“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?
Stay tuned, she muttered under her breath. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.
After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the front of the line. Thank heaven. Moral dilemmas could wait. Right now she needed carbos.
“I’d like an extra-large-” She froze in midsentence. Was that what it looked like?
“Pardon me, ma’am,” said the well-groomed man in his early thirties. “Is something wrong?”
“What is that… thing?” Baxter said, forcing her lips to move. She pointed.
“This lapel pin?”
“Yes, that. What is it?”
And then he told her.
And then she knew.
Chapter 28
Ben leaned across his desk, hanging on every word Peter Rothko said.
“So I was at this convention in Kansas City,” he explained. “Networking with some of the other fast-food dudes. Carl Breyer. Harlan Woods. And somehow we got to talking about flavorists. Someone asked what was happening down at Prairie Dog. I told them I thought Conrad Reynolds was running the show, but that Chris Hubbard was doing all the work.” He paused. “And that’s when Harlan’s face went white.”
“He knew Hubbard?”
“He knew all about Hubbard. And what he knew wasn’t good.”
Ben felt his heart beating away in his chest. Could this be the break they’d been waiting for? That they needed so desperately? “Like what?”
“Like for starters, Chris Hubbard isn’t his real name. He changed it. Correction: he had to change it. After he was arrested. For-get this-indecent exposure.”
“You’re joking. That kid chemist?”
“I’m as serious as an IRS audit, Ben. Apparently this guy whipped it out and showed it to a nine-year-old girl one day in her front yard. Where he had no business being.”
“Was he convicted?”
“Harlan wasn’t sure about that. He thought Hubbard-or whatever his name really is-might’ve copped some sort of plea. But the publicity was so huge he had to move and do the name change.”