The Other Path
Chapter 65
"Hey, Beckett!" Ryan calls on his way to Interrogation. "We've got a suspect in the Berensen case. You want in?"
Kate pushes away from her desk to make the short walk to join him. "You guys know the case. I don't. You and Espo should take the lead. But I can sit there and listen in case I get any ideas. And it will make Gates happy that she'll have something to tell Commissioner Merkle if he asks."
"OK, then. The suspect's name is Maris Schrader. A witness saw her going to the roof where Berensen was killed. Javi and I just wanted to talk to her, but she tried to take off. And Beckett, she limps. She must have been desperate to avoid talking to us."
"Or just desperate," Kate suggests. "But anyway, it's your call."
With a pale face, even for a blonde, and eyes darting toward the door, Maris sits opposite Esposito. Ryan takes the chair on the left side of his partner. Kate sits two chairs to Esposito's right, allowing her to study the suspect at an angle. She can see that what's left of the woman's blush was applied unevenly, and she fixed her hair without checking the back. Despite lightening her gray strands, Maris's appearance is not high on her priority list. So what is?"
"Ms. Schrader, do you know Ted Berensen?" Esposito asks.
Maris swallows. "The name is familiar."
"You were in his Rolodex. You must have talked to him," Esposito points out.
"I talk to a lot of people," Maris responds.
"And what do you talk to them about?" Ryan queries.
"Work. I'm an auditor. I'm always checking details. And sometimes I have conversations about outside interests."
"Outside interests like what?" Esposito presses.
"Raising awareness for certain medical conditions."
"Medical conditions that require medication?" Ryan queries.
"If it's available."
"Have you ever been on the roof of the Roosevelt Hotel?" Ryan continues.
"I don't remember," Maris claims.
Esposito leans into her space. "Then let me refresh your memory. A witness who saw you go up there gave us your description and was able to pick out your photo. So what were you doing there?"
"I guess I remember. I'd seen Ted Berensen leaving the coffee shop next door to the Roosevelt. I wanted to talk to him in private. So I followed him to the roof."
"What did you want to talk to him about?" Ryan presses.
"Pain, the kind that regular pain killers won't touch. There's a drug that will help, but it costs a fortune. Most insurance won't cover it or cover enough of it. So no one but the wealthy can afford it. But it's due to be off-patent, which means someone could make a generic that would be cheaper and insurance might cover. Berensen was supposed to be working on making generics. I wanted to convince him to make that one."
"And did you?" Ryan queries.
"He said he was willing to think about it, but not anytime soon. You see, when a drug is coming off patent, sometimes the pharmaceutical companies do what's called 'pay to delay.' They pay to keep a generic off the market for a while. And they may also put out their own generic the second the patent expires. If they do that, the law gives them a 180-day monopoly. They can jack up the price as much as they like. All that time, they're keeping helpless people in agony. But they don't care. Neither did Berensen. He wanted the 'pay to delay' money for his business. I couldn't change his mind."
"That must have made you angry," Ryan suggests.
"Of course it did!" Maris retorts.
"Angry enough to grab something heavy and bash him in the head," Esposito interjects.
Maris' grating laughter fills the room. "Pick up something heavy and bash Berensen in the head. That is funny. You can see my limp. But I'm also losing strength and feeling in my arms, my hands. Sometimes I have to use a dictation program to do my work. I'm five-five. Berensen must have been over six feet. I couldn't have lifted my arms high enough to reach his head. You go ahead and check with my doctor. I'll give permission. The reason I was so pissed off at Berensen is also why I couldn't do anything about it."
Ryan passes a yellow pad across the table. "Put down your doctor's contact info."
"Dr. Riley. His number is in the phone you took away from me."
Ryan meets Esposito and Kate in Observation, where she's been watching Maris sitting alone at the table. "Dr. Riley backed up what Schrader told us. She couldn't have swung anything heavy at Berensen's head."
"And Lanie said the angle of the blow was wrong for someone Schraders height," Esposito adds. "She didn't do it."
"Then why did she run?" Kate queries. "She could have answered your questions, which would have been the end of it. She's hiding something, maybe protecting someone."
"We checked. Schrader doesn't have a husband or any family in New York," Ryan offers.
"Sometimes when people don't have family, they make family," Kate notes. "And she knew a lot about how pharmaceutical companies operate. That type of information gets shared in activist meetings or support groups. Unless you want to go through the hassle of charging Schrader with a misdemeanor, you should turn her loose. But keep an eye on her. See who she meets. I'll ask Castle to look into any groups that might support her cause. He's great at searches like that, and he's dying to get back in the saddle."
As Kate sheds her jacket and drops her bag on a kitchen stool, Rick holds up a list. "Support and activist groups for neuropathy. Those would cover the symptoms Maris Schrader described. There are a few of them around the city. You said Schrader lived near the Roosevelt, so I used it as a hub and listed the closest groups first. There's one that meets regularly in a hospital five blocks away. That could be your best bet."
Kate opens the refrigerator, reaching for the chocolate milk. "When's the next meeting?"
"Tomorrow night."
"Great. I'll let the boys know."
"Are you still working on Munchhausen?"
"My part of it is almost done, at least for now. I may have to follow up on some things later. And eventually, I'll have trial prep. But that's a long way down the line, probably long after the baby's born."
"So when do you teach your first course at the academy?"
"In a couple of weeks."
"That doesn't give you much time to put together your curriculum."
"I'm planning on doing mock interrogations, setting a recruit up as the suspect and other recruits as the questioners. They can follow an outline, and then the class can flag what went right and what went wrong."
Rick nods approvingly. "Learning by example. That should work a lot better than merely memorizing rules and regulations. And if you need help with staging hints, I bet Mother would be glad to lend a hand. You know how she loves to direct."
"Oh, yes. But I don't think we'll need much staging. The academy already has a room we can set up for interrogations. Still, if the students need any hints on improving their acting skills, I'll give her a call. But the problem is the recruits will think cops are supposed to sound like the detectives on 'Law and Order.' Until now, that might have been true – up to a point. But those techniques are getting tossed. The recruits won't only be learning. They'll be unlearning. I'll even have to drop some of what's worked for me. So we'll all be in that process together."
Rick opens his arms. "Isn't in it together the best way to be?"
Laying her drink on the counter, Kate steps into his embrace. "With the right person, it can be."
