“I refuse to give up,” Ben replied, not missing a beat. “I don’t care how grim it looks. Whatever the rules and regulations, this is still America. They won’t execute him if we can prove-absolutely prove-he’s not the killer. We’ll ask the Supreme Court for emergency relief. We’ll ask the governor for a pardon. Whatever it takes.”
Christina did not appear optimistic.
“We have five days until Ray’s execution. Five days. We have to pull out all the stops. All the other cases go on the back burner. I don’t care what they are. This takes priority.”
“Understood,” Jones said quietly. His expression was sad and sympathetic, as if Ben were a pathetic wretch in deep denial who had to be humored. “What can I do?”
“What you’ve been doing. Only more so.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. You’re the resident mouse potato. Hit the Internet. I keep hearing you can find anything on the Internet. Find something that helps Ray.”
“I’ll try, Boss.”
“Loving, I want you or Christina to revisit every potential suspect, witness, or informant on our list. Get something new out of them. Find new connections.”
“Got it.”
“I don’t care if you have to lean on them. Frankly, I don’t care if you have to torture them with bamboo shoots under the fingernails. Just so you get something.”
“Understood, Skipper.”
“Christina?” Ben could tell she was still upset about the hearing. And who could blame her? But he missed her usual effervescence. Her energy was about the only thing that got him through some of these cases. “I want you to pull out all the files, one at a time. All the transcripts, all the witness reports, everything. Read them and reread them and reread them. Find something we’ve missed. Something everyone has missed.”
Her head listed to one side. “I’ll try, Ben, but-”
“Good. People, we will not give up. Not while there’s any chance, however slight.”
“And what will you be doing?” Jones inquired.
“I have about a million tasks to complete before that execution date arrives. But one takes precedence. Unfortunately.” His eyes fell to the table. “I have to tell Ray what happened at the hearing.”
“What the hell was going on out there?”
Chief Blackwell closed his office door, but Mike knew from experience that when his voice hit this decibel range, everyone on the floor could hear. And unless he missed his guess, half of them had their ears pressed against the other side of the door at this very minute.
“You had the woman under surveillance. And you let her die?”
Mike squirmed. “We did not let her do anything.”
“Right under your noses! She was right under your noses!”
Sergeant Baxter looked no more at ease than Mike. “We thought she was alone, sir,” she offered.
“People usually are when they commit suicide, Sergeant.” He paced back and forth across the office, apparently so angry he couldn’t hold still. “You’re sitting in your car, and you don’t have a clue what’s going on until you hear the gunshot?”
Mike swallowed. “That’s about the size of it.”
“What were you two doing, anyway?”
Mike looked at Baxter, then quickly looked away. “We were… um…”
“Not doing anything,” Baxter completed. “Just passing the time…”
“Right,” Blackwell said. “Just passing the time. While this woman puts a gun to her head.”
Baxter coughed. “Sir, I’m not at all convinced this was a suicide.”
Blackwell marched right in front of her. “Don’t start with me, Baxter. I humored you the first time. I won’t go down that road again.”
“But sir, there are strong indications that another person was present.”
“So what? It’s a vacation cabin. She probably had people there all the time.”
“I mean recently. Just before she died.”
“You were supposedly watching the cabin. Did you see anyone?”
“No. But think about it. There was no suicide note. There were cuts and abrasions on her body. A serious blow to her left leg. We found signs that she had fallen down the slope behind the cabin.”
“And none of that amounts to a hill of beans!”
Baxter rose to her feet and faced him down. “With all due respect, sir-you’re not giving me a chance.”
“Why should I give you a chance?” He addressed her more like a drill sergeant than a supervisor. “Maybe I didn’t make this clear when I hired you, Sergeant. I expect results. Not theories. Not botched stakeouts. Results!”
“Sir, if you’ll just give us a little more time…”
“You’ve wasted too much time already. I’ve blown a bundle in taxpayer dollars humoring a rookie detective. I should’ve listened to Major Morelli when he told me to call Faulkner’s death a suicide and close the file.”
Baxter glared at Mike, her eyes like cold steel.
“And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I assume your opinion hasn’t changed any. Not based on this pathetic nonevidence. Right, Morelli?”
Mike sat silently, pursing his lips.
“Well?” Blackwell bore down on him. “Am I right?”
Jones entered Christina’s office and found her nose buried in a huge pile of files. “You look as if you could use a distraction,” he said, holding out a pink message slip.
Christina didn’t look up. “I don’t want to see your honeymoon pictures again.”
“Hardy-har. This is about the Goldman case. Got a call from James Wesley. Erin’s sorta boyfriend. He wants someone to come over to his home. Wants to talk.”
“What about?”
“Wouldn’t say on the phone. But it must relate to Erin Faulkner.”
“Shouldn’t you tell Ben?”
Jones looked away. “He’s busy. And I thought… you might like to take it. Might be good for you.”
The corner of her lips turned up, just barely. “Yeah, you’re right. I need a break.” She snatched the message from his hand. “Thanks.”
“Oh, no,” he said mysteriously, looking away. “Don’t thank me till you get back.”
“Actually,” Mike said tentatively, “I have… somewhat… altered my opinion.”
“What?” Blackwell looked as if he’d been hit by a bulldozer. “What are you babbling about?”
Mike inhaled deeply. “I’m talking about my initial impression that Erin Faulkner’s death was a suicide.”
“You have doubts?”
Mike knew this would only further infuriate Blackwell. But he had no choice. “No, I don’t have any doubts. I’m sure. These deaths weren’t suicides.” He paused. “I was wrong.”