Death Row (22 page)

"What a diplomat you've become."

"Even so, I'll do my best to see it through in a professional manner. At the same time, I expect you to respect the fact that I'm the superior officer here. I have mucho years in homicide. I know what I'm doing."

"Granted." She looked at him warily. "As long as you don't try to send me for coffee or anything."

"No problem. I brew my own."

Baxter smiled, just a little. She picked up her coat and holster from the hook behind the door. "Mind if I ask what brought about this remarkable conversion experience? Did you see a light on the road to Damascus?"

"More or less. Blackwell read me the riot act."

"And?"

"And he told me to bury the bickering. He wants you to succeed here. And he wants me to help make it happen."

"I see. So I'm sort of like your charity project or something."

Mike fought back the irritation. "The only charity I'm working for is me. I'm not trying to be a great guy. I'm trying not to lose my job."

Her face hardened a bit. "I see. Basically, it's just more looking out for number one."

"Basically, yeah. You have a problem with that?"

"No," she said as she adjusted her holster. "I just-" She shook her head. "Never mind."

Mike pulled a crumpled scrap of paper out of his pocket. "I found the doctor."

"The shrink?"

"No. The other one. The doctor Sheila told us about. If you can call him that."

"What kind of doctor is he?"

"I don't think I can explain it. You'll have to see for yourself."

"How did you find him? Sheila didn't even remember his name."

"I've been a cop for fifteen years. That's how."

"Right, right." She extended her hand. "Peace?"

He shook. "Peace. Hatchet buried."

"Good."

Mike started toward the door. "Well," he said, trying to sound optimistic, "perhaps my lawyer friend was right. Maybe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"Don't push it, Morelli."

"Right."

"Fungal cultures?"

The man behind the thick glasses blinked. "That's right."

"People are eating funguses?"

"Fungi. Sure. Anytime they go into a fast-food joint, it's a strong possibility. Biotechnological flavoring is the hot new thing." Chris Hubbard was younger than Dr. Reynolds, and his youthful exuberance showed when he talked about his work. Rarely had Ben seen anyone become so wild-eyed and rapturous while talking about food additives. "Tissue cultures are used, too. Fermentation. But I think the most exciting breakthroughs are happening with fungi."

"Be still my heart."

"Although enzyme-based processes can give you some darn good dairy flavors. Any kind of butter you can imagine. Cheesy butter, creamy butter, milky butter. Anything."

"Except that none of it's real butter."

"Well, not the kind Ma and Pa made back on the farm. The fermentation processes, heating combinations of sugar and amino acids, have also resulted in some dynamite meat flavors."

"Yum, yum."

"And the best part is, all of these are considered natural flavors by the FDA."

"Amazing." In order to speak to Hubbard, Ben had to submit to more security checks, then be escorted by an armed guard into a lab maybe a tenth the size of the previous one. The only entrance or egress was through a single thick metal-reinforced door. "So if your research is so hot, why do you have such a lousy lab?"

Hubbard leaned closer. "The smaller the lab, the easier it is to secure."

"I see. Dr. Reynolds tells me you used to hang out with Ray Goldman."

"True. I considered Ray one of my best friends."

"Have you seen him lately?"

"No. I haven't seen him since... you know." He sighed. "I've thought about driving down to McAlester and visiting him. But somehow, I never did it. It just seemed... I don't know. I wasn't sure if he'd be glad to see me or not. So I never went."

"What did the two of you do? Before he was incarcerated?"

Hubbard averted his eyes. "Well... this is... rather embarrassing."

Aha, Ben thought. At last, I've uncovered the nasty. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, but I need to know everything that might possibly be relevant."

"Still... I don't see any reason..."

What is it? Ben wondered. Sexual degradation? Petty larceny? "I'm sorry, but I have to insist. And if necessary, I'll have to subpoena."

Hubbard drew in his breath. His teeth clenched tightly together. "Well..."

Yes... Yes...

