Flu

Chapter 14

As much as he hates wearing gloves, Castle's been glad to have them as he attacks box after box like a miner prospecting for a new vein of ore. Several times, the automatic tear away at a small breach has kicked in, compromising the blue nitrile instead of the skin of his fingers. Maybe it's the curse of an official assignment, but if DeNuncio's committed a yet-undiscovered murder-arson, Rick isn't having any luck finding it. He glances at the face of his watch.

It's 12:15, lunchtime. After the breakfast spread he put out to pour calories into Kate, he's not particularly hungry. But with writing until 1 a.m. and getting up at six, he can use a pick-me-up. Fresh air could help. If he takes a walk, he can always patronize whatever food truck or vendor is around. This time of day, there should be several. One of them may jump-start his appetite.

Not thinking much about the direction he turns once he's clear of the precinct grounds, Rick's feet carry him toward a small pocket park. As a tiny oasis in an administrative area of the city, it wasn't designed for children. But there are a couple of swings and a slide.

Rick sinks into one of the swings, slowly rocking forward and back. A little sun on his face feels good, but he is tired. From his student days and being a single parent, he's spent plenty of time burning the candle at both ends, but it was a lot easier when he was in his twenties and early thirties. He pulls his new I.D. out of his shirt pocket, muttering to himself, "Be careful what you wish for."

The cheerful tune from an approaching Softee-Serve truck tickles his ears, and he watches the vehicle find a spot on the curb closest to the park. A triple fudge sundae hardly qualifies as lunch, but the whipped cream and ice cream have nourishment in them. At least he'll be getting some calcium. He doesn't really buy his rationalization any more than he used to believe Alexis' kindergarten argument that she'd die of hunger without a Jimmy-Joy cone. However, he bought his daughter her mouth's desire back then, and against his better judgment, he'll go for the chocolate now. He just wishes he could share it with Kate.

Instead of waiting for Leo DeNuncio to be discharged, Eli Douglas decides to have a preliminary talk with the suspect-come-witness at Belleview. Forrester is, of course, by the side of his client. Other than firmly clasping a small bottle labeled Ever-So-Clean, DeNuncio doesn't look too off-the-wall. The slim redhead is nervous, but Eli would be more disturbed if the man weren't. Suspects who show no concern at talking to the prosecution tend to be sociopaths or psychopaths, the kind who can charm a jury into almost anything. Eli doubts Leo has ever charmed much of anyone. Good.

"Mr. DeNuncio, Eli begins, "Mr. Forrester gave me a summary of your disclosure, but what I would like to do is hear your account. Tell it to me exactly as you remember it. How did you come to work for the Scarpella family, and what assignments did you complete or attempt to complete for them? Do you understand?"

Annoyance washes over Leo's face. "I'm not slow," Mr. Douglas. "I don't like dirt, but my college GPA was over 3.9. It would have been 4.0 if they didn't make me take a physical education elective. I understand you perfectly, and I know exactly what I did and when I did it."

Eli assumes what he hopes is a conciliatory smile. "I appreciate that, Mr. DeNuncio. Then you realize that most people I talk to aren't as bright or accomplished as you are. OK, I'm starting the recorder now. You can begin whenever you're ready.

Leo closes his eyes as if watching an internal movie. "I was taking Nuclear Chemistry my senior year. It was a by permission only class, so only four of us qualified. Your adviser had to recommend you, and the professor, Dale Drebs, who taught it, was famous. He derived an equation named for him. Dr. Drebs gave us a set of problems we had to finish by the end of the semester. There were 50 of them, requiring matrices or calculus to solve.

"I got to work on Drebs' assignment as soon as I could. I had other advanced courses and an honors project I had to work around, but I got the calculations done. A week before they were due, another boy from the class approached me. He was in my advanced organic class too, not doing as well as I was, and he knew what I could do. He asked to buy my problems. After I worked so hard to solve them, I didn't want to sell them, but he offered me a lot of money and told me his family could help me get a job when I graduated. I was going to need one. I was on scholarship, but I still had loans to fill in the gaps it didn't cover.

"I couldn't afford to get caught. I would have been expelled without getting my degree, and wouldn't have been able to work anywhere. So I went over my problems again, calculating the answers to some of them by an alternate method, so they wouldn't duplicate the versions I submitted. Then I sold them."

"What was the name of the person who purchased them?" Eli asks.

"Mario Scarpella."

"Dino Scarpella's nephew?" Eli queries.

Leo nods, "That's what he said. Mario paid me enough so I could set myself up with an apartment and a storage unit I could use as a lab after I graduated. Mario or someone else from the Scarpella family brought me jobs. They weren't that hard. I probably could have figured out how to do them back when I was in high school. The reagents and materials I needed were easy enough to get. Specialty Products sells many of them. After a while, I saved enough money to buy a building and design my workshop."

"It sounds like the Scarpellas were good to you," Eli notes. "Did you ever have a problem with any of the assignments they gave you?"

"I didn't like the ones where anyone got killed, but Mario had Chris Carlucci explain about those. Chris said the people who might get hurt were enemies of the Scarpellas, dirty people who would mess up their business. If I couldn't come through for the family, I wouldn't have a job anymore, and without being able to account for what I'd been doing since I left school, I wouldn't be able to get another one. I knew he was right about that. So I just kept going until my old roommate's father arrested me. I never liked Bert Macy or his father much. I guess I was right about that."

"Mr. DeNuncio, the police who searched your workshop found your notebooks. They couldn't read them but found some entries they thought were times and addresses. Were those the jobs you did for the Scarpellas?"

Leo grins, puffing out his unimpressive chest. "Of course they couldn't read them. I'm ambidextrous, like Leonardo Da Vinci. I put down my notes the way he did, mirror writing with my left hand. But I also encrypted them. I made a record of all the work I did for the Scarpellas. I'll decode it for you. I also experimented with improvements to the methods for formulating and producing explosives. I can decrypt those notes too, but if any patents come out of them, I want my name on them as the inventor."

"Mr. DeNuncio," Eli responds, "I'll keep that in mind."

Rather than carrying the three boxes from a bottom shelf to a table, Castle pulls them onto the floor and kneels to look through them. They're all from one case, and full of reports and records from arson investigators and the lab, as well as the police officers involved. Rick glances at the crime scene photos before shoving the horrific images aside. One hell of a blast killed those people. The victims included a child who was apparently sleeping while a parent was working the night shift.

Rick runs his finger down the list of chemicals the lab identified. Most of them are marked pyrolysis products, the result of something burning. But one readout leaps off the page at him. He's seen it enough times to know what it is before checking the I.D. – f****** Ever-So-Clean! To hell with whatever Leo can testify to about the Scarpellas. He deserves to spend the rest of his life locked up with his bosses. Rick pores over every detail in the boxes. With luck, something there will match up with whatever Riley O'Connell can toss into the mix.