Flu

Chapter 12

Car thief Pat Finley would never dream of hurting anyone. At six foot four and 220 pounds, he doesn't have many people trying to bother him, and he doesn't bother anyone either. But a man's got to make a living, and since a blown-out knee in high school ended his hopes for a football career, he had to find something else to do. Unfortunately, in the depths of a recession, there weren't many jobs.

He's always had a gift for sweet-talking cars, but when a guy he knew from the neighborhood suggested stealing them, he balked. For some people, a car is the only thing they have that's worth much. His pal assured him that he could go after the upscale models, and insurance would pay off the owners. No harm, no foul. Pat still didn't like doing it, but it put a roof over his head and food in the refrigerator. He just kept reminding himself how greedy insurance companies could be and that they could afford it.

He was doing OK until last night. The cops used the car's G.P.S. to trace it before Pat could turn it over to his broker, and Pat ended up in jail. He's waiting on a public defender. From what he heard in Central Booking, the flu's made the city as short of free lawyers as it is of almost everyone else. Pat's left with nothing but people watching to pass the time.

Pat noticed the guy with the red hair and big ears immediately. He was cringing like one of the kids Pat used to rescue from bullies on the playground, but no one was threatening him. If they were, Pat would have done his best to stop it. The redhead kept mumbling "filthy." Finally, the spooked prisoner huddled in a corner instead of taking one of the cots and covered himself with one of the jail's ratty blankets. After that, he didn't move. Pat chose one of the beds for himself and finally dozed off.

When Pat woke up in the morning, Spooky-Man was still in his corner. The blanket had slipped from his face, and his eyes were wide-open, but staring at nothing Pat could see. The big man's stiff muscles protest as he squats in front of the still figure. "Hey, Buddy! Are you all right?" When Spooky shows no signs of moving, Pat makes his way to the front of the cell to try to get the attention of a guard. It takes a while.

Under the impatient eyes of Lee Forrester, a tired corrections officer checks his computer for a listing for a Leo DeNuncio. "Yeah, DeNuncio, Leo. Says here, they sent him to Belleview."

"Why was he sent to Belleview?" Forrester demands. "No one mentioned a psych evaluation to me."

The officer shrugs. "Nothing much here. It just says he was unresponsive. With this freaking flu, no one has much time for write-ups. If you want to find out more, you'll probably have to go to Belleview."

"Are you going to the precinct this morning?" Kate asks, sampling a bite of the waffle Rick plunked down in front of her.

"I want to take a last look at a chapter before sending it off to Black Pawn," Rick replies, reaching for the syrup. "I was planning on going after finishing my writerly duties. But that all can wait if you need me to get something for you."

Kate shakes her head. "No. You should go and see if you can find any more murders that might link to DeNuncio. The traces of that cleaning solution are almost as good as a signature. And the only thing I need is to stay up to date on what's going on with the case."

"Roger that," Rick acknowledges. "I will employ my every skill to monitor the situation and make regular reports."

"I wish I could go with you."

Rick lays down his fork. "I know, and I'll miss you, but it would be a lot worse for both of us if you have some kind of relapse. And for a cop on sick leave, you're still doing a hell of a job."

"And as an official N.Y.P.D. consultant, so are you."

The attendant at the prison ward at Belleview puts down his phone. "Your credentials check out. You can see DeNuncio, Mr. Forrester, but it won't do you much good. From what I've heard, he acts like he doesn't see or hear anything. One of the docs said he's catatonic."

"I need to check on him for myself," Forrester announces.

"Your choice," the attendant replies and punches in a code to unlock the door into the restricted wing.

Lee pulls up a chair next to DeNuncio's bed. "Leo, can you hear me?"

Forrester looks around as the redhead's watery blue eyes focus on empty air. Things could be worse for Leo. It's a lot less likely that the Scarpellas can get to him at Belleview than either at the Tombs or Rikers. Here, Leo's more likely to be stuck with a hypodermic than a shiv. But if his client can't talk, Lee can't cut a deal for him either.

From the back of his mind, Lee becomes aware of the hospital atmosphere, or rather the hospital smell. In his experience, odors are powerful. He's seen them trigger memories that witnesses didn't even know they had. And there's one that might work for Leo, the thing that was most on his mind. It's a longshot, but Lee needs to pay a visit to Specialty Products.

Kate sighs, unconsciously pushing back her hair. "So Leo's in the psych ward."

"That's what I heard," Rick confirms to his wife's image on his phone.

"He's probably as safe there as anywhere," Kate considers, "but it doesn't sound like we're going to get anything out of him anytime soon."

"I'm afraid you're right," Castle agrees. "However, I can still continue the hunt for any other cases we can connect to him in the event he does come to his senses. Whatever I find could give you even more to work with. But I thought I'd come home for a break and a late lunch. Want me to bring Chinese?"

"Sounds good, Babe. See you later."

Lee isn't sure that Belleview will let him in the prison ward with what's in his pocket, but he's taking a shot. He has a good chance. The small plastic bottle can't set off any metal detectors, and they only searched him for weapons when he was there earlier. The lawyer crosses his fingers and approaches the secure area. He's known for off-the-wall strategies to help his clients, and what he's planning to do now, certainly fits that description.

The chair by Leo's bed is right where Lee left it, and Leo doesn't seem to have moved much either. Lee takes his former seat. "I brought something for you, Leo." After carefully unscrewing the top of his tiny container, he waves it under DeNuncio's nose. "Do you smell that, Leo? It's what you wanted."

Lee can see Leo's pupils expand as the vapors reach his nose. "Ever-So-Clean," rasps from DeNuncio's throat as his fingers curl around the bottle.

"That's right," Lee agrees. "Do you remember me?"

DeNuncio regards the attorney. "You're my lawyer, Forrester."

Satisfaction lights Lee's eyes. "Yes, I am. Leo, you've given me a lot of work to do. I want to make a deal for you, but I'm going to need your help. What can you tell me about the Scarpellas?"

Leo nods. "I can tell you a lot."