Chapter 21—The Accused

The young, thin, brown-haired man looked unapologetic as he sat at the interrogation table. Ryan glanced at the case file and then studied him. Ryan then tipped his head up at him inquisitively.

"Jerry Lynch. You're a student pharmacist, right?"

The defensiveness now became a simple shrug. "Yeah. Why?"

"According to your DEA license, you're only supposed to be dispensing drugs, not killing people with them, and not passing them out to people who do your dirty work for you. How's the Hippocratic Oath go again?" Mockingly he glanced at the ceiling as though thinking hard. "Oh yeah. 'First, do no harm'?"

Jerry dipped his head. "I did what I had to do. Don't tell me you never broke the law as a cop."

Ryan sniffed. This guy couldn't possibly have known about his gambling incident. But he never wavered. "I never used my own perverted sense of justice to commit murder, Jerry. Is that why you had to lace Eric Miller's Allegra with Benadryl? Something you knew he was allergic to? And that's why you gave ten Darvocet pills to Vic Odom to fix Angela Miller's car?"

The bespectacled pharmacy student looked at him silently.

Ryan shrugged as he plopped down the brown case file. "Jerry, right now you're looking t Murder One, conspiracy, and two counts of distributing. Even if you didn't do any prison time, you're never gonna pay back your student loans, because for the rest of your life, you're gonna be flipping burgers in a truck stop somewhere. So you might as well just tell me why."

He looked more distantly now. "It's for Melissa."

"Melissa Matherson?"

"She was helping me. I was helping her" he insisted, folding his arms and glaring at Ryan. "I was the only friend she had after that sick bastard dumped her. He got her pregnant and then just left her there! She came to me! She's a nice lady! Why would anybody do that to her?"

"What sick bastard are you talking about?" Ryan demanded.

"Robert Creech. The guy who killed her brother in Colorado. She was seeing the guy, and she had no idea who he was! Can you believe that? I had to let her know, man. And then she didn't believe me!"

Ryan shook his head. "That meteorologist didn't kill her brother, Jerry."

"Bull! I did the research."

"I know the Robert Creech you're talking about. This is a different one." He took out two more pieces of paper and laid them on top of the bank records. "This Robert Creech was a disc jockey in Gunnison, Colorado. And this is the Robert Creech who worked at Creech Pharmaceuticals. Two different guys. They had the same name and they both lived in Colorado. The guy you helped to murder changed his name to Eric Miller. The guy who worked for Creech Pharmaceuticals died of lung cancer five years ago."

Jerry Lynch's eyes widened. "No way. Melissa told me—" he started to protest.

"Uh, Jerry, we also checked your back-and-forth emails. Melissa didn't tell you anything. You told her you found some dirt on Eric Miller. And you told her you were gonna make sure he paid for what he did. That's when she broke all contact with you. Eric Miller was a bit of a dirtball, but he didn't kill anybody."

His eyes darted between Ryan and the wall now.

Ryan gave him a hard look. "You killed an innocent man, Jerry."

Reality was beginning to hit the young pharmacy tech. He simply stared at the table in shock.

"By the way, maybe you loved Melissa, but she didn't love you. She used you. She knew how to play you, man. But it looks like you'll be okay where you're going. You seem to be pretty good with the laws of the jungle." He glanced at the uniformed officer who stood at the door. "Take him."

Horatio paced opposite the brown-haired, scruffy-bearded man who hunched over the table and grasped the edge, obviously in some pain. He sweated and trembled, trying to maintain himself.

"Mr. Odom. You okay? Are you in some pain?"

"I'm fine" he answered in a strained voice. "It's just my back."

"Did you already run out of the pain killers Jerry Lynch gave you?"

"Who?"

The Lieutenant sat down and pushed a photo in front of the man. "The pharmacy tech who gave you ten Darvocet pills just before you worked on Angela Miller's car, Mr. Odom! You disabled the brakes and the air bags. That's Murder One and Conspiracy, not to mention the drug charges!"

