"Think the Doc's been protectin' this guy, whoever he is?" Hanson speculated.
"I … I don't know, Mike," Jo replied as she struggled to mask the hurt and concern in her voice.
VVVVVVVV
It was late. Very late. The two detectives decided to call it a night but get an early start in the morning on trying to uncover the owner of the mysterious DNA that held antibodies from ancient diseases. They left the precinct and headed in opposite directions toward their respective homes. However, neither of them expected to get much sleep that night.
Lucas had left earlier and was only a few minutes away from his own home. A nagging thought began to push through the numbing comfort overtaking him from two and a half bottles of beer. Glausser had been murdered in February. Here it was four months later and his detective colleagues were just now finding out that Henry had apparently lied to them about the strange DNA results. For all intents and purposes, he had ratted out his boss and maybe brought on some serious problems for him. He felt terrible. Just terrible. Lower than dirt. Lower than a slug. Lower than the dirt the slug slithered on. Lower than the smarmy mucous the slug glopped out onto the dirt that it slithered on. Lower than -.
Stop this, he commanded himself as he squeezed his eyes shut. He now sat on his new sofa sleeper, much more comfortable and stylish than the worn-out futon he'd had for the past four years. The one purchased with the new raise that Henry had recommended he be given. Geez. He had to figure out how to run interference for the Big Guy. Same as he had when he'd gotten that pugio to him. But what? How? Neither Jo nor Hanson were slouches when following up on a lead and he was sure that they weren't going to let up on this until they got some answers.
"Me and my big mouth," he agonized out loud, running a hand through his brown thatch and resting it in a tight grip on top of his head. The only thing he could think of was to alert Abe. "He should know what to do," he assured himself. The elderly man looked after Henry almost in a fatherly way. Yeah, call Abe. But not in the wee hours of the morning. People his age needed their sleep. Heck, people my age need our sleep, too, he laughingly told himself. While he yawned, he stretched his 6'2" frame out on the sofa. Contact Abe. Before he reported for work. Alarm. Alarm. Set the alarm on his cell phone. Okay. He yawned and closed his eyes again and let the numbness fully overtake him this time.
vvvv
The next morning, Lucas woke with a start. The events of the previous evening came slowly back to him and he groaned because of that and what he felt was a stress-laden, hangover headache. He had to push all that aside, though, as he recalled his commitment to himself to contact Abe. He sat up and took in a few deep breaths in an effort to shake off a growing weakness. Then the body ache and fever began to manifest themselves and he realized he wasn't going anywhere. Not even to work. Damn! He was sick!
The alarm on his cell phone went off and he fumbled it off of the coffee table. He stopped the alarm and checked the time on the screen: 5:45 AM. From what he recalled Abe telling him earlier that year, he was an early riser. As he dialed the number of the antique shop, he surely hoped so. After the second ring, Abe answered.
"Abe, this is Lucas … Yeah, I sound like crap because I feel like crap. Listen, Abe, sorry to bother you so early but …" He paused to catch his breath and fight off the quickly worsening symptoms of flu long enough to continue with the conversation. "I, I seem to have caught a flu bug so I won't be able to go into work … to try to fix a mess I made last night." He paused again while Abe, confused on the other end, conveyed his condolences for his physical state but asked him "What mess?". Lucas then filled him in on the situation and waited for him to reply. After several long moments of silence, Lucas thought maybe Abe had hung up.
"Abe -?"
("I'm here. I'm here," he finally replied. "I, uh … you get better. Leave Henry to me. A-and thanks.")
With that Abe ended the call leaving Lucas feeling like a slug again, sliming around in the dirt. All this, whatever it was, was all his fault because of him and his big mouth. He couldn't blame the detectives for jumping into action when a possible bend of the law hit their radar; he just hoped that they realized this was Henry, the staid doctor who normally wouldn't hurt a fly. Killing his stalker last Christmas didn't count. Crazy guy stalks you, breaks into your house, threatens you with a sword - you ice him!
None of this line of reasoning or self-ridicule was doing anything to relieve either his guilt or his growing physical discomfort. He forced himself up off of the sofa and dragged himself into the bathroom where he found the liquid cold medication he'd bought last year. After checking the expiration date, he opened it and gulped some down. He then stumbled back into the living room and fell back onto the sofa where he lay awake but with his eyes closed and waited for the medication's soothing properties to kick in.
vvvv
In the kitchen above the antique shop, Abe sat at the table with the landline phone on his left and a bottle of Scotch on his right. Occasionally, he took a long swig from the bottle and set it down roughly onto the table as he waited for his father to respond to his cryptic voicemail. Ever since Lucas' urgent call earlier that morning, he'd agonized over whether or not to apprise his father the potentially problematic situation.
