Moment in Time Part 3
Chapter 97
Dead Again
Part 2
"Gold star for Castle," Lanie announces as Kate and Rick meet her in her lab. He hands her a Jumbo Java Juice. "And another star for this."
"The five-year-old in me is bursting with pride. But what was the first one for?" Rick inquires.
"Your idea about Masters' pills. I had the lab analyze all of them. But you were a little off target about an animal extract. What probably saved him is a bacteria, lactobacillus. A lot of people take it for digestion. It naturally produces minuscule amounts of TTX, not enough to be dangerous. But the strain Alan had was at the top of the charts. It was still harmless, but the TTX level may have been sufficient to trigger some resistance to the poison. By the way, any clues to the murderer yet?"
Kate shakes her head. "The only set of prints on the fire escape belong to the super of Alan's building. He claims he fixed a loose bolt up there. We're checking him out, but he doesn't have a motive so far. Ryan and Esposito are looking for sources of TTX, too, including sushi bars that serve pufferfish. But they don't have any likely suspects yet. Rick and I are on our way to interview Masters before the hospital discharges him."
"Great! Can you find out where he got his lactobacillus?" Lanie requests. "I might want to write a paper on it."
"Sure," Kate agrees.
"How are you feeling?" Kate asks as Alan digs into a container of jello.
"I feel fine," Alan claims. "I'm just waiting for the billing department to straighten out some things with my health insurance company. They're trying to claim that since I was dead, my policy went out of force. But the desk jockeys here checked the rules. No death certificate, no death – unless that doctor who was at my apartment signed one."
"That was Lanie Parish, a medical examiner. She wouldn't sign off without a thorough investigation," Kate assures the patient.
"And in the case of a probable poisoning, an autopsy," Rick adds. "Fortunately, you never made it to her table."
"But she did make some findings explaining how you survived," Kate adds. "I can make sure she gets a copy of her report to you. And she could use more information from you as well. However, unfortunately, Mr. Castle and I aren't here to discuss why you lived. We need to figure out who wanted you dead. Do you have any enemies?"
"What? Me? No. I'm an average guy," Alan claims. "I go to work. I come home."
"But you dream of more exotic realms," Rick suggests.
Alan drops his spoon. "How do you know that? Have you been reading my diary?"
"No, I saw the posters on your walls. And I can say with experience that Bali is an exceptional destination. Wait, you keep a diary? Diarists come up with some notable insights. Samuel Pepys's observations in the 1600s were remarkable. But with pithy tweets the hoi palloi's current ideal of introspective wisdom, a grown man should refer to a diary as a journal."
"I'm not entirely sure what you said," Alan confides, "but I'll take the tip."
"Actually, Mr. Masters, as investigators, we often find that small details, written down but then forgotten, can yield critical clues in a case," Kate discloses. "We should go through your di – journal – with you."
Alan winces. "Do you have to?"
Rick lays a hand on his shoulder. "I understand, Buddy. It would be like having someone rummage through your underwear, the ones with holes that you hide because you don't want to throw them out. But it will be worth it if we find something that points to whoever wants you dead."
"I guess you're right," Alan concedes.
"Good. When the hospital releases you, we can go over it in the privacy of your apartment. No one else will know," Kate promises.
"Does he really read that fast?" Alan questions Kate as Rick rapidly scans through the pages of Alan's leather-bound notebook.
Rick looks up. "Freaks you out, right?"
"I didn't believe it at first either," Kate confesses, "but he does." She studies her husband's expression. "Got something?"
"Maybe. Alan, you mention Dave Barton a lot."
"Barton, yeah, he used to work for me. I had to fire him because he was letting serious infractions slide."
"Was it for money?" Kate probes.
"That was the rumor. And he did seem to get a little miffed when I let him go," Alan recalls.
Rick taps his finger against a page. "If you're accurately quoting him, he was more than a little miffed. "
It's probably not exact," Alan allows. "But oh, I can play you a message Dave left me."
Alan pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and puts it on speaker. "You slimy little maggot. I'm gonna stab you with a rusty spoon and strangle you with your own intestines. Or better yet, I'm gonna force-feed you your toes one by one. Then I'm gonna light you on fire. First, I'm gonna paralyze you with a claw hammer, and then I'm gonna cover you with ants, you son of a …." The mailbox beeps at the end of the allotted time.
"Hmm, I think he shares some ideas with my ex-wife," Rick considers. "But the whole rusty spoon thing would be useless. If he yanked out your intestines, you wouldn't have time to develop tetanus. Still, he certainly seems motivated to precipitate your demise."
"And you never thought of calling the police?" Kate questions.
"On Dave? No. He's just got a big personality. Besides, you should hear some of the things business owners say when I give them my reports. They make Dave sound like Santa Claus."
"Still, I'll have detectives talk to Barton," Kate decides. "And I'll also need a list of the business owners you've ticked off."
"It's going to be a long list," Alan warns. "I probably save them from lawsuits and worse. But they don't see it that way."
"I understand, but give it to me," Kate instructs. "I'll have my people go through it." She turns back to Rick. "Anything else in the journal?"
Rick locks eyes with Alan, who gives him a pleading look. "No one else who threatened him."
"All right," Kate acknowledges. "Let's get moving on our suspects."
As he follows Kate out, Rick looks back over his shoulder and mouths, "Call her."
In his seat at the table in Interrogation, Dave Barton shrugs. "What can I say? I have anger issues."
"And a gift for murderous creativity," Ryan offers. "We found another of your messages to Alan Masters: 'I'll nail you to the ceiling by your feet and beat the hell out of your face with a Fungo bat.'"
"Man, if you really wanted to get the job done, you'd be better off with a Louisville Slugger," Esposito asserts.
"It's all talk anyway," Barton claims. "Actually, I get nauseous at the sight of blood."
"Is that why you decided to use poison on Alan Masters last night instead?" Ryan accuses.
"Hey, I was home last night with my wife and mother-in-law, which believe-you-me is no good for my anger issues. I mean, that woman drives me crazy." Barton stares up at the ceiling. "Sometimes I just think about getting a blender and a trowel and…." He catches himself. "Just kidding."
"Well, you better hope your alibi holds up. Because you had all the motive in the world," Ryan declares.
"You want motive?" Barton counters. "We're safety inspectors. You think we're making friends handing out millions in fines? Especially Alan."
"What do you mean 'especially Alan?'" Esposito demands.
"The guy's got a rep for being a real stickler. He doesn't let anything slide."
Leaning across the table, Esposito presses close to Barton's face. "Oh, is that what you did? Let things slide in exchange for a payday?"
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Doesn't make me a killer. And the point is," Barton adds, "Alan refuses to play the game. And that pisses off a lot of people."
"Yeah," Esposito throws back. "We'll just see about that."