"Look, he only gave me that stuff once!" he said between breaths.

Horatio remained unfazed. "We checked every pharmacy where Jerry Lynch has worked. They all show doctored DEA inventory records! We have you on surveillance! Try again!"

Pain and withdrawal were getting the better of Vic Odom now. He trembled as he gripped the edge of the table more tightly. "Okay, okay. I hurt my back, and the doctor put me on narcotics. I went back begging for more, but he cut me off. I had to get the stuff somewhere."

"Did Jerry Lynch tell you to sabotage Angela Miller's car?"

The man took a deep breath. Anything to stop this agony. "First he said he'd give me a thousand bucks, but he said he didn't have the money. So he gave me those pills. Something about his girlfriend's trust fund got cut off. He told me this lady was standing in the way of his girlfriend's trust fund, and when she died, his girlfriend would get the money again." He took a breath to try to dispel the pain. "He just told me to do something with the car so it'd look like an accident. I said 'yeah, fine.' He told me when the lady died, there'd be another hundred thousand for me." Perspiration dripped down his forehead. "I don't know why I believed him. I mean, who'd have that kind of money and drive a crappy old car like that? But I needed the pills, so I said I'd do it."

"What lady, Mr. Odom?" Horatio demanded.

Vic Odom took deep breaths again in an effort to dispel the pain. "I think her name was Angela Miller. Look man, can I get something? This pain's driving me crazy!"

Horatio leveled eyes with him. "Don't worry, Mr. Odom. We're gonna help you with your addiction once and for all. There's a good rehab program in the County lockup. You're gonna be there for a long time, so I suggest you take advantage of it." He snapped the folder shut as the uniformed officer handcuffed the sweaty, trembling man.

As Horatio strode down the blue hallway, a tall, sturdy, well-dressed man with salt and pepper hair stood up and stood directly in front of him. The man wore a white dress shirt, Dockers, and gold-rimmed glasses. With determined eyes, the man faced Horatio.

"Are you Horatio Caine?" he nearly demanded.

He faced the stranger guardedly. "I am. Can I help you?"

Mindful of his professional manners, the man shook hands with Horatio. "My name is Frank Stockburne. I'm Emmie Stockburne's father. I understand you're her supervisor." He then thrust a piece of paper at Horatio. "What's going on here?"

Horatio glanced at the man before reading the piece of paper. "I see. So Emmie told you about the IAB investigation?"

Frank Stockburne leaned toward Horatio, determined to make his point. "I don't know anything about an IAB investigation. I understand she saved somebody's life out there, and now they want to punish her for it?" He raised his voice with a determination. "My daughter is not a criminal, Officer Caine! What the hell kind of a department is this?"

He dipped his head and put one hand up to the angry father. "Actually, Mr. Stockburne, it was my life your daughter saved. We lost a police vehicle, a firearm, and some computer equipment in the accident. The investigation is standard procedure."

The man wasn't convinced. "I don't like it! My daughter's been through hell and back. You should be thanking her!"

Horatio's weathered blue eyes met the man's angry brown eyes. "Actually, Mr. Stockburne, I am in the process of putting her in for a special citation. Your daughter's a hero."

"I'll believe it when I see it! My daughter's laid up at the house with pins in her leg. What happened out there was not her fault!" He snarled as he pointed to the ceiling. "If anything happens to her, I swear I'm gonna bring down the roof of this whole damned department!"

Horatio raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips, locking eyes with the man. He could understand the outrage of an angry, protective father. "Mr. Stockburne, that's not gonna happen. Do you understand me? That's not gonna happen."

During his years as a CEO, Frank Stockburne had learned how to read people. There was something about Lieutenant Caine. He breathed deeply and softened his expression. The anger slowly faded away, and a quiet desperation showed in his eyes. He wanted to believe him. "Officer Caine, I'm not gonna stand here and watch my daughter go through that a second time" he insisted.

Horatio nodded at the father with a determination. "And you're not going to, Mr. Stockburne. Your daughter looked out for me. Now I'm going to return the favor."