Disclaimer: I don't own it. I don't own it. Me no owney. And no, Caroline's not pregnant.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DOINK-DOINK
"Is she okay?"
Fin had stayed at the hospital to wait for Caroline while Munch went to try and locate Mr. Turner. A doctor had just approached.
"She'll be okay. She got here pretty quickly."
"What's going on with her?"
"She was poisoned. We evacuated her stomach and she came to. She had been injected with Picrotoxin, probably when checking out your crime scene. She mentioned feeling a prick when she touched the railing."
"When can she leave?"
"Whenever she's ready. She's not feeling great, but she's healthy enough to function. It's safe for her to leave at any time."
"Thanks, doc."
Fin was just about to call Munch when Mrs. Turner approached, tailed by a skinny fifteen-year-old boy.
"What happened?" she asked frantically. "Did George hurt your detective?"
"How did you know about that?"
"A friend of mine is a nurse here. She said NYPD brought in a detective who'd been poisoned. I thought it might be that other one – Benson – was it?"
"No, ma'am. This was a new detective. Caroline Schmidt. Why don't you sit down?"
Mrs. Turner sat. Alan stood awkwardly behind her.
"Mrs. Turner, do you have any idea how Detective Schmidt was poisoned at your residence?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Turner. "George set up a hypodermic needle on the railing. He said it had some poison on it. I don't know what kind."
"So you knew about the poison?"
"Yes."
"You didn't tell anyone?"
"I couldn't get away until just now. He had to get to his appointment. He had to meet his doctor – he's diabetic. He can't know where we are. Is there somewhere we can hide?"
"Where did he take you?"
"A Holiday Inn on Broadway. Martinique. 49 West 32nd Street."
"We'll find somewhere for you to go. Where can we find your husband?"
"He'll be going back to the hotel in about an hour."
Cragen chewed thoughtfully at the licorice whip in his hand while he listened to Munch explain where Fin and Caroline had disappeared to.
"…and then we rushed her to the hospital, where we're still waiting to hear from," he finished.
"Okay, Munch. Why don't you –"
But Cragen didn't finish that thought. Munch's phone rang. While he went to answer it, Cragen turned to Elliot and Olivia.
"What have you found out about Melissa?"
"She's twenty-three years old. Her only relatives, her parents, are out of town on a vacation in Europe and aren't answering their phone calls. We're going to keep trying to get in touch with them. But that explains why no one filed a Missing Persons report," said Elliot.
"The Turners could have done that."
"Not if they're focused on Jessica," said Olivia.
"Got him!" said Munch, rejoining the group triumphantly. "Fin found the son of a bitch at a hotel on Broadway."
"Where are Mrs. Turner and Alan?" asked Cragen.
"On their way to Mrs. Turner's mother's house. And Caroline's fine. She checked herself out a little while ago. She's coming here as well. I can't wait to see what the bastard's got to say about poisoning a member of the NYPD on top of everything else."
"Let's give you and Fin a break when he gets here. Elliot, Olivia, you question Turner. Munch, my office."
Munch, totally bewildered, followed Cragen into his office and sat down. Cragen stayed standing, hands on his hips.
"What's going on, Captain?"
"I was about to ask you the same question," said Cragen. "John, something's wrong. I can tell. What's the matter?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"I've never seen you get so fired up about a case that doesn't involve a government conspiracy. You holding out on me?"
"It's just…I don't know."
"Try again. I've done this for a long time. I know when someone's not telling me everything."
Munch took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "This is something I've talked to Olivia about. She'd know. I told her about…I told her about a little girl I sort of knew growing up. She was abused and died by being thrown through a plate-glass window by her mother. I've always carried that guilt around with me…because I didn't do anything about it. I didn't tell anyone about the time she had a black eye or the time her lip was bleeding or when she had a cast on her arm. I just didn't care."
Cragen looked at Munch for a long moment. Both were silent. Munch replaced his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"When I saw that little girl lying on the ground covered in blood, I saw the same little girl who lived across the street from me. Jessica even looks a little like her. I just can't understand what makes someone look into the face of a sweet little child and want to hurt them. I saw Jessica's photo. I saw what she once was. She was absolutely beautiful. Someone took that baby's innocence and watched her die, and I'm not letting that someone get away with it, whether it was her father or not. I'm going to find this guy. Period."
"I think," said Cragen slowly and carefully, a little taken aback with this unusual sharing of emotions from the usually quiet detective. "That you should back off."
"No," said Munch firmly.
"You're too passionate about this case."
"No."
"John, look, you'll blow a gasket if you stay on it. You need a break."
"Captain, I can do this and I can do it right. Let me prove it to you."
"Fine," Cragen sighed. It looked as though he were going against his better judgment. "But don't cross any lines or I will remove you from the case."
"Thanks, Captain."