"We used to play Scrabble."

Ben stared at him blankly. "That's it?"

"Yeah. Humiliating, isn't it? You probably thought we were hot young studs out on the town, carving a swath through all the beautiful babes. But no. Most nights we were rearranging tiles and figuring out a way to get rid of the
Q
."

"I see..."

"It's particularly embarrassing because people already have this stereotype that scientists-and particularly chemists-are really boring. And what do you know? It turns out to be true."

"There must've been something else..."

"Not much. Mind you, we got really good, there toward the end. We were in a league."

"A... Scrabble league?"

"You bet. They're all over the country. All over the world, actually. We got together twice a week to play and practice. Compare strategies. Memorize word lists."

"Fascinating."

"Did you know there are ninety-six legitimate two-letter words? Knowing them is the key to the game. A well-placed two-letter word can score better than a seven-letter bingo."

"Do tell."

"Ray was one of the best. He had all the word lists down cold. He was so organized, you know? Not all that social, but very organized. And he was a master of the anagram. He once scored three bingos in a single game. That's when you lay down all seven of your tiles at once. You get a fifty-point bonus for that, you know."

"Sounds like you two took this seriously."

"We did. We were tournament-rated."

"There are tournaments?"

"Lots of them. We'd qualified for the nationals. Then Ray ran into that spot of trouble..."

Being arrested for murder. Yeah, that could spoil your Scrabble career. "What did you think when Ray was arrested?"

"I couldn't believe it. I mean, sure, Ray had his eccentricities. Oddities. But a mass murderer? No way." Ben noticed that his fingers were fidgeting. "I mean, surely not."

"You don't seem totally convinced."

"Well, I mean, I wasn't there, was I? You never really know what anyone might be capable of doing, given the right circumstances. But I couldn't believe that Ray did... that horrible crime."

Ben shifted around in his chair. This conversation was starting to make him feel distinctly uncomfortable. "Tell me about these eccentricities of Ray's."

"Oh... gosh..." Ben could tell the man already regretted having said anything. "It's hard to explain. Once or twice we went out together. Single bars, that sort of thing. I was unmarried back then. And this was before Ray met Carrie."

"You knew Carrie?"

"Oh yeah. Wonderful woman. She really loved him."

"She dumped him."

"Well, honestly, what can you expect? When your fiance is on death row, that doesn't augur well for the marriage. Still, I always wondered if there wasn't maybe... I don't know. Something else going on. Something he did or said."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. I'm just babbling."

Was the man intentionally frustrating him, or did it just work out that way? Ben couldn't be sure. But he made a mental note to follow up on this. "Tell me about these singles'-bar outings. What was so odd about Ray?"

"Maybe odd isn't the right word. He just... didn't react the way other people do. Particularly about women."

"Give me an example."

"Oh, like, I'd see some hot-looking chick in a slinky dress and I might wolf-whistle or make some approving remark about a part of her anatomy. But Ray would say things like, 'Yeah, I'd like to knock her down and give her what she wants.' You know, stuff like that."

Ben felt his mouth drying. "And what did you think when he said this?"

"Not much at the time. I just thought of it as one of Ray's quirks. Frankly, chemists aren't always the most socially well-adjusted people on earth. But then, after the murders, I began to wonder..."

"If Ray was really the killer."

"No, no!" Hubbard held up his hands. "I'm sure he wasn't. I just... you know. You can't help but wonder."

"Did Ray make any other violent remarks?"

"Just more of the same. 'If I could get her in a room alone, I'd wipe the smile off her face.' Or: 'I could take that clown out with one kick to the kneecap.' Like that. I mean, I can't say I never heard anything like that from a man before. Guys will be guys, especially after a few drinks."

"Did Frank Faulkner go on any of these barhops?"

"Frank? No."

"But you knew Frank."

"Yeah, but he ran in higher circles than we did. He was older and had already become a huge success. He was the company's bright young thing. Already rich as hell, too."