"No," he said out loud to himself. "He'll just freak out and run, disappear to God only knows where." After a few more moments, he vowed, "If I can't convince you to come back with me and weather through this, then you're not going anywhere without me, Pops."
vvvv
At the same time, Jo and Hanson had decided to get an early start on the Glausser case and were going over the list of suspects and witnesses again. Each one they'd previously interviewed back in February had been able to account for their whereabouts during the time of the killing.
"He'd crated up the goods and they were to be shipped out of the country to the Yanbu seaport in Saudi Arabia. Probably to some filthy rich, mucky-muck of a sheik," Hanson disparagingly noted. "Wouldn't make any sense for anyone receiving the goods to have offed Glausser."
"And the murderer didn't just kill him," Jo pointed out. "He tortured him. According to the autopsy report, his wounds were made slowly and deliberately." She shuddered and Hanson grimaced at the thought.
"But it doesn't make any sense for someone to kill him that way and not take the artifacts," she continued.
"Yeah, the bank representative said everything was accounted for," Hanson added. "Maybe the murderer just ran out of time and had to leave the stuff behind," he speculated.
"Or maybe … the killer didn't want any of the items," Jo theorized. She looked at Hanson and added, "It was to teach Glausser a lesson for having broken his word not to ever sell any of it."
"Who would be so dumb as to do that?" Hanson asked. "I mean leave all that valuable stuff instead of cartin' it off themselves and sellin' it to the highest bidder? Dumb," he reiterated.
"Not dumb," Jo said, her eyes widening. "Passionate. The murderer was obviously working with Glausser and Eric Haas to make sure the artifacts were returned to the right families." She thought for a moment, biting her lower lip. "Since none of the potential recipients had any idea they were to have their property returned, they knew nothing about the group or its activities."
"Karl Haas' son, Erik, accidentally stumbled onto what his old man was up to. After killin' him, he teamed up with Glausser to make some money by sellin' the rest of the stuff," Hanson said. "He's doin' 15 to 25 at Great Meadows State Prison."
"Maybe Erik also accidentally stumbled onto something else in the process," Jo said. "Like who the other members of the group were."
"We could go talk to him again," Hanson said. "Even though he said he only knew about his old man and Glausser when we first interviewed him back in February."
"He might not know what he knows," Jo said, a playful smile on her lips.
Hanson chuckled, flopped an arm up and down, and said, "Okay. Let's go find out what he might not know he knows."
vvvv
"Henry!" Abe exclaimed, gripping the phone's receiver with both hands. "I was beginning to think you hadn't gotten my message."
("They keep us very busy here with its tight agenda," his father explained. "And I'm sorry, I didn't get your message, ah, voicemail, right?")
Abe closed his eyes briefly in frustration and sighed. "I might as well tell you myself." He paused to take in a couple of breaths to calm himself and build up his courage. "The Julian Glausser murder, remember that? Of course, you do," he quickly replied to himself. "Remember how you told me about that teeny bit of skin you fished out of Glausser's ring? And you told Jo and her partner that the DNA results were inconclusive."
("What about it, Abraham?" the Immortal Dad asked.)
"They now know about the real results." Abe waited for him to reply and began to worry as the silence stretched longer than he wished. "Dad … ya still there?"
("Yes, Abraham." Henry sighed and swallowed, creating another long stretch of silence.)
"Dad, you're not gonna … do anything rash, are you?" Abe asked, concerned but hopeful.
("As a matter of fact, I am," he replied. "I shall return home once the symposium has ended.")
"No, Dad, I'll pick you up from the airport and we'll figure something out together and - wait a minute. You're coming back home?"
("Yes, Abraham," Henry replied. "It was only a matter of time before someone in the NYPD learned the truth. It's best that I do what I can to minimize the damage.")
"W-well, th-that's great, that's great!" Abe stammered in disbelief. "You've … had this on your mind for a while," he stated.
("Too long," he replied with a sigh. "I've always felt horrible about having lied to Jo. It's time she knew the truth.")
Abe was beside himself with anticipated joy. "Y-you mean you're gonna come clean with her about … everything?"
("No, not everything, Abraham," he gently but earnestly reproved him. "Only about this. Well, as much as I can.")
Abe scoffed but was still encouraged. "I don't know how you're gonna do it but, okay, I'll help you all I can."
VVVVVVVV
Notes:
Information on Saudi Arabian seaports found at
wiki/Saudi_Ports_Authority
Great Meadows Correctional Facility is located in a hamlet called Comstock just outside Fort Ann in Washington County, NY.
wiki/Great_Meadow_Correctional_Facility