The Children's Corner

Chapter 49

With Myron Fink already aboard, the co-pilot starts to grab Brock Zeman's monster suitcase. After a second look, he thinks better of the idea and lets the hulk squeeze himself up the plane's narrow staircase, carrying his burden.

As the co-pilot follows and takes his seat, the pilot announces that they'll take off in a few minutes. He just has to complete the pre-flight checklist. Myron's growls at the delay prompt Brock to check out the bar cart firmly locked down in the plane's tiny galley. "This thing has Jameson and Maker's Mark."

Myron snorts. "I was hoping for Elijah Craig, but give me some Maker's."

As Brock rummages for ice and glasses, Esposito, Ryan, and Kate rapidly pull up as close as they can get to the plane. Kate points at the empty parked Cadillac. "They're probably already aboard. All right, full gear. We don't know what to expect."

After rapidly checking her vest and weapons, Kate starts up the staircase, with Esposito and Ryan close behind. She holds up her badge as she reaches the cockpit, allaying fearful looks from the crew. Then, raising her weapon, Kate moves into the aisle, giving the other detectives room to follow. She skewers Myron with her gaze. Mr. Fink, you were instructed not to leave New York City."

"I'm not charged with anything. I can go anywhere I want," Myron insists.

Brock emerges from the galley. As far as Kate can tell, he doesn't have a weapon, but she's not counting on it. And his massive frame alone could prevent access to their target. "Myron Fink, you are a material witness in the case against Michael Fink. And as such, 18 U.S.C. 3144 enables me to hold you."

Brock's protective bulk moves in to block his lover. "You can't keep him in New York. He has a gig in Florida. He can come back when he's finished."

Kate shakes her head. "Not good enough, Mr. Zeman. As Mr. Fink is no doubt aware, the results of the autopsies of Malka and Yossi Fink may implicate him in a double murder."

"So he's not going anywhere but back to New York," Esposito adds.

"And if you try to stop it, you'll be guilty of obstruction," Ryan informs Myron's guardian giant.

"You'll have to put a bullet in me to get to him," Brock declares.

"Oh, we won't need bullets," Ryan replies, flashing his trademark Irish smile.

"Just this," Kate finishes, firing a taser at Brock.

The two male detectives lurch back, but not quickly enough for Kate to get out of the way of Brock's plummeting body. Fortunately, an armrest across the aisle catches his meaty shoulder. He knocks Kate to the deck but doesn't completely cover her. Esposito drags Kate out from below the muscle mount while Ryan cuffs Zeman and the cowering Myron.

"You're home. Did you get him?" Rick asks as Kate steps into the loft.

"We got him. No shots fired. Everyone is fine."

Rick points to a bruise beginning to bloom on her upper arm. "If everyone's fine, what's that?"

"Nothing."

"Kate, whenever you say something is nothing, it's always something. So what am I going to see when you get ready for bed tonight? More nothing? What happened?"

Kate offers a two-sentence explanation.

Rick can feel himself vacillating between anger and amusement. "I guess when Brock fell for Myron, he fell hard. But next time, make sure Frick and Frack don't get in the way of your strategic retreat. How many people did it take to lift Zeman?"

"Six," Kate admits. "Some state troopers helped, and so did the co-pilot."

Kate winces as Rick's fingertip lightly brushes her bruise. His amusement fades. "You want some ice for that, and wherever else was caught under Zeman's mighty weight?"

"Yeah, thanks, Babe."

"It is quite literally, and I use that word correctly, the least I can do."

In the macabre, if safe, environs of Lanie's lab, Rick is at Kate's heels. "So, what's the big reveal?" Kate asks.

"An organic poison might have broken down as the bodies decomposed. But we got lucky," Lanie explains. "Or whoever murdered the Finks got unlucky. The killer went old school – arsenic."

Rick nods. "It's the classic choice. No taste or odor to discourage the victims. Perhaps the 'good son' Myron offered to help Malka out in the kitchen. However, his little addition would have been easily detectable in post mortems. So Myron made sure there weren't any – until now."

"We still have to prove that," Kate points out. "So far, any evidence we have is purely circumstantial. We need to get more."

"That may not be as hard as you think," Lanie suggests. "The amount they ingested would have killed them within about thirty minutes."

"That's a pretty limited kill zone," Kate acknowledges.

"And," Rick jumps in, "if no one except Myron was in the zone, you've got him!"

Kate presses her fingers to her mouth. "For a murder that far back, ensuring that could be difficult, maybe impossible."

"So, the difficult Kate Beckett does immediately. The impossible takes a bit longer. Oh, wait! That's the Seabees," Rick recalls. "Still, if the shoe fits…."

Kate glances down at her three-inch heels. "I don't think these would be Navy regulation."

Lily bounces into Rick's office, holding up a large sheet of paper. "Daddy, look at the doggies Julia helped me paint."

Rick inspects his daughter's artwork. "I can almost hear them bark."

Lily scowls. "They're basen – Basenjis. I saw them in one of Miss Bambi's books. They don't bark. We could have one, and Jake wouldn't cry."

"But Felicia might. Or at least mew a lot. And a friend of mine had one once. If I recall, it made a sound something like a yodel."

Lily gazes up skeptically. "Like chocolate cakes with the white stuff in them?"

"Different kind of yodel. Like the puppet show in 'The Sound of Music.'"

"Oh. We could play the video and see if Jake likes it."

"We could," Rick allows. "But I think we'd better talk to Mama first. I don't know how she'd feel about having a dog. And we'd have to think about Felicia. And barking or not, dogs are harder than cats. They can't just go potty in a litter box. You have to take them for a walk – and pick up their poop."

Lily's nose wrinkles. "I don't want to pick up doggie poop."

"I'm not crazy about the idea either," Rick confides. "So maybe it would be better if you just paint the doggies for a while. That way, they won't poop unless you want them to."

"OK," Lily agrees, skipping away. "My doggies won't poop."

"At least one problem solved," Rick mutters to himself, turning back to his computer. "Which still leaves building the case against Myron, the murderous musician, and the mystery ignition of canine cuties and other assorted adorable animals. Maybe Lily's onto something. Kate's got Ryan, Esposito, and Sully to deal with potential parenticide. I can look further into flaming furry friends."

Rick brings up what images he can find of the immolated artwork. They were all cloyingly cute. That would fit with Kate's theory of insults to artistic sensibilities, but why just the animals? The world is full of crap on canvas, some of which sells for big bucks. The arsonist must have a motive specific to idealized portrayals. Maybe Lucy's reaction to the aromatic realities of dog ownership is the key. She was turned off by what caring for a dog would actually entail. Perhaps the firestarter resents sending misleading messages. That complaint might lead to a trail Rick can follow.