"Did you know of anyone who might've had a reason to kill him?"

"No. I suppose his early success could stir up a lot of jealousy. Resentment. But to kill him? Surely not."

"What did you do on these bar outings?"

"Oh, precious little, believe me. I don't think we ever once picked up a woman. I'm not sure we ever even spoke to one. We just watched mostly. Swilled drinks and admired from a distance. Which was not so bad, actually. There are worse things than watching a parade of shapely female calves pass by."

Ben smiled a little. "You're a leg man."

"Guess my secret's out."

"It's not a crime." Ben folded up his notebook and prepared to leave. "What about Ray? Was he a leg man?"

"Oh, no." A crease crossed his forehead. "He made that very clear on more than one occasion. He went for the eyes."

Ben felt his back stiffen.

"He was nuts for a good pair of eyes," Hubbard continued. "He'd catch the ladies' gaze and follow them from one end of the club to the other. Staring at their eyes."

"Ear kindling? That sounds dangerous."

"Not kindling. Candling."

"Ear candling?" Mike shrugged. "Still sounds dangerous."

The doctor appeared all too accustomed to this reaction. "It's a well-established scientific technique. Dates back to ancient Egypt."

"So does trepanning, but I wouldn't want to try that either."

Dr. Harris smiled. "Totally different, I assure you."

"And Erin Faulkner went in for this?"

"She visited me once a week. More regularly than she saw her psychiatrist, I understand." Dr. Jamison Harris was a relatively young man-in his early thirties, Mike guessed. He was a trifle overweight but seemed in generally good shape, with long, brown hair that curled uncontrollably down his head and touched his shoulders. "She enjoyed her sessions."

"Do you mind if I ask-why?"

"It's very relaxing," Harris explained. "And we live in an age when people are looking for relaxation, for something to calm their nerves and relieve their stress. Simple ways to achieve an altered state. No one more than Erin Faulkner."

Sergeant Baxter frowned. "Personally, I think I'll just stick with a good hot soak in the tub."

Harris nodded. "And do you light candles when you take your bath?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes."

"Turn on some soothing music?"

"When I have the time."

"And what Erin Faulkner did with me was much the same. Only more so. And with some medical benefits."

"If you say so." Mike dug his fists deep into his trench coat. "You ever heard about this ear-candling bit, Baxter?"

"Actually, I have. I had to educate myself. We shut down a couple of so-called therapists who were doing it in OK City."

"What was the charge?"

She gave the doctor the eye. "Quack medicine."

Harris held up a finger. "But they weren't licensed to practice medicine, right? I am. I'm beyond your reach."

"True enough. But I wonder how the AMA feels about this?"

Mike gave her a stern look. Don't alienate the witness before they have a chance to interrogate him.

Baxter took the cue. "Maybe I haven't had it explained to me properly. Could you tell me what it is exactly you do?"

"I'd be delighted." Harris walked them across his apartment to a long table in the corner. It looked to Mike like something he might expect to see in a massage parlor, which, combined with the fact that the doctor was operating out of his apartment, did not elevate his opinion of the man's practice.

"It's very simple, really," Harris said, raising a long white object. "I light the wide end of a hollow conical candle made of waxed cloth. Very gently, I insert the narrow tip on the opposite end into the ear. The heat generated by the flame creates a vacuum that sucks out all the foreign matter in the ear."

"Like what?"

"Wax, obviously. But there's more. Dust, dirt. Ear mites. Sometimes even small insects. Spiders and such."

Mike cringed. "Out of someone's ear?"

"You heard me."

"You know, I've personally viewed sixty-four homicide victims, most of them violent deaths. But this is making me sick."

"It's not that bad, I assure you."

"But how do you know if you actually accomplished anything?"

"After the procedure is finished-it takes about an hour-you can cut open the hollow candle and see for yourself what came out."

"Oh happy day. And you say Erin Faulkner went in for this?"