that tastes good and won’t totally destroy your health. That’s their advertising angle, anyway. He started about ten years ago with one shack in south Tulsa. Now he’s got hundreds of them.”
“Conrad Reynolds mentioned that they’d done some work for Burger Bliss. Sounds like the man I need. Can you set up an interview?”
“I can try. I’m sure he’s a busy man. Maybe if I went out to see him personally…” She batted her pen against her lips. “Rothko is a darned good-looking man. And very single.”
Ben arched an eyebrow. “Are you interested?”
“Let me think. A handsome hunk, never married, who’s also a billionaire.” She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t be interested in that.”
“Just set up the interview,” Ben said, pressing his hands against the table. “Remember, folks, Ray Goldman has been wrongly incarcerated for seven years. Seven years. He’s lost his fiancée. He’s lost his business. He’s lost all his friends, family. And if we don’t do something to prevent it-he’s going to lose his life.” He paused, making eye contact with each of them. “Do I need to say anything more?”
Chapter 18
April was wearing the transparent blouse again.
She did not intend it to be transparent, Gabriel Aravena reasoned, and she would undoubtedly be shocked if she knew that it was. But when she stood directly beneath the powerful overhead fluorescent lights in the store, it dissolved. Her brassiere was fully visible, as was her cleavage and the lovely little mole at the base of her neck. He could even make out her nipples, dark and firm and pert. They were winking at him, playing peekaboo.
Aravena smiled. Off Depo for a mere twenty-four hours. And what a change it had already made in his life.
The chemical castration, the hormones that were slowly turning him into a woman, enlarging his breasts, shrinking his genitals, making his facial hair turn to peach fuzz, had been arrested. If he was not quite himself yet, he was certainly on his way.
“Did you see what that clown was driving?” April asked. She was staring through the front doors toward the gas pumps. “The pickup with the jacked-up wheels?”
“I did.”
“Why do men do that? Or boys, I should say?” She turned slightly. It was as if she were pointing at him with those lovely little nippies. “Does it make them feel more manly?”
“Perhaps so,” Aravena said.
“I hate it when boys think they have to put on a big show.”
“All men are not alike.”
“No. You don’t do stuff like that, do you?” She smiled. “We’ve been working together at this store for-how long now? And you never do any of that macho-stud crap